Chapter 6
The bright, cinematic sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated the sweat gathering on Bianca’s forehead. She pressed herself harder against the pristine white wall, as if trying to melt through the plaster. Raffaele towered over her, his physical proximity suffocating. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead did nothing to mask the cold, predatory threat radiating from him.
"You brought her food," Raffaele repeated, savoring the agonizingly slow pace of his words. "Like a dog. In the dark."
"It was for the good of the family, Raffaele," Bianca pleaded, her voice trembling violently. She raised her hands in a desperate, placating gesture. "She was soft! She was a civilian! You were about to take over the entire syndicate, and you wanted to marry a woman who couldn't even stomach the sight of a gun! The capos were whispering. They thought you were weak!"
"So you decided to demonstrate strength," Raffaele murmured, tilting his head slightly. His highly angular face remained perfectly impassive. "By locking a woman under the floorboards for three years."
"I protected you!" Bianca shrieked, her composure entirely fractured. "I gave you the narrative you needed! A broken-hearted, ruthless boss who was abandoned at the altar! You built your empire on that anger, Raffaele! I made you who you are!"
From the velvet chaise lounge, Evelyn let out a broken, ragged sob. The sound cut through the room, drawing Raffaele’s attention for a fraction of a second. He looked at the torn, filthy wedding dress, remembering the day she had modeled it for him in secret, her fair cheeks blushing with joy.
He turned his terrifying gaze back to his sister.
"You took three years of my life," Raffaele said quietly. "You watched me mourn. You sat at my table, drank my wine, and consoled me. While she was directly beneath our feet."
"Raffaele, please," Bianca wept, her elegant formal dress contrasting grotesquely with her pathetic begging. "I am your sister. We share the same blood. You cannot touch me. The family elders will never allow it."
"The family elders," Raffaele said, his voice dropping to a menacing, lethal hum, "work for me."
Raffaele stepped back, creating a small distance between them. He did not raise his hand to strike her. He did not draw a weapon. His violence was deeply psychological, perfectly controlled.
"Marco," Raffaele commanded, addressing his lead bodyguard standing by the door.
"Yes, Boss," the man responded instantly in a thick American accent.
"Take my sister's phone," Raffaele ordered smoothly. "Take her jewelry. Take her shoes."
Bianca gasped, instinctively clutching her diamond necklace. "What? No! Raffaele, what are you doing?"
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"You are going to experience the hospitality you provided," Raffaele said softly, gesturing toward the open, dark void in the floorboards. "Put her in the hole."
Bianca screamed.
