Maxwell tries to push him away, but the attempt is pathetic. Raffaele barely moves.
“I didn’t touch her,” Maxwell argues quickly, the bravado already leaking out of his voice. “It was Sabrina.”
Raffaele’s gaze flicks briefly toward my sister before returning to Maxwell. The look in his eyes makes my stomach twist with something that feels dangerously close to fear.
Slowly, Raffaele slides his hand inside his coat. For a split second, I think he’s adjusting something. Then the black grip of a gun becomes visible in his hand. He doesn’t raise or point it, he simply lets Maxwell see it.
The change in Maxwell is immediate. The color drains from his face as his body goes rigid.
“You don’t touch what belongs to me,” Raffaele says in the same calm tone he used inside the office, as though he’s discussing a minor business matter instead of holding a man pinned in place with a gun inches from view. “And you don’t laugh about it.”
He releases Maxwell abruptly, making him stumble. Only then does Raffaele turn back to me. The violence that filled his posture a moment ago disappears as if it were never there. He crouches slightly and offers me his hand.
“Come on,” he murmurs, offering me his hand, his voice calm in a way that feels dangerous. Once I’m back on my feet, he holds me tight against him. “You okay?”
Too raw to form words, I just nod.
“You want to know why I hate you.” Sabrina’s cold words make me shiver against Raffaele. “It’s because you stolemydad from me.”
I struggle against Raffaele’s hold until he lets go. “How can you even say that?” I ask, tears making it hard to see her. “Dad’s suicide hurt all of us. But no one was to blame.”
Unlike the romanticized suicides you see in movies and TV shows, Dad didn’t leave a note behind. There were no last words, no closure. He did it while we were all sleeping, making sure his corpse was the start to our morning.
I still remember Mom’s white face, Sabrina’s sobs of despair, and the helplessness I felt. If I’m honest, I think that’s when everything started going wrong. Something about Dad’s death changed all of us—most of all Sabrina.
“Now,” Raffaele says, his tone almost casual, the kind of calm that makes people listen. “Let’s discuss business.”
I blink at the abrupt change, my hand back to touching my throbbing cheek.
“What business?” Sabrina asks warily.
“I want to buy your half of the estate,” Raffaele states.
“No,” I interject, touching his arm. “You don’t have to—”
He silences me with a look that leaves no room for argument. His attention returns to Sabrina. “Name your price.”
Sabrina’s eyes narrow, calculating. The fear is still there, but now there’s something else—greed. She sees an opportunity, and despite what just happened, she’s not about to let it pass.
“Two million,” she says, lifting her chin.
I choke on air. Two million dollars? For half of a small bakery in Cleveland? It’s an absurd, outrageous sum that no sane person would…
“Done,” Raffaele says without hesitation, like two million dollars means nothing to him.
Sabrina’s mouth falls open, clearly not expecting him to agree so easily. Maxwell looks up sharply.
“You’re not serious,” I whisper to Raffaele. “That’s insane.”
“It’s a steal,” he counters, his eyes never leaving Sabrina. “I’ll have the papers drawn up by tomorrow. Be at my lawyer’s office at noon to sign.”
“Fine,” Sabrina agrees, her voice shaky but determined. She grabs Maxwell’s arm, pulling him toward their car. “Noon tomorrow.”
As they leave, I stand frozen, trying to process everything that just happened. The slap. The deal for two million dollars. It’s too much, too fast.
Raffaele’s hand settles on my lower back, warm and steady. His other hand comes up to gently touch my reddened cheek, his expression turning murderous.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft now, concerned.
