I glanced at him, his profile shadowed but sharp under the glow of a nearby streetlamp. “More than I realized,” I admitted, my voice almost drowned out by the city around us.
Raffaele nodded once, as if he understood more than I’d said. He veered toward a food cart parked at the corner. The vendor barely glanced up as Raffaele ordered two hot dogs and a pretzel.
When Raffaele handed me a paper-wrapped hot dog, I stared at it, then at him, the juxtaposition of this simple act against the complex, dangerous man I knew throwing me off balance.
“You’re not too good for street food, are you?” His tone, lighter than I’d ever heard it, was tinged with amusement.
“No,” I said quickly, the heat of embarrassment rising in my cheeks. “It’s just... unexpected. You don’t strike me as the street-food type.”
He raised an eyebrow, taking a deliberate bite of his own hot dog. “What type is that?”
“The type to enjoy anything normal.”
“You’d be surprised. Even I need a break from constant theatrics.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I took a cautious bite, savoring the salty, greasy goodness as we continued to walk. The rhythm of the city was a welcome change to the suffocating silence of Raffaele’s estate.
We turned down another street, this one quieter, lined with darkened shops and the occasional pool of light from a flickering streetlamp. As we passed a stoop, I spotted a homeless man bundled in layers of mismatched clothing, his face weathered and drawn. He clutched a cardboard sign that readAnything helps, God bless.
I expected Raffaele to walk past without a second glance. The mafia lord who ruled through fear and ruthlessness didn’t strike me as the charitable type. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slow his stride and glance my way to make sure I wasn’t watching. He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and dropped it in the man’s lap. The homeless man’s eyes widened indisbelief as he stared at the money, his weathered face breaking into a smile of gratitude.
“Thank you,” the man called, his voice hoarse.
Raffaele straightened and resumed walking, his expression as impassive as ever. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.
His emotions were a strange swirl of calm. I tried to reconcile what I’d just seen with the man I thought I knew, but it didn’t fit neatly into any of the boxes I’d placed him in.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“I’m just... processing,” I said carefully, not wanting to betray what I’d witnessed. “The city is a lot to take in.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You’ll get used to it.”
Somehow, I doubted that. As we continued walking, my thoughts lingered on the man behind the hundred-dollar bill. How much of Raffaele Gallanti was an act? And how much of him did I not understand?
Back at the penthouse,I settled onto the couch while Raffaele texted Eva. He muttered something under his breath about not avoiding one of her infamous tantrums if he didn’t tell her he had arrived.
“She’ll be over in five,” he announced, sliding his phone onto the counter.
“Should I be worried?” I asked, only half-joking.
“Always.”
The knock came exactly five minutes later, and Eva breezed into the apartment, all smiles and energy. She enveloped Raffaele in a quick hug before turning her attention to me.
“Vivian! How was your stroll in the city? Has Raffy bored you to death yet?” she teased, plopping onto the couch beside me like we’d known each other for years.
“It was… enlightening,” I said carefully, glancing at Raffaele, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Eva grinned. “That’s code for boring, isn’t it? Raffy has a way of making everything sound like a business transaction.” She turned to her brother. “You didn’t make her sit through one of your lectures about territory politics, did you?”
“I don’t lecture,” Raffaele replied coolly. “I educate.”
“Sure you do,” Eva said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Anyway, you’re lucky I came prepared.” She pulled out a bottle of wine from her oversized bag, holding it up triumphantly. “This calls for a proper girls’ night.”
Raffaele raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my apartment.”
“And?”
