Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
"When your mom died," she says, her expression softening with understanding. Her gaze flits to the portrait Coda and Domani just hung. "Maybe I shouldn't have demanded they hang it. I just found it and thought…."
"Leave it, Amalia. She deserves a place here."
Amalia smiles at me, her bright eyes and the pride in them melting another block of ice from around my heart. Yes, it still beats. For her.
"Come." I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together. "I promised you dinner. Let's go see what kind of damage you can do in the kitchen."
"I can cook," she says.
"Good to know." I lift her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. I doubt there's much she can't do. "But what kind of jailer would I be if I made you cook, tesoro?"
"Can you cook?" She casts a suspicious look at me, her eyes narrowed.
"Can I cook?" I scoff. "I'm Italian."
"Really?" She blinks wide, innocent eyes at me, giving me a smile so full of sugar, I know she's up to no good. "And here I thought you were French this whole time. Quick. Someone alert the media! Rafael Valentino runs the Italian mafia, not the French mafia!"
"Jesus Christ," Mattia mutters behind us.
Everyone else falls completely silent. They don't even seem to breathe.
I stare at her for a long moment and then laugh loudly. There isn't another woman in this city who would have the nerve to call me out so boldly, so freely. There aren't many men who would either. They might whisper it behind their hands, but they'd never have the balls to say it to my face. Amalia though…Amalia isn't like anyone else in this city. She’s unlike anyone anywhere. This curvy little queen is utter fucking perfection.
"Let's go, smart ass," I say, smiling indulgently. "I'm about to show you just how Italian I am."
Chapter Six
Amalia
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask me anything." Rafe smiles against my throat, his hands drifting through my hair. We're seated on a sofa on one of the back patios, the remnants of our dinner—an amazing mushroom gnocchi that Rafe cooked—on the table before us, the grounds of his estate sprawling out around us. The sun sinks slowly toward the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with color.
Rafe has his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie undone. He's relaxed. So am I, for that matter. It's hard not to be when he's been working his magic on my body for the last two hours…touching me, kissing me, showering me with affection and compliments.
Rafael Valentino is a charming, wicked man. I think this is who he is beneath the mask of cold indifference he wears to survive his world. This is the man he could have been had his life turned out differently…the one he keeps locked away, hidden from everyone. Oddly though, this isn't the man I'm falling in love with. At least not entirely.
I'm falling hard for both sides of him. The ruthless, autocratic king who takes what he wants without apology and the tender, affectionate lover who worships the ground I walk on. One sets my blood on fire with need. The other makes my knees weak with desire. I want both sides of him.
If that makes me selfish, I'll own it.
"Your twin," I say haltingly, not sure how to broach this subject. When I found the portrait, Coda and Domani seemed more worried about his reaction to Nico than to his mom. Whatever happened between them was big. And clearly unhealed. "What happened between the two of you?"
Rafe tenses for a moment and then slowly relaxes. "Our father," he says, pulling back. His eyes meet mine, hard and dark. Full of ancient pain. "Nico was always more like our mom, always too fucking smart to be stuck here. Our father had other plans. He wanted an heir. Neither of us wanted to follow in his footsteps, but he was willing to play dirty to get what he wanted."
I slip my hand into his, squeezing gently. Maybe it's wrong to think ill of the dead, but I can't help but think it of Lorenzo Valentino.
"Nico got a full-ride to Harvard," he says. "He wanted me to go with him." He glances out at the grounds, his shoulders slumped as if a great weight rests on them. "We wanted out so fucking badly, but I knew there was no way our father would willingly let us both go. So the day before we turned eighteen, I made him a deal. My future for Nico's freedom."
"Rafe," I whisper, stunned.
"I don't regret it, tesoro," he says, his voice flat. "Nico never forgave me for choosing our father over him, but I'd make the same choice. I'd turn myself into this all over again to keep him out of our father's hands." He turns back to me, hellfire burning in his eyes. "I'm not a good man, Amalia. I'm everything the rumors say. But he isn't. I made sure he'll never have to be."