Page 88 of Vicious Intentions
As for the implication that I’m in love with Anna, and that she’s already given her heart to him? I call bullshit on that. Whatever feelings were there for Raffaele before, I doubt they can compete with what Anna and I have shared this past year. Right?
Raffaele knows the damage is done just by the way Anna suddenly goes silent.
“I’m sorry that you two are still not getting along. It’s hard when the people who matter most are the ones who hurt us,” she says, her voice so low I almost can’t hear it. “I should go. Everyone should be up by now.”
“Yeah, I should get some shut-eye too,” Raffaele says with a yawn. “Talk to you soon, beautiful.”
“Yeah, okay.” That’s all she says before ending the video call.
Rage floods me as I rush at him, grab the handles of the chair, and lean in close to his face. “Deal is off. If you think I’ll ever let you talk to Anna again, you’re fucking delusional.”
“Keep your fucking phone calls. I don’t need them anymore,” he says, pushing me out of the way and flinging the phone onto my desk.
I let him step away from me, because I might just punch the idiot if I keep staring at his smug face.
“I got what I wanted,” he singsongs. “Good luck on getting Anna to fall in love with you now, asshole.”
Raffaele tosses a middle finger over his shoulder as he struts out, leaving me to deal with the fallout of the atom bomb he just dropped.
Chapter 19
Annamaria
Eighteen years old.
Snow falls quietly beyond the backyard lawn as I sit at the grand piano, arms crossed over its gleaming surface, my chin resting on folded wrists. Music refuses to come to me today. Strange, considering I spent most of the night awake, too exhilarated by Raffaele’s gift to think something as trivial as sleep deserved my attention.
All that excitement vanished after that weird phone call I got from him this morning, though. Part of me wishes I hadn’t insisted on seeing him at all. Somewhere along the way, the version of Raffaele in my head had evolved into someone else entirely. Someone older. Wiser. A man layered with a depth the boy I once knew didn’t possess. A man unafraid to show his softness, even if his edges were still sharp as razor blades.
Still, that illusion was shattered the second we FaceTimed. He wasn’t transformed. He wasn’t some newly matured version of himself. He was still Raffaele. Still the same reckless,charming rascal I befriended at thirteen. And that should’ve been fine. That version of him had always been safe. Predictable. With him, my feet stayed firmly on the ground.
The one who’d been texting me nonstop since we reconnected last spring was different. He made the air feel thinner. Made my pulse stumble. Sometimes it felt like my heart only knew how to beat properly after seeing his name light up my screen.
So why does it feel like I just lost something precious in that single phone call? Is it because seeing Raffaele in real time reminded me that words typed in the quiet of night don’t always translate into who someone is during the day? Maybe he hasn’t yet become the man I imagined. Maybe the version of himself he shows through a screen is simply easier to curate than the one he lives out loud.
God, now I’m making excuses for him. The thought alone makes my stomach twist.
One minute I’m defending Raffaele, the next I’m questioning everything I know about him.
But what was that, really?
Last night, he made a string of excuses about why he couldn’t video chat with me. Said he was too busy with family obligations to make the call. Then this morning, he casually mentioned going out and partying all night. So which one is it? Which version of the truth am I supposed to believe?
Then again, why should it be any concern of mine? He’s a single twenty-year-old living in the city that never sleeps. What else did I expect him to do with his free time? Sit around the house and think about me all day?
The very fact that the thought even crossed my mind makes my cheeks burn in embarrassment.
Come on, Anna. Get over yourself.
“That’s the fifth sigh I’ve heard since you sat down,” Stella calls from behind me.
“Is it? I wasn’t counting.” I let out another sigh, turning my head toward her as I slump further over the piano.
Stella slides in beside me on the bench and mirrors my posture, resting her chin on her folded arms next to mine.
“Sounds like boy trouble to me.”
“Is it that obvious?”
