Chapter 4
The hidden hinges shrieked as Raffaele tore the heavy wooden floor panel entirely open, throwing it backward where it crashed loudly against the hardwood. The bright, cinematic sunlight flooded into the shallow, horrific chamber that had been perfectly concealed beneath the bridal suite.
Evelyn Hart was sitting in the cramped darkness.
At twenty-seven, the beauty that had once captivated the city’s most dangerous man was buried beneath layers of grime and profound suffering. Her fair and rosy skin was pale, translucent, and smeared with dirt. She was still wearing her wedding dress—the same extravagant, heavily beaded gown she was supposed to wear down the aisle three years ago. Now, the silk was torn, yellowed, and worn-out, hanging off her fragile, emaciated frame.
She shielded her eyes from the blinding, natural light, cowering against the rough wooden joists. She was frightened, exhausted, and broken, but as her chest heaved with shallow breaths, it was unmistakably clear: she was alive.
Raffaele dropped to his knees at the edge of the hole. The cold, measured anger that dictated his every movement completely vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, paralyzing shock. He became completely still, his hands hovering over the dark pit, his intimidating eyes welling with a devastating sorrow.
"Evelyn," Raffaele choked out, the name tearing past the strict boundaries of his control.
Anna covered her mouth with both hands, tears streaming down her face as a muffled sob escaped her lips. At the doorway, three-year-old Ethan stared at the ragged woman in the floor, stepping forward to grip his father’s arm in terrified confusion.
Evelyn slowly lowered her trembling hand from her eyes. She looked up, her gaze finding Raffaele’s handsome, anguished face. Her lips parted, but her throat was so dry that no sound came out at first.
Raffaele reached down into the shallow grave. His heavily tattooed hand, adorned with lethal, refined ink, moved with absolute gentleness. He took her fragile, trembling hand in his own, holding it as if it were made of glass.
"I have you," Raffaele whispered slowly, his low voice thick with emotion. "I have you."
But Evelyn did not keep her eyes on him. As her vision adjusted to the bright light of the suite, she looked past Raffaele’s shoulder. Her gaze locked directly onto Bianca, who was standing frozen near the doorway.
The fear in Evelyn’s sunken eyes instantly merged with a burning, undeniable anger.
"Evelyn, please," Bianca whispered, stepping backward, her diamond rings clinking against her evening clutch.
Evelyn tightened her grip on Raffaele’s hand. She pulled herself up slightly, her voice weak, emotional, but ringing with absolute truth in the quiet room.
"I never left this house."
May you like
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Raffaele’s thumb stopped tracing the back of Evelyn’s hand. The sorrow in his posture evaporated in a single heartbeat, replaced by a dark, murderous shadow. He slowly, deliberately turned his head toward his sister.
The Mafia boss had returned. And he was going to burn the world down.
