Page 11 of The Mafia King's Stolen Fiancée

As impossible as it sounded, it seemed as though Rafa had somehow managed to stock this closet with a brand-new wardrobe while I slept in a room only feet away, without hearing a thing.

It seemed like more proof that I’d been right about Chet’s family’s wealth paling compared to Rafa’s, which could work in my favor. If there was one thing the Chanlers—and unfortunately also my parents—respected, it was money. Hopefully, they would be too afraid to go toe-to-toe with someone as rich and powerful as Raffaele DeLuca just to get me back for Chet. As for my parents…well, Rafa’s bank account would probably only help me out if I told them he’d make a better husband than Chet. It was a ridiculous thought, so I tried to ignore the little thrill it gave me.

My thoughts centered on Rafa as I took another shower, and they were the only reason I kept it together while I scrubbed all of the places where Chet had ever touched me. Thankfully, there weren’t many because I’d always done my best to avoid his roaming hands.

“Thank goodness his dad thought Chet’s bride being a virgin would play well in the press if it ever came out,” I muttered, cringing at the memory of that extremely awkward conversation.

Shuddering, I washed myself from head to toe again before stepping out of the shower. Then I dried myself, got dressed—taking a moment to properly appreciate the assortment of silky bras and panties—and headed for the door. My brows drew together when the knob didn’t turn, but before I could jiggle it again, something clicked and the door swung open.

An older woman stood on the other side, beaming a smile at me. “Buongiorno. I’m so glad you’re up. I wanted to see if you were hungry. I’d be glad to take you down to the kitchen for breakfast.”

She laughed when my stomach let out a loud growl, making me blush. “That sounds great.”

She looked me over, and her smile widened. “My, you are beautiful, aren’t you?”

I cursed my pale skin when I felt my face heat even more, so I probably resembled a tomato.

“Follow me,bellissima. I’ll fill that belly up so we can put some meat on your bones. How does a cappuccino witha cornetto filled withcrema pasticcierasound? Maybe some yogurt with fresh fruit and granola to go with it?”

I licked my lips, memories of the Italian pastries similar to croissants but sweeter and denser dancing on my tastebuds. “Delicious.”

“Perfect, follow me.”

As she led me downstairs, I asked, “Was my door locked?”

“Yes, it’s so easy to get lost in this house. Too big. Rafa was worried.”

It was difficult to argue with that logic when I never would’ve been able to find the kitchen by myself. Not when we walked down a flight of stairs and through several hallways on our way there.

The housekeeper whipped together my breakfast and set it in front of me, and I laughed when I saw that she added several other tasty items to my plate. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”

“Did you make enough for me, Carmen?” Rafa asked as he strolled into the kitchen. “Or am I stuck with whatever scraps Vivienne wants to share with me?”

Carmen let out a disappointed sigh. “Do you really think that I didn’t cook enough for whichever of you boys found their way to my kitchen for second breakfast?”

I giggled, and Rafa shook his head, dropping onto the chair next to me. “You find that funny,cara?”

“More like adorable,” I corrected with a grin.

“First kind. Now adorable.” He sighed before stealing a blueberry from on top of my yogurt. “You keep using words nobody would ever use to describe me.”

Carmen set a cappuccino in front of him and patted his shoulder. “That is not true. You were an adorable child.”

I giggled again, earning me a smile from Rafa that made my breath catch in my chest. It was only the second one I’d seen since I met him, making me wonder how often he didit. I couldn’t help having a tiny little hope that I brought out something in him that no one else did.

Just as Carmen finished putting a plate together for him, another man strode into the kitchen, his attention focused on Rafa. “There’s a slight problem with my current…” He trailed off when his gaze slid to me. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Project.”

“Are you talking about the gallery project, Aston?” Rafa asked, stretching his arm out to rest on the back of my chair.

Aston’s gaze again darted toward me for a moment before returning to Rafa. “Oui. But it can wait. However, I spoke with Charles a few minutes ago, and we should discuss it when you have a free moment.”

His French accent seemed out of place in a house full of Italians, but that didn’t make me nearly as curious as his vagueness, which seemed deliberate. And then there was the splatter of paint on his otherwise pristine and perfectly creased dress pants.

6

RAFFAELE

Aston pivoted and headed for the door but stopped when I called out to him.

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