That night, Rafaele spends a long time in the shower.
My suspicions about what he’s doing in there make my face heat, and when he comes out, I make sure I’m buried deep under my duvet on the ottoman.
I thought I’d done so well today, so why does it feel like I failed? He didn’t seem to care about all the money I spent, and somehow the day ended up with me standing in front of him in my underwear.
And touching his cock.
Fuck my life.
The worst part is that I felt an embarrassing wetness gather between my legs when I palmed his erection. He was very hard and very large.
I wait until I hear his breathing even out and then I dip my fingers inside my panties. Yep, still wet. I bite on my pillow and get myself off as quickly as I can, making sure I don’t make a single sound.
It’s a good thing Rafaele is out of the house for the next few days, coming home once I’m asleep and leaving before I wake up. I call Gem and Vale a few times to chat and use the rest of my free time to regroup.
On Friday morning, I read over my plan once again. It had seemed so well crafted initially, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t know him well enough to know which buttons to press.
I scratch out the bullet point about bankrupting him. It would take me far too long given how much money he has.
Would he care if I redecorated? It appears he barely spends any time at home. I scratch that one out too.
The dog idea is worth exploring, but I’d obviously have to be the one to take care of it, so I should think about whether I’m ready for that kind of commitment.
I wander into the bathroom to brush my teeth. There’s a Post-it note on the mirror in the bathroom.
“Pick you up at 7 pm.”
It takes me a moment to clue in. I had forgotten about the dinner. I pick up my phone and send him a text.
Where are we going tonight?
His response comes a minute later.
Il Caminetto.
Il Caminetto is one of the hottest restaurants in New York right now, and the rumor is it’s funded by mob money. But it’s all hush-hush since the owner is a big-shot movie producer, and he’s the official face of the restaurant group. If I had to guess, I’d say Rafaele is one of the investors.
Is he hoping to parade me around in front of his business partners?
Apprehension tunnels through me. I hate these dog and pony shows where daughters who are nearly of age and new wives are paraded around like some shiny trophies.
Whenever Mamma brought me to something like that, I always acted like I’d been raised by wolves. Eventually, she gave up altogether.
Maybe I should try the same tactic with Rafaele.
My phone buzzes with another message.
Wear that dress you showed me.
My cheeks heat. God, he’s such a bastard. Does he want to torture me by reminding me of what happened, or does he just get off on dictating what I wear? I’m not his fucking circus monkey.
My stomach growls, so I head to the kitchen to get a snack. No need to be hungry and angry. Sabina is sitting in the breakfast nook, doing some work.
She looks up from her notebook and rakes her gaze over me. “You went shopping. Didn’t you buy something decent to wear around the house?”
She has issues. I’m wearing a pair of booty shorts and a loose T-shirt. What’s wrong with that?
I grab an apple. “Get used to it.”
“Your parents didn’t raise you right, you spoiled, rotten girl.”
I take a bite. “They’d probably agree with you.”
“Do you know what they all say about you? The don’s relatives?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me all about it.”
“They say that once Don Messero gets tired of your body, he’ll toss you away and find himself a real lady for a wife.”
For some reason, that stings, even though I know better than to care about what people say about me.
“One can hope,” I mutter. Although, I’m not sure how he’s supposed to get tired of my body if I won’t let him touch me.
She scowls. “If I were you, I wouldn’t show my face in public. You’re a disgrace.”
“And you’re a miserable old hag. We all have our problems.”
She gasps and starts swearing at me, but I just walk away and go back to the bedroom. I don’t have time for her. I need to find my outfit for tonight.
The bloody sheets seem to have made no difference to how people perceive me. Maybe some suspected it was all a fraud.
Well, if they insist on calling me a whore, I’ll dress like one. The last thing I want anyone to think is that I give a fuck about their judgment.
I take off my clothes and select one of the couture dresses hanging in the closet. Calling it a dress is generous. It’s no more than some rhinestone fishnet material that leaves little to the imagination. Maybe it would be okay with some full-coverage underwear and a tank top, but instead, I grab a black lace panties and bra set from La Perla.
When I take in my reflection in the mirror, I know there is zero chance Rafaele will let me go out like this. But it’ll be worth trying just to see the look on his face.
Maybe he’ll finally snap and “find himself a real lady for a wife.”
Seven o’clock rolls around, and I totter out of the room in a pair of sky-high heels. From the top of the staircase, I see Rafaele lounging on the couch below, his phone in his hand. He got a haircut. He looks all neat and trimmed and fucking edible.
No, he doesn’t. You don’t find him attractive at all.
I take a deep breath and clutch the railing as I make my way down the steps.
His gaze snaps to me when I’m halfway down. I thought he’d look shocked, but the only visible reaction I spot is the slight narrowing of his eyes.
My steps slow. He’s going to tell me to go back upstairs and change, and I’d rather not do the full climb back up the steps in these heels.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he just goes right back to texting on his phone.
Heat creeps up my neck. Who is he texting that’s so important? Well, I can’t just hover here like an idiot. I take it step-by-step until I get to the bottom landing.
“Ready?” he asks when I stop in front of him.
“Yep.”
He stands, his body casting a shadow over mine, and gives me another distracted glance. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Suddenly, I’m worried this plan is going to backfire spectacularly.
He offers me his arm and leads me to the garage. There, he helps me into his Bugatti and takes the driver’s seat.
“Isn’t Sandro going to drive us?” I had assumed Sandro and Tiny would accompany us to the restaurant.
“It’s his night off,” Rafaele says as he starts up the car.
“We’re going to Il Caminetto, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you an investor?”
“I am. The owner is a friend of mine.”
I eye him suspiciously. So there are definitely going to be people there that he knows. I can’t believe he’s letting me go out looking like this.