Chapter 5: Dangerous Deception: Chapter 5

You’ve done it now, Adelina. You’re married.

The ring sits heavily on my finger as if trying to weigh down my entire hand. Despite my lack of expectation, seeing such a simple old band in Raffaele’s hand was a surprise. For a man with his kind of reputation, I did spend the morning wondering if he would get me something utterly extravagant. Part of me is disappointed, but I can’t pinpoint exactly why. This is a business transaction, after all, and there’s no love or feeling shared between us.

So why does it feel so strange?

Music flows around the banquet hall of the Varricchio estate, where we retired after the wedding ceremony. It’s three times bigger than my father’s estate, and walking up the steps to the front door, I was in utter awe of how many windows lined the walls. I couldn’t even count how many rooms this place must have.

The banquet hall is draped in colors similar to those of the wedding hall. Men and women I scarcely know mill around the dance floor, swaying in time to the music while alcohol flows from bottles to glasses as easily as one breathes. My father sits three chairs down from me at the head table, but he’s buried deep in conversation with a man I don’t recognize, leaving me with no one to talk to. Raffaele hasn’t spoken a single word to me since the kiss, but he lights up like a beacon in the middle of the crowd with a glass of Scotch in one hand and a small pastry in the other.

Monster.

The word bursts through my mind the next time I catch sight of him, and my stomach twists into knots, threatening to dislodge the few bites I had of the chicken that sits on my plate in front of me. It is too lemony for my tastes and it’s difficult to maintain an appetite in this situation. Raffaele smiles widely at something the man next to him says, displaying a row of perfect white teeth. They gleam against his golden skin and he raises one hand, pushing back a few strands of his ear-length blond hair. Despite his best efforts, a few strands escape forward once more. They skim along his forehead, waving back and forth as he laughs and throws that same arm around the shoulders of the man beside him.

How can he laugh like this?

How can he smile knowing he’s responsible for the deaths of countless of our own people? Does he have no conscience? Is there no part of him that even acknowledges the monstrous acts he commits that we all know him for?

Yet every person here treats him like a regular guy. Even my father didn’t seem particularly concerned when they met briefly at the limos after the wedding. I don’t know what they said to one another, but my father has been in a good mood ever since.

He keeps telling me how proud he is of me, and normally, this would warm me infinitely.

But I can’t get past Carlos.

I was supposed to marry him. We were going to get married somewhere sunny and warm. I would wear a pink dress, and he would wear a brown suit. We would eat all our favorite finger foods because finger foods are so much easier to eat on a stressful day.

I glance down at my plate.

Instead, I’m eating lemony chicken with small potatoes, some asparagus and a dollop of something orange, and marrying his killer.

Warmth beads behind my eyes as the urge to cry rises, so I try to distract myself by focusing on the single normal thing about this wedding.

Marie.

She’s utterly oblivious to everything else that’s going on, and while she murmured in my ear that she thought the color scheme was strange, in her eyes, Raffaele and I have married so swiftly because of passion.

She dances around the dancefloor in a peach-colored dress with a glass of sparkling champagne in one hand. Her hair flows behind her, her smile is wide, and her eyes sparkle with the gloss of one too many drinks. Marie has no idea she’s surrounded by one of—if not the—most powerful families in the city. Every single person except me and Marie is armed in some way. Countless guards posed as guests eye one another with suspicion while waiting for someone to make the first move. Even the wait staff who serve the food and wander the party offering refills are highly trained. I can tell by how they move and the speed at which my personal waiter caught my glass of wine when it nearly spilled on my dress.

My perfect wedding dress.

It feels more like a cage than anything.

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

While distracted by my turbulent thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that Raffaele was no longer on the dancefloor. Now, he stands beside me with his glass in hand and fixes me with a piercing look from his alarmingly intense green eyes.

I stare up at him, studying how the candles flickering on the table change his eyes from a hard jade green to a softer, mossy green. It would be attractive in anyone other than him.

“Not hungry.”

“Not to your liking?”

“Like you care.”

“You are my wife. Of course I care what you like to eat.”

“Bull crap.” I raise my voice slightly and attract the attention of a few nearby guards. “If you cared about that, you’d have involved me in even a fraction of the wedding planning. I’m as relevant as the toppers on top of that damn cake.” I glare briefly across the room to the three-tiered cake that’s as basic and generic as everything else about today. It’s as if he picked a package from a catalog and I just slotted into my role.

“Your father sent through a list of your likes and dislikes,” Raffaele replies quietly. “Was he wrong?”

Just as I’m about to look toward my father, I catch Marie’s eye. She’s stopped dancing and is watching me and Raffaele with a slight frown on her face. The last thing I need is to make her worry about me, so I quickly force a bright smile to calm her, then turn to face Raffaele.

“I don’t know,” I reply tightly, keeping my voice low. “Why don’t you ask my father?” Standing abruptly, the world around me sways dangerously and the several glasses of wine I drank on an empty stomach suddenly make themselves known.

Raffaele’s hand clasps at my elbow, and the touch is scalding, like I’ve just dunked my elbow into boiling water. Jerking away from the touch, I use the back of my chair for balance and step out from the table, and his hand lingers in the air for a moment, then returns to his side.

“Adelina—”

“Leave me alone,” I hiss through gritted teeth while keeping a perfect smile on my face, “or you’ll hear a truth or two you aren’t ready for.” Proud of my veiled threat, I turn and stride away as strongly as I can on kitten heels with four glasses of wine fuzzing the world around me.

Maybe I should get something to eat. Does Uber deliver to a place like this?

Worth a try.

I stride through one of the doors at the end of the room, and the change in the air hits like a slap in the face. The hallway is much cooler than the banquet hall, and breathing in is like the first crisp breath on a fresh winter’s morning. In fact, it feels like the first breath I’ve taken all day. Stumbling down the hallway, I head for the farthest door in the corridor. Pushing it open takes some effort, and I stumble inside. It’s a lounge room with a bar at one end and several chairs scattered between me and large windows that open out onto a vast patio. Flames burn outside in a fire pit, sending streaks of orange and yellow across the floor.

A quick scan of the room tells me there isn’t any phone in here, so the bar will have to do. I make it three steps when I hear that irritatingly fake, silky smooth voice once again.

“When the vows said we would share everything, this isn’t exactly what I envisioned.”

“Why are you following me?” I snap, not even bothering to look at him while I walk toward the bar.

“You’re wandering around my home,” Raffaele replies. “It wouldn’t be polite to let you do that before the tour.”

“Why, got something to hide?”

“What’s mine is yours,” he says, his voice distant as if he’s still at the door. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to see it all immediately.”

“Spoken like someone who has something to hide,” I mutter. “You got what you want, so how about you leave me alone, huh?” Reaching the bar, I try to grab one of the bottles from the shelf only to find that the bottle is rooted to the spot. I wrap both hands around the bottle and pull, but the glass remains steadfast to the wood. “What…?”

“Like I said.” Raffaele seemingly spawns next to me, and I jump in fright at his sudden heated presence. “You shouldn’t be doing this until after the tour.”

“What is this?” I mutter. “You lock down your booze?”

“No,” Raffaele replies. Suddenly, his warm hand slides over the back of one of mine. Rough calluses graze the back of my knuckles, and his touch burns like he’s running at a hundred degrees or more.

My arm tenses, and the urge to pull away rises like the lash of a whip, but I don’t. Instead, I watch as he uses his other hand to press a button underneath the shelf and the bottle suddenly lifts away in my grasp. Before I can secure it, however, he takes the bottle from me.

“Hey!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he says. “And I’m the one who managed to pick it up.”

“By using some kind of trick,” I mutter, stomping one foot as Raffaele moves to the bar and sets the bottle down.

“Not a trick.” Before the bottle settles on the bar, he tilts it and gives me a glance at the bottom. “Magnets.”

“Why the heck do you have magnets on the bottom of your bottles?”

“Why not?” He lifts one brow as he watches me. “Do you have any idea how rowdy it can get in a place like this? Having something like this prevents all my expensive liquor from toppling to the floor each time someone bumps into these shelves.”

I snort sharply. “Not surprised you have fighting in here,” I mutter. “Though it’s good to know your own men can’t stand you.”

“That’s your takeaway from that?” Raffaele seems unfazed by my comment. “Rowdiness doesn’t always mean fighting. Sometimes, things just get a little… excitable.”

“Whatever.” I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to know anything about him. I’ve already spent too long in his presence and an uncomfortable itch crawls over my skin. “Just give me the bottle.”

I lunge for it, and Raffaele swiftly slides it out of reach so that I stumble into him. He stands firmly like a board and doesn’t even flinch when I collide with him. My entire body flushes hot at the contact as rage churns in my gut and rises into my chest like smoke.

“Give!”

“No. You’ve had enough.”

“Who are you to tell me that? You’ve been drinking just as much as me.”

“And clearly handling it better.”

“How dare you!” I snap. Heat flushes my face, and after straining for the bottle, I jerk myself away from him. Warmth rushes down my spine like the prick of a hundred needles, and my frustration rises so quickly it feels like someone has my throat in their hand. “I need all the alcohol I can get my hands on if I’m to last married to someone like you!”

There’s a beat of silence as Raffaele and I stare at one another, then a slight smile curves across his lips. “Someone like me?”

“Yes! You’re a hateful, cruel bully of a man who does nothing but kill his own people and snatch up unsuspecting women because… because… well, I’m sure some part of you finds it amusing to leash some poor woman to your side for the rest of her life!”

“You’re angry at me,” he replies casually in the most infuriating tone. “Why?”

“Why? Didn’t you listen to a word I just said?” My hands fall into fists so tight that my nails cut into my palms, but the flash of pain is an afterthought to the rush of anger and irritation that wash over me. “I hate you, okay? Don’t mistake that. I hate you with every fiber of my being because you are utterly vile. You torture and kill everyone who gets in your way. One slight and there’s no chance of forgiveness, no chance of redemption! You’re just a power-hungry, greedy scumbag, and your overreaching for power is going to be your downfall!”

It all pours out of me like vomit, and tears sparkle in my eyes as I glare at Raffaele. Every hidden thought, every fear masked with anger, and every rumor I believe to be true about this man becomes my weapon to justify my hatred of him. I just can’t bring myself to mention Carlos. His name clogs in my throat, and deep down, I know that Raffaele won’t even know who he is.

To him, Carlos was probably just another face in a sea of many.

“Your father is the one who sold you,” Raffaele says, remaining as calm as ever. “Surely, you hate him as much as you hate me for buying you?”

My breath catches on the back of my tongue as I fight to keep a sob from escaping, and I take a step away from him as my tumbling thoughts catch up to his words. “My father is a great man,” I say hoarsely. “And he did what he had to do to save our family, so I respect that.”

“Do you?” In a flash, Raffaele is on me. He shoves me up against the wall, knocking aside a painting in the process, and he pins me there with his body, one hand on my hip and the other placed on the wall above my head. “Do you really respect that man?”

“Get off me,” I snarl, pushing both my hands against his broad chest and shoving to absolutely no avail.

“You come into my home, eat my food, drink my wine, and then spit in my face. And in the same breath, you praise your father for selling you because he did what he had to do.”

My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage like a rabbit trying to flee the talons of an eagle. Only Raffaele isn’t giving me space to escape. He cages me in, and each breath he takes fills the space between us. His eyes, gorgeous as they are, sparkle dangerously, and that same slightly smug smile rests across his lips.

I’m furious.

And at the same time, there’s something else curling through me. An unfamiliar heat flickers like the lick of a candle and sends a rush of confusing sensations through my chest.

“My–My father did what he could, made the best of a terrible situation,” I snap, although my words have lost a fraction of their earlier heat. “Something you’d know nothing about.”

“Is that so?” Raffaele says. His voice drops low into a velvety purr, and he leans an inch closer. “Tell me how we differ?”

“You create the terrible situations,” I snap. “You hurt people. Kill people. Everyone knows you’ve spent the past decade slaughtering people like sheep just so you can get a fraction of the power they hold.”

“Have I?” He tilts his head.

“Yes,” I gasp. That unfamiliar heat burns hotter as Raffaele leans another inch closer. He’s so close that I can make out a small scar under one eye and another along his jaw, peeking out from the shadow of hair covering his lower jaw.

“And if I was doing all of that to protect my family? To care for the ones I hold dear?”

“You don’t care for anyone,” I snap. My chest rises and catches as suddenly, Raffaele is close enough for us to be chest to chest. The spice of his cologne invades every inch of my lungs, much like it did back at the wedding ceremony, and the heat inside me burns so hot that my dress is suffocating me.

“I care. You just choose not to see it.”

“Someone who kills for pleasure like you doesn’t care,” I bite out past gritted teeth. “You’re a monster.”

“Then where is the line?” He tilts his head, and a few blond strands escape his hairline to brush across his forehead. “I kill to protect my family and I’m a monster. Your father kills and sells you, and he’s just doing what he can. That’s a double-standard.”

“Maybe,” I mutter, starting to pant from how tight my dress feels, how hot my skin is and how fast my heart races. “But the difference is, I know you’re a monster. You’ve wiped out entire families. At least my father is trying to save ours.”

“I can see we won’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, my darling wife⁠—”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap angrily.

“Why not?” Raffaele’s hand suddenly darts up from my waist to lightly grasp my throat, and my heart pounds painfully. It’s a brief touch, then he slides his palm to the side of my neck and uses his thumb just under my chin to tilt my head up. “It’s what you are now, and I have very few rules, Adelina, but there is one you will follow if you want to survive here.”

“Oh, yeah?” I narrow my eyes. “And what’s that?”

“Call me a monster all you want. But you are a Varricchio now. I am owed your respect and loyalty.”

“I don’t respect people I hate.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“I do!” Frustration swells inside my chest like a balloon. “Are you not listening to me?”

“If you hate me so much, why did you stop trying to push me away?” His eyes dart down to where my hands remain pressed against his chest, but there’s no force behind them anymore.

There hasn’t been since that strange warmth bloomed inside me. Instead, my hands have just been resting there. I can feel his heart beating fast under my palm, and warmth radiates from him like he’s some kind of beacon. I have no response for him.

I glance up from my hands and our eyes lock once more.

“You—” My words are swallowed by the unexpected press of his lips against mine. In a fraction of a second, my mind goes completely blank. All my arguments vanish into nothing. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe as he kisses me deeply and shoves his tongue into my mouth like he’s trying to consume me. His thumb slides down the middle of my throat and his body presses firmly against mine. One shift and he’s sliding a leg forward between mine.

Then his thigh presses upward and it suddenly hits me like a jolt of lighting what that unfamiliar heat inside me is.

I’m turned on.

Like, incredibly turned on.

What the hell?

There’s no way. This has to be a mistake. It must be the alcohol or the confusion of the day or something. There’s no way I’m turned on because of Raffaele, surely!

But it’s there. His thigh presses up between my legs, and a sultry roll of pleasure immediately punches through me. It takes all my self-control not to roll my hips down, but it’s a struggle. Now that I’m aware of how turned on I am, it consumes me. I’ve never been turned on this fast before, or in this way. Usually, it takes a long time for me to get going and a lot of preparation throughout the day.

Now here I am, with my core aching and heat blooming through me after one argument with Raffaele.

He deepens the kiss for a moment, and I grip his shirt, intending to shove him away. But I don’t. I keep him there, and my mind melts into the heat of his lips and the warmth of his body. Muscles ripple under the fabric as he shifts against me, tilts his head to change the angle of the kiss, and presses his thigh up harder between my legs.

This time, I can’t stop the slight moan that escapes me, and then it’s over.

Raffaele steps away swiftly, and I sag forward an inch, panting in surprise that the kiss is over, his leg is gone, and I’m left feeling utterly rumpled with nothing to show for it.

Stunned, I glance up into Raffaele’s eyes and he smirks. “Looks like I know you pretty well, after all.”

“Huh?” My mind is sluggish, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s leaving. “Wait, you’re just going to⁠—”

“Going to what?” He lifts his brow and looks infuriatingly innocent. “You hate me, remember? I have a party to host. Clean yourself up and then you should join me.” With that, he strides away and leaves the room.

Coldness sweeps in to fill the space he left in front of me as a rush of confusion coils through me.

What an asshole.

Did he really just… One minute, I was furious at him. The next, I was putty in his hands. How did that even happen? Where did my anger even go?

It simmers beneath my skin while I stumble against the bar to catch my breath. My core aches, and I’m so turned on that even walking those few steps to the bar was torture. I drop my head to the bar, nestling my face into the crook of my elbow while my other hand finds its way under my dress and into my panties.

I’m soaked through and a single touch to my clit makes my gut clench in a powerful roll.

Another touch and I come with a gasp, muffling my moan by biting into my arm until my legs turn to jelly. I collapse to the floor with a gasp and a moan, working myself quickly through an orgasm so intense that for a few seconds, I can’t breathe.

Dammit.

I hate that guy.