Rafael

The moment my boots touched California soil, the air hit me like a brick. It smelled the same like sea salt, gasoline, and dust. The same place I’d fled seven years ago after the bullet grazed my ribs. That incident had left me emotionally scarred. I wasn’t running from pain. I was running from the weakness it exposed.

Now I was back but it was because Nonna was dead. At least, it was part of the reasons why I came. My grandmother, my last tie to this place, had left me everything, including the estate, the legacy and her position as the family matriarch.

And now I had to carry the burden and responsibility of it all. I told them not to bother with the grand welcome. There should be no guards or entourage or a fanfare. I asked them to just leave the car by the hangar. I didn’t want the attention, when I still didn’t know who wanted me dead or what I’d do with all this heaviness packed neatly inside me.

But it had been an hour and there was no car. The wind was picking up, blowing dust across the tarmac, the sky darkening like it was warning me. I pulled my coat tighter and tapped my phone, thumb hovering over Matteo’s contact. If anyone could screw up a simple pickup, it was my brother. I made my way out of the hangar and walked straight down to the nearest bus station.

Just as I turned, I heard a voice behind me and when I turned, I froze. She stood a few feet away, framed by the stormy sky like some damn painting. Long, dark chocolate hair danced around her face, curling at the ends and the wet parts sticking to her skin. Her face was round and soft, with freckles kissed across her button nose. Rosy cheeks made her look like she belonged in a winter fairy tale. But it was her eyes that struck me as they were green, wide, and foxy, glinting with a kindness I hadn’t seen in years.

She was short. Maybe five-foot-three. She was not thin, but curved like poetry, hourglass and grounded, like she didn’t need stilettos or designer clothes to own the earth beneath her feet.

And she smiled, but for the first time, it didn't seem like it was because she wanted anything from me. It was not because I was Rafael Valdrighi. She invited me into a restaurant that I believed she worked in. I could have refused. Hell, I would have. But the way she looked at me, determined as fuck made me have a rethink.

When she snapped again, I blinked. No one ever talked to me like that. Most people looked the other way. Some hid their kids. The brave ones nodded and stepped aside like I was royalty, or worse, a monster.

But she tilted her head and waited. I grunted, because I didn’t know what else to do.

She led me to a small diner that looked like it’d survived generations. It smelled like fresh bread and tomatoes simmering with herbs. She sat me down like she did this often, feeding lost men.

I didn’t say much. I didn’t need to. She filled the silence with soft chatter, asking nothing, demanding less. She was warm and comfortable but I wasn’t, because I wasn't used to interactions like this except someone needed something from me.

The soup tasted like home. The tea calmed something beneath the surface. I kept looking at her. She kept rambling and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it but that was just before a woman with too much makeup barged in.

Her blonde hair was stiff on her head and her face looked like if she smiled too much, her makeup would be ruined. She began to yell something about how giving me food without collecting money was stupid of her.

She didn’t flinch, despite all the insults, but I did. Not visibly. But something in me curled and coiled. I got up before I did something stupid, but I made sure I caught her name before I walked out.

Miabella. It was a beautiful name.

The estate hadn’t changed much. A bit more gray at the edges, a few more cracks in the marble floors, but it still smelled just like it always did. I was aware Matteo was already here, probably draining Nonna’s wine cellar like it was his birthright. I didn't care about any of that. All I needed was access to her position so I could start my investigation. So, I headed upstairs to claim a room. As I pushed open the door to what used to be my suite, I heard groaning.

"That so freaking good. I didn't know your mouth could do things like this, baby."

Matteo was lounging like a king on the edge of sofa, while a blonde bombshell sucked him like she was auditioning. Her head bobbed up and down with so much force.

He looked up and smirked. "Welcome home, fratello."

I turned my back. "I thought your bride was a brunette."

He chuckled. "Who I sleep with is none of your business, man."

I stepped into the room. The door slammed behind me. "You disgust me."

He stood, zipping up without shame. "Don’t be so dramatic. You’re just mad because you ran away, coward."

"I didn’t run. I escaped death. There’s a difference."

"Yeah? Then why did it take seven years to come back? Nonna begged for you. Every damn Christmas."

My jaw tensed. "I came when it mattered."

"You came when it was too late. I'm pretty sure you didn't just show up because of my wedding either. So much for being a brother."

I didn’t answer. I walked out, down to the basement gym. The one place in this godforsaken mansion that wasn't out for my life. I ripped off my coat and started pounding the weights like they owed me something.

Push. Lift. Sweat. Breathe. Repeat. Over and over until the rage dulled.

When I was done, I walked into the kitchen, bare chest damp with sweat, and reached for a bottle of water. The silence felt better than Matteo’s taunts. But just as I twisted the cap, the doorbell rang.

The staff was nowhere and Matteo was probably busy screwing some other maid. So I answered it. When the door opened, I almost lost my balance. Before me stood Miabella, in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair tied up and face flushed from the wind. Even prettier than I remembered earlier tonight. Only this time, her green eyes glared at me with anger.

Her eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

I blinked. "Who the hell are you?"

She stepped forward, eyes locked on mine. "You have such nerves to be able to stand there and ask who I am. Didn't I help your ass about two hours ago while you were getting whooped by the rain? I came here because I'm supposed to be here."

The pieces clicked. Perhaps, she was one of the new maids Nonna had hired before her death. I looked at her differently now. Miabella wasn’t just kindness wrapped in freckles and warm soup. She was very hardworking too.

I had no idea what staying together in the same house would bring, but I was ready to face it head-on.