Page 41 of Vicious Intentions
“Is all that excitement for the ballet?” I goad.
“What?” he says, startled. “Oh. That. Yeah, whatever. I might have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Plans that don’t concern you,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to make my mother flinch.
That does it. That fucking does it.
“Rafe, a word,” I say calmly before pushing back from my seat.
His only protest is a pointed sigh before he sets his phone on the table and follows me into the other room.
“What?” he says, like he’s talking to his buddies from school.
He’s not. And it’s time I remind him who the fuck he’s actually talking to.
Once I’m sure we’re out of earshot of the kitchen, I shove him back against the wall and pin him there, my forearm pressing beneath his chin. His eyes widen in shock.
“I’ve been patient with you,” I say calmly. “More patient than you deserve, brother. But I’m done tolerating your mouth. You will show me respect, because unlike you, I’ve earned it in this family.”
The tips of his ears turn pink as his steel-blue eyes darken to a dangerous shade of gray. “You haven’t earned jack shit from me, Matteo.”
“Is that so?” I taunt. “Tell me, have you not enjoyed every luxury afforded to you by this family? Have you not lived an easy life under this roof because of how I’ve protected you?”
“You never protected me,” he dares to spit back. “That was all Carlo.”
I press my arm on his throat a little harder and state coldly, “My body carries more scars from lashes meant for you than you will ever know, Rafe. Carlo may have looked out for you when it came to the Cosa Nostra, but do not delude yourself, baby brother. You remain unmarked because of me.” His breath stutters. “If Ginevra had gotten her way, you would have been set on fire in the very crib you slept in as a baby. So don’t you dare look down on me when you’re standing on my shoulders.”
“You’re lying,” he mutters, his fingers digging into my forearm.
I loosen my hold on his throat just enough to let him breathe and continue, “Believe what you want. I no longer care.” My voice hardens. “What I do care about is that you do not raise your voice when our mother is in the room. I will not have her triggered or further traumatized because you have a chip on your shoulder and a bone to pick with me. Give me your disdain all you want, but from here on out, you will conceal it better.” I lean in, making sure he hears every word. “I don’t want to see it in your eyes. I don’t want to hear it in your voice. I’ve had enough of your arrogance. I will no longer tolerate it. Is that understood?” Raffaele’s nostrils flare with contempt, but he nods all the same. “Good,” I say, releasing him. “Now go get ready. Nico is taking you on a job this morning.”
“And what will you be doing?” he asks, unable to mask the venom in his voice.
“That is none of your concern. Get ready, then come downstairs and apologize to our mother. And Rafe, youarefree tomorrow afternoon, and you will come to the ballet. Is that clear?”
This time, he restrains whatever snarky remark is on the tip of his tongue and storms upstairs to gather his things.
When I return to the kitchen, my mother is once again humming softly as she washes the breakfast dishes. Niccolò is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s likely in his room getting ready as well.
I’m about to also head out when my attention is drawn to Raffaele’s phone, abandoned on the kitchen table. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I pick it up and see a text from Annamaria waiting on the screen.
Anna:I know. I was terrified, but it’s okay now. Everyone’s back, and Stella’s injury isn’t as serious as we thought.
Damn it. So much for my holiday cheer.
The word injury has me scrolling through the thread, and I quickly find out that Stella Romano was shot during her abduction.
Interesting. For the Outfit not to retaliate over something like that means there’s more happening behind the scenes than I’m aware of.
I continue to scroll through the text thread and notice how it was my brother who first brought up Annamaria’s siblings being kidnapped. Up until that point, she hadn’t mentioned it at all, which tells me everything I need to know. Whatever kind of bond she and Raffaele share, her true loyalties lie with her family. My jaw clenches when I realize I can’t say the same about my brother.
I keep scrolling, searching for anything Raffaele might have said that could cause problems for our family, when I come to an abrupt halt at a message that makes my blood run cold.
Annamaria was assaulted at her school before Thanksgiving break.
I read how my brother offers himself as a shoulder for her to lean on, and I find myself begrudgingly impressed by the girl’s composure. Her messages remain measured and eloquent, revealing very little of what the experience must have cost her. If the assault traumatized her, she does not say so.
