We have a dinner planned with Rafaele’s family the next day.
It’s Vince, Cleo, Mamma, Papà, and I in the car, and I hold Cleo’s hand the entire drive there.
Cleo and I spent hours this morning going over our plan, and now that we’re about to go through with it, my mind is strangely empty.
I’m nervous, but beneath the nervousness is a breathless kind of hope. What if this works? I wrap my palm around the pendant hanging around my neck, the cool stone a visceral reminder of the man I love.
The dinner is on Rafaele’s turf—an Italian restaurant he owns in Chelsea. We arrive around seven and get taken to the main dining area where a ten-person table has been set. We’re the first ones here.
“Cute,” Cleo comments, looking around the interior.
She’s right. This place is cozy and intimate, with only about ten other smaller tables in the dining room. The décor is traditional Italian—checkered tablecloths, ornate mirrors on the walls, dark wood furniture.
Cleo walks over to study a picture frame hanging on the wall. From where I’m standing, it looks like a photo of Rafaele and his parents.
I can’t help but wonder what’s going through Cleo’s head right about now. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked her if she’s sure about going through with this, and every time, she’s reassured me that she is.
I know my sister well enough to know no one’s going to change her mind once it’s made up. Not even me.
Her sacrifice isn’t something I’ll ever forget.
Rafaele arrives with Nero by his side, both of them looking put together. Nero’s grin is as fear inducing as always. Behind them are Rafaele’s mother, his grandmother, and one of his uncles.
An anxious shiver runs down my spine as we all take our seats.
How will Rafaele react when I ask him to swap his bride a few days before the wedding? It should seem like a ridiculous proposition, if it weren’t for the small things I’ve noticed about Rafaele over the last few weeks. I haven’t said this to Cleo, because she’d tell me I’m imagining it, but there’s something strange in how Rafaele behaves around my sister.
He looks at her the way he’s never looked at me.
I first noticed it in Ibiza. When he dragged her out of his car, he couldn’t stop glancing at her. The day of Vale’s wedding, I’m convinced he chuckled at something she said. That’s a big deal for a man who hardly cracks a smile.
There have been more things like that since we came back from Ibiza.
That dinner when Rafaele and Papà announced the succession plan, he was bothered that she was drinking so much. I think he was worried about her. And then the whole thing with Ludovico…
I don’t know Rafaele very well, but I’m convinced of one thing. If he accepts my offer, he won’t let Cleo come to any harm.
And maybe, just maybe, their match will fare better than mine and Rafaele’s ever could.
The servers come out with jugs of house wine and water, and I decide there’s no point in waiting to have the conversation.
I turn to Rafaele. “May I speak to you in private?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Cleo stiffen. She’s put on a brave face for my sake, but she must be as nervous as I am.
If Rafaele refuses our offer, I don’t know what I’ll do. My only hope of being set free is if Rafaele allows me to leave. Otherwise, I won’t stand a chance against him and Papà. They will do whatever they want with me, and I might never see Ras again.
Rafaele glances at me and nods. “We can talk in the office.”
I force myself not to spiral as I place my napkin back on the table.
Everyone looks up at us as Rafaele pulls out my chair and helps me up. Papà’s eyes narrow, but I ignore it. It’s incredible how little I care about what he thinks anymore.
I follow Rafaele out of the room, my palms sweaty and my pulse pounding against the side of my neck.
Be brave. You’re doing the right thing.
But that doesn’t mean Rafaele won’t murder me on the spot for the grave insult I’m about to give him.
We walk into the wood-paneled office. It’s littered with paperwork and random restaurant supplies. There’s only one chair behind the desk, and I expect Rafaele to take it. Instead, he shuts the door, flicks on the overhead light, and stops a few feet away from me.
I guess we’re having this conversation standing. He must think it won’t take long.
“What is it?”
I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They’re as unreadable as ever.
“Rafael…” The light above us flickers.
Say it. You said you’d fight for Ras. For your baby. This is your chance.
I take it. “Rafaele, I can’t marry you.”
He doesn’t react in any physical way besides sliding his palms into the pockets of his slacks. I wonder if he’s doing that so he won’t spontaneously break my neck.
“Why’s that?” he asks.
“I’m in love with someone else.”
“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” he says coolly, like he’s explaining something he assumed I knew by now. “This was never about love.”
“I know. But there’s something else.” I bite down on the inside of my mouth. “I’m not a virgin. Actually, I’m pregnant.”
The air in the room turns dense and heavy, pressing down on my lungs. Rafaele’s stillness becomes absolute. Seconds tick by. It feels as if he’s drilling into my brain matter with that penetrating gaze.
“Who’s is it?”
There’s no emotion in the question. He may as well be asking me for the time.
I shake my head.
We both know that it could only be one man. But I won’t say Ras’s name around him. I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.
“Look, I know this is not ideal,” I say.
“Understatement of the century.”
“Right. But I have a solution.”
His brows furrow, and he waits to hear what I have to say.
“Cleo will marry you instead of me.”
The mask he always wears falls away for one brief moment, and something vaguely hungry flashes inside his gaze.
I swallow. “She’ll take my place…if you’ll have her.”
Rafaele drags his palm over his lips. “She offered to do this?”
“Yes.”
A beat passes. “I see.”
Slowly, he extracts his other hand out of his pocket. I flinch, expecting him to do something to me with that hand, but he simply holds it out like he wants me to give him something.
“The ring.”
I blink. I’d thought I’d get more questions from him. What does this mean? Is this him saying he’s fine with marrying Cleo?
I hesitate for a second and then slide the heavy emerald ring off my finger and place it in his palm. His fingers curl around it.
He’s too calm about all of this.
Too calm about swapping his bride for a wedding that’s supposed to happen in three days, one his entire family is supposed to attend.
“So does this mean you accept?” I ask carefully.
He slides the ring into his suit pocket and casts me an impartial glance. “I already fulfilled my end of the deal with your father. If this is the only way he can fulfill his, then so be it. Cleo will be my wife.”
Relief fans through me. “Papà doesn’t know about any of this. We’ll have to tell him now.”
“I gathered as much since your father didn’t seem at all nervous when he arrived.”
Adrenaline buzzes beneath my skin. “Once we tell everyone, I have to leave,” I say. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m asking for a favor. If Papà tries to stop me, can you help? Just until I walk out the door.”
“Where are you going to go?”
I swallow. “To him.”
For a moment, Rafaele seems like he’s about to say no. Why would he help me? I’m the woman who just made his life more complicated. His reputation has painted him as a ruthless monster, but I think there’s far more to him than meets the eye.
Papà said he thought Rafaele had a strange moral compass. I’m not sure what that means, but while I wait for him to answer, I’m praying the arrow on that compass points in my direction.
Finally, he firms his jaw. “Fine. I’ll make sure you’re able to leave.”
I exhale a pent-up breath.
He moves to exit the office, but there’s one more thing.
“Wait!”
He pauses with his hand on the door handle. I feel like I’m tempting fate by asking so much of him, but I can’t leave this last thing unsaid.
“Please take care of Cleo.” My voice cracks. “I know she can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s clever, and funny, and insanely brave. Just look at what she’s willing to do for the people she loves.”
His fingers tighten on the handle. He throws me a look over his shoulder and makes the smallest of nods. “I fully intend to take care of my wife.”
Before he turns away, I catch something darkly possessive swirling inside his gaze. Something that makes my breath catch.
There’s no time to ruminate on that. Rafaele opens the door and motions for me to move. I brush past him, exhilaration, relief, and nerves all somehow churning in my stomach. When we reenter the private dining room, all eyes are on us.
I slide into my seat by Cleo’s side. She immediately takes my hand and laces our fingers together. I squeeze twice. It’s done.
Oh God. It worked. The weight on my chest slowly lifts, but a nagging thought at the back of my mind tells me that this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
We still have to break the news to everyone. And then, I have to find Ras and convince him to take me back.
Rafaele stops by the head of the table but doesn’t take his seat. “The engagement is off.”
My eyes widen. Wow, he didn’t waste a second.
There’s a collective gasp, followed by a loud thud as my father slams his fist against the table.
I flinch before I remember to take in a deep breath. I won’t let him scare me anymore.
The veins in Papà’s neck pop out. “What?”
“Take a breath, Garzolo,” Nero barks.
I turn my head and look at Cleo. She gives me a proud smile.
“You promised me a virgin bride,” Rafaele states matter-of-factly. “And Gemma is not a virgin.”
“Nonsense.”
“Garzolo, she admitted to it herself,” Rafaele says.
Papà’s head swivels on his neck, and he pins me with his narrowed, angry eyes. “She’s unwell. You know how she’s been ever since she returned to us. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I say firmly.
Nero clicks his tongue. “It seems to me like she’s quite in control of her mental faculties, Garzolo.”
Papà rises, his chair skidding behind him. “This is a misunderstanding. Let me talk to my daughter in private.”
Does he really think I’ll ever be alone in the same room as him again? That ship has sailed.
Vince and I stand up at the same time. My brother moves closer, as if to shield me if Papà tries to make a move.
“I’m done talking to you,” I grind out. “It’s already been decided. I won’t be marrying Rafaele.”
Papà tries to come closer, but Vince blocks his path. “Sit down,” my brother tells him.
Papà snarls at him. “Get out of my way. Gemma, what the hell is this? How dare you—”
Enough. I don’t want to hear his vitriol anymore. I’m so done with all of this. “How dare I? How dare you demand anything from me after what you’ve done? I spent my life trying to keep you happy, only to get beaten by you and emotionally abused by Mamma. You’ve never loved me. I don’t think you’ve ever loved any of your kids. I’m through with you. My only regret is that it took me this long to get here. And by the way, I’m pregnant.”
The room falls silent. Vince’s eyes widen, and Mamma covers her mouth with her hands. Rafaele’s family have the same pallor as a group of ghosts.
Papà looks at me with such hate that it takes everything in me not to glance away.
But I don’t. I hold his gaze so that I’ll never forget the kind of man he is.
He’ll never touch my child. He’ll never so much as lay eyes on my baby.
“Like I said, Gemma is no longer qualified to be my wife,” Rafaele says, annoyance dancing at the edges of his tone. I get the sense he’s eager to be done with all of this. “The stipulations in our contract were very clear. I’ve already delivered what I promised. I got you out of prison, and I got your charges dropped. This isn’t how I do business, Garzolo.”
“What do you want me to do?” Papà rasps, clearly panicking now. “I had no idea—”
“You owe me a wife.” Rafaele’s gaze coasts over to Cleo. “So I’m taking your other daughter.”
Nero laughs, but he’s the only one who seems to find the situation funny. There isn’t another smile to be found in the room.
Rafaele’s uncle sputters. “Everyone knows that girl is a slut.”
Cleo flinches, and Rafaele sees it. His expression darkens. “I’m aware there are rumors floating around about my future wife. Good thing they’re completely unfounded. From now on, anyone who speaks a word of them will lose their tongue. Have I made myself clear, Uncle?”
Cleo’s eyes are wide. I don’t think she expected Rafaele to stand up for her like that.
Rafaele’s uncle pales. “I didn’t know. I apologize.”
Nero grins and claps his hands. “The matter is settled then.”
I stand up, my thoughts already on how I’m going to find Ras.
“Go, Gemma,” Cleo says to me, her hand still holding mine. “It’s done.”
She’s right. We did it. I don’t know how, but we did it. And now it’s time for me to find the man I love.
I take a step toward the door. Then another.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Papà shouts. “Stop her!”
The driver who brought us here tries to block my path, but Rafaele’s men immediately grab him and pull him out of the way.
I look back over my shoulder and meet Rafaele’s gaze.
He nods, silently telling me I’m free to go.
It’s an act of kindness from a supposedly unkind man.
Hope for Cleo flickers inside of me, a single match to repel the darkness.
She’ll be okay with him. I know she will.
Papà starts shouting again, so I spin on my heel and flee.
I tumble out of the restaurant, my heart lodged in my throat.
I’m a tangled ball of fear, exhilaration, and anxiety. What if Papà calls his men to come after me? I have to put some distance between us. I have to disappear.
My feet move faster and faster until I’m sprinting down the sidewalk. I don’t stop until I’m completely out of breath.
I pop into a corner shop, get some change, and dial Vale from a phone booth. Before we left the house, I got her number from a phonebook Mamma still keeps in the kitchen, and wrote it down on the inside of my arm.
Her phone rings and rings. Is she ignoring me because it’s an unknown number?
My panic spikes. Calling her was just about the extent of my plan.
Please pick up.
Finally, there’s a click on the other end of the line. “Hello?”
“Vale!”
“Gemma?” she sounds surprised. “What number are you calling me from?”
“A phone booth. Vale, I need your help.”
“What happened?”
“I need to talk to Ras. Can you give me his number? I only had his US number, and actually, they took my cellphone away, so I don’t have it anymore, and neither does Cleo. I don’t know how to reach him. Something happened, Vale. Something I need to tell him about.”
“Whoa, slow down. Where are you?”
“In Chelsea. Vale, please, I need to talk to him. Is he with Damiano? Is he—”
“Gem, Ras isn’t here. Damiano hasn’t heard from him since he told him to come back to Italy.”
I frown. “Where is he then?”
“He’s still in New York.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Giorgio has been tracking him. He still has the same phone, and he’s in New York. He came back the day after you.”
My fingers squeeze the rubber cord. “He did?”
“Yes. I told Dem to get in touch with him, but he’s being stubborn about their little tiff. Gem, what did you do?”
“I called off the engagement.”
“You did?”
My throat tightens. “Yes. Vale, I’m in love with Ras.” For a moment, I consider telling her I’m pregnant, but there’s no time to explain everything, and I want Ras to know before anyone else hears, so I hold my tongue. “Look, I have to fix what happened between us. I have to see him.”
There’s a rustling sound. “Okay, hold on. Do you want me to give you his US number?”
“Please.”
She takes a few seconds to find it, each one feeling like eternity, and I dig inside my pocket for a pen.
“Okay, here it is.”
I write the damn thing on my arm right under Vale’s number. “Thank you. I have to go.”
“Wait, are you safe? Are you on your own?”
“I’ll call you.”
I hang up, my hands shaking as I dial the other number.
It rings and rings and rings.
I call ten times.
He doesn’t pick up.
“Damn it!”
He’s in New York. Where would he be? Who would know where he is?
My eyes widen.
Orrin.
