Chapter 3
Raffaele’s tattooed fingers dug into the narrow seam of the heavy wooden panel, his muscles coiling tightly beneath his tailored suit. But before he could rip the boards away, a shadow fell across the threshold of the bridal suite.
Bianca Castellano stepped into the room.
At forty-four, Raffaele’s older sister was a portrait of calculated, aristocratic elegance. She wore a stunning, formal navy dress that complemented her fair, rosy skin. Heavy diamond earrings caught the sunlight, and expensive rings flashed on her fingers as she gripped her evening clutch. She carried herself with the untouchable arrogance of a woman born into ultimate power.
"Raffaele, what on earth is all this noise?" Bianca asked, her American accent crisp and commanding. "The guests downstairs are beginning to wonder where you—"
Her voice died in her throat.
Raffaele remained crouched over the lifted panel, his hands gripping the wood. He did not look at the trapped hand beneath the floor. Instead, he slowly turned his head toward the doorway. His dark, cold eyes locked onto his sister.
Bianca stood exactly where she had been watching from the threshold, but her composed, arrogant expression collapsed like a house of cards. The color drained completely from her flawless face. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly, her breathing becoming visibly shallow as panic seized her lungs.
"Bianca," Raffaele said. He spoke slowly, emphasizing the agonizing pause between his words. His volume was a deadly, quiet whisper. "Why is my bride underneath the floor?"
Bianca swallowed hard, her diamond earrings trembling as she forced herself to meet Raffaele’s eyes. She knew her brother. She knew the monster that lived beneath his movie-star charm.
"Evelyn ran away," Bianca stammered, her voice nervous and desperately defensive. She took a half-step backward, her high heels clicking loudly against the hardwood. "You know that, Raffaele. She left a note. She abandoned the family."
"Did she?" Raffaele asked softly, his gaze slicing through her pathetic lies.
"Yes! She didn't want this life!" Bianca insisted, her voice rising in pitch as she pointed a manicured finger toward the maid. "Anna, get out of here right now. This is family business."
Anna remained pressed against the wall, too paralyzed by fear to move.
"No one leaves," Raffaele commanded, his voice barely above a breath, yet it struck the room with the force of a gavel. He looked back at his sister, his sharply defined jawline tightening. "You told me she took a flight to Paris. You showed me the boarding pass."
"She did!" Bianca cried, her rosy complexion now mottled with frantic fear. "I don't know what kind of sick trick this is, but you need to close that floor, Raffaele. The capos are waiting for you!"
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"The only thing waiting for me," Raffaele murmured, turning his attention back to the wooden panel, "is the truth."
He braced his boots against the floorboards and pulled upward with every ounce of his devastating strength. The heavy panel groaned in protest before the concealed locking mechanism violently snapped.
