Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 43928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Rafe eyes me for a long, silent moment, a muscle in his jaw ticking. And then he mutters a curse. "You better fucking hope we can trust her."
"She's my wife," I growl. "We can trust her."
Rafe's expression morphs from disbelief to fury in a heartbeat. "Married? You're fucking married? When the hell did this happen, Mattia?" His voice is a lethal whisper, meant only for my ears, but it carries the weight of a looming storm.
"Three days ago," I answer, my tone level. I understand exactly why he's pissed that I kept it from him. After everything this family has been through, we don't keep secrets, not like this. And this isn't some small thing. It's major. He doesn't even know just how major it is yet, either.
I'm fully aware that when he does know the truth, things will never be the same between us again. He's been the closest thing I've had to a brother for as long as I can remember. It's going to hurt like hell to lose that. But I don't regret my choice. It was the right one. Even if he never agrees, I'll stand by it. Even if he kills me for it, I'll die with a fucking smile on my face because she's mine.
"It was necessary, Rafe. It ensured her safety—and ours. I'll explain everything, just not here."
"You didn't fucking think to mention this yesterday? Or, I don't know, at any point in the last three days?"
"It's complicated. Far more than you realize."
Before he can respond, Luca jogs toward us, his face a mask of frustration. "The warehouse is a total loss," he mutters. "But the fucking cops aren't playing nice. They have questions for us. I'll hazard a guess that ninety percent won't have anything to do with the warehouse." He pauses, glancing between the two of us as if only just sensing the tension. "Lover's quarrel?"
"Mattia got married three days ago and failed to mention it," Rafe growls.
Luca's eyes widen as he processes the news.
"You got married without telling any of us? What the fuck, Mattia? Didn't we just go through this shit with Domani?"
Before I can respond, Rafe's hand shoots up, signaling for Luca to back off. He turns back to me, his jaw set. "I'm calling a meeting. We'll deal with this then. Right now, we need to focus on the immediate situation." His voice is clipped, authoritative. The Capo dei Capi has spoken.
And he's mad as hell.
Unfortunately, I don't have high hopes that anything I tell him in the meeting is going to improve his mood any.
Cazzo. This is a fucking shitshow.
"Where were you on the night of April 12th, 2022, Mr. Valentino?"
"Enough!" Rafe growls, anger snapping in his eyes as he glares at the pair of detectives who have been grilling us for the last few hours. "You've insulted me, my family, and my business again and again, and I've tolerated it in the interest of justice. You insinuated that I burned down my own warehouse with no motive and absolutely nothing to gain, and I entertained every ridiculous question. Now, you've moved on to the same tired fucking questions I've answered for you a dozen times before. I'm not answering them again."
"Is that because you have something to hide?"
Rafe leans across the table, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he pins the younger detective with a menacing look. "No," he says, his voice level. "It's because if you're still asking me about Tommaso Genovese, you clearly have no fucking clue how to do your job, and you're just wasting my time."
"No one said anything about Tommaso Genovese, Mr. Valentino."
"You didn't have to say his name, Detective. A monkey fucking a football is more subtle," Diego Butera mutters, making Luca snort. He's the family lawyer. We called him as soon as it became clear that they were going to make us answer their fucking questions.
Any opportunity they can find to drag us in here to ask about Genovese, the man Rafe killed when he kidnapped Amalia, they're going to take. It's standard operating procedure around here. I'm sure it's probably in their fucking handbook at this point, immortalized in ink right beside their SOPs on only promoting corrupt pieces of shit to the highest ranks and looking the other way when one of their own violates the law.
This entire fucking organization is a cancer on this city. They call us criminals, yet they look in the mirror and think they're any different. It's laughable.
Rafe rises to his feet with a shake of his head. "We're done here. Unless you intend to slap cuffs on me—and let's be real, we all know that's not happening—you can go to hell. I didn't burn down my warehouse. I don't know where Genovese is. And the two of you couldn't detect your heads out of your asses if your lives depended on it."