He shook his head and took glasses out of the cabinet.
Over the next few hours, we drank wine, shared stories, and ate delicious food Raffaele had ordered from one of the city’s high-end restaurants. The vibe was so normal, so lighthearted, that I almost forgot who I was sitting with.
“You’re much nicer than I expected,” Eva said to me, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, Raffy didn’t exactly sell you well. He’s terrible at introductions.”
I laughed. “Yeah, he’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”
Raffaele shot us both a dry look. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Don’t worry, brother dearest,” Eva said, patting his knee. “We love you despite your grumpy disposition.”
“Speak for yourself,” I teased.
Raffaele’s lips twitched, and he almost looked like he was enjoying himself. It was a strange and fascinating thing to seehim so relaxed, playful even. There was almost no sign of the brooding, brutal, calculating man.
At some point, I dozed off. The room was warm, the wine had given me a pleasant buzz, and the sound of their voices had lulled me into unconsciousness. I woke briefly to the sensation of strong arms lifting me, and the smell of Raffaele’s cologne.
I blinked up at him, disoriented. “What?—”
“Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently, pulling the covers over me. He brushed my hair from my face, lingering for just a moment too long before he stepped back.
I wanted to speak, but my body was heavy with exhaustion. Before I could gather my thoughts, sleep claimed me again.
The next morning,I woke to the sound of Raffaele’s voice. “Vivian, it’s time to go.”
I sat up groggily, my heart sinking at his tone. The warmth from the night before had vanished, replaced by the cold mask I’d grown so accustomed to. “Already?”
“I have meetings,” he said shortly, not meeting my gaze. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
The drive back to the tear was quiet. Every glance at him—his rigid posture, his clenched jaw—made the ache in my chest grow heavier. By the time we stepped through the tear and into the woods near the estate, the silence had become unbearable.
“Why do you do that?” I blurted.
He stopped walking and turned to me. “Do what?”
“Put up this wall,” I said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Act like you don’t care about anything or anyone. Last night,you were... different. Personable. And now, you’re back to… whateverthisis.”
His eyes darkened, and I felt a wave of irritation and pain through the bond. “You don’t get to see that side of me. Not down here.”
“Why not?” I demanded, my frustration boiling over. “You can’t just switch between being decent and being a monster. Pick one.”
“Iama monster, Vivian. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. What you saw last night? That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want,” he said coldly, turning away and continuing down the path. “But don’t expect me to be something I’m not.”
His grief, anger, and frustration came through the bond, but he kept walking, his shoulders rigid, his pace unyielding.
By the time we reached the mansion, I felt like I’d been torn in two. The man I’d seen last night and the one walking ahead of me now couldn’t possibly be the same person. And yet, they were.
I glanced at him one last time before heading to my room. Who the fuck was Raffaele Gallanti? And why couldn’t I stop wanting to know?
33
RAFFAELE
The streets of my territory were alive with a symphony of muted voices, distant chatter, and the occasional laughter that filtered through the crisp morning air. It took longer than normal to adjust my illusion to my typical nondescript man with soft brown hair and unremarkable features. My magic continued to falter, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it except hope it wouldn’t get any worse.
