Rafeale's POV

I turned from the courtyard into the villa as the Dons turned to each other, whispering about Vincenzo's death. I spread the note in my hands, reading through it again.

“One down. The rest soon to follow. La Confraternita Nera will bleed, just as I did. See you soon, brother. You brought this upon yourself. Much love, your loving brother, Nicollo, reporting from the afterlife.”

But how was this possible? How could Nicollo be responsible for killing Vincenzo? Nicollo was dead. Dead for more than ten years now. And I was the only one who was supposed to know that, only I, no one else.

It couldn't have been the lady. No matter how hard she had investigated, even if she knew about me before today, she wouldn't have known of Nicollo's death, nor would she even know he existed.

I looked back at the Dons, all gathered in the courtyard. It couldn't be them either. They had been working for me for years, and sure, they would have the time and resources to dig into me, but even they couldn't have gotten hold of that history, because it was old and buried, completely erased from existence.

I stared at the note again, reading through the lines. So just who was doing this? Who?

“I heard the killer left a note. Is that it?” Lorenzo asked behind me, thrusting his head over my shoulder to peer at the note.

The bastard just refused to grow up. Sometimes I wonder why I still keep him. I squeezed the note into a ball and shoved it into my pocket. “Yes, it is.”

“Let me see it,” he tugged at my arm gently, pestering me like always, behaving like a junior brother, when we weren't even related, and we were practically age mates.

I shrugged off my arm and I crossed into the elevator, not after slanting him a hard stare, reminding him of our relationship, boss, and employee, and not some damn elder and younger brothers. He was just my double, a persona to fool the FBI and the world, should they infiltrate my empire, and nothing more.

The heat in my eyes was supposed to keep him back, yet the bastard jumped into the elevator with me. I was preparing to shoo him out when she ran in too.

For the thousandth time since yesterday, a corner of my chest lurched at the sight of her. I sucked in a quick breath when she raised those hazel-green eyes to me once again.

They were the most beautiful pair I have ever seen, soft yet tenacious, ambient yet bright. They flipped on me, bouncing gently from fear or caution.

I had always fed on fear, always preyed on it, always pushed people to the depths of their fears, and made them fear me. Yet, for some reason, I didn't want her to fear me like others. I didn't want to prey on her fears. I didn't want those hazel-green pairs to cower in fear at me.

I dragged my eyes to the top of her head. “What do you want, Isabella?” I demanded, making my voice tough and cold.

She bit at her lower lip. Those same pink bundles I feasted hungrily on yesterday, kissed to the point, mine ached. I wanted to reproach her for hurting her own lip, but she saved me the trouble when she finally spoke.

“I need to see the note the killer left. I think it would help me find him faster.” She begged.

I shook my head, “No way, Isabella.”

The elevator clinked with a loud ding, and the door opened behind her. I walked past her, into the room, and she ran after me.

She clutched my arm, pulling me back. “You have to understand, Rafeale, without that note, I can't find the killer. It is the only clue that can help me find the killer.” She begged again.

I wanted to shake my head and tell her “no way,” again, but the quiet terror that captured those hazel-green eyes stopped me. For a moment, I would have said "okay" and handed her the note. But I knew the risk. I couldn't let her know of Nicollo. I couldn't let anyone know.

I shrugged my arm from her grip and just turned away from her, continuing to my bedroom. The sloppy patter of feet behind me told me she was coming for me again. “Rafeale, Rafael, please wait,” she called.

Why wouldn't she just let me rest? I spun around to her then, my teeth jarring with fury. “Stop calling my name.” I barked.

She retreated a foot back, cowering from me. The exquisite pair of her eyes jittered as they rested on me. “Stop calling my name, or that will ensure your death faster before the seven-day ultimatum even reaches. Call me anything but my name.”

I traced the smooth column of her throat as she swallowed hard, eyes still jittering. “I am sorry, then,” she said, her voice was low, yet a little tough. She was terrified of me, yet she tried not to make that completely obvious and hold tight to her pride a little.

And why the hell were my lips curling into a smile as I stared at her? I quickly whip the smile from my face, making it as cold as ever.

“So what should I call you?” She asked, cautious, biting hard at her lips, hurting that perfect pink and kissable bundle again.

“Just stop it,” I growled at her.

“Stop what?” low and cautious again.

“Stop biting your lips.”

“But they are mine.” She fired back gently, releasing her lip at the same time. “Can't I get to decide how I use them now?”

I wanted to argue, but realizing how stupid that would make me sound, I just turned around and continued to my bedroom. “Get out of my penthouse, Isabella. Get out before I change my mind about your fate.” I said over my shoulder.

And boy, was she tenacious? Her feet slapped the tiles behind me again.

Lorenzo stopped her this time, trapping her against the nearest wall with his bigger body. “You heard what the boss said, leave him alone, and get on about finding the killer,” he said. He caught her jaw and tilted her face up. He leaned in. “If you don't want to end up like Vincenzo, I’d advise you to be careful around here, spy.”

She shrugged off his hand from her jaw, tilting her head up, a little defiant at him. But he just grabbed her jaw again, tightening his grip.

“I just want to access the note. It is the only way I can find the killer. Without it, I am sunk.”

He flipped a lock of the dark, wavy auburn hair cloaking her right eye, and he leaned in closer. “Darling,” he whispered, breathing on her ear. “Nobody cares if you get sunk or not. Nobody around here gives a damn about you.”

My blood boiled as I watched him lean closer to her. I stared down at myself to find my fists trembling beside me, as I watched them. For hell’s sake. I screamed at myself in my head. Why does it seem like I am jealous? Why do I suddenly want to rip Lorenzo apart for being that close to her?

I returned my eyes to them, only to see Lorenzo's arm firmly on her waist, the largeness of the shirt and pants she wore flapping against his body.

She held his heated gaze as he pressed a knife to her neck. “Now run along, bitch, and go do what you are asked to do, before I am tempted to kill you.”

Something about the way he held her waist finally caused me to snap, and I charged for them. I pinched the tip of his knife, and I pushed it back. Then I snatched her wrist and pulled her to me, holding her to my body. The tenderness and warmth of her body were nothing short of sublime as she pulsed against my body. Hell, this was fucking good. So fucking good. I felt like holding her forever like this.

Lorenzo turned to me, gaze quizzing.

“She is mine, and only I have the right to decide what happens to her and doesn't, and only I get to put a knife to her neck. Is that clear?” I demanded, brows cocked high, awaiting my answer.

He looked from her to me, and he shook his shoulders and sheathed his hunting knife. “That was quite clear, boss.” He answered.