Page 33 of Rafi

She stiffens immediately. “Half,” she snaps. “He’s myhalf-uncle. And you’re more than welcome to that half.” It doesn’t escape me that she’s demoted him from uncle to half-uncle. I’m guessing her grandfather was married more than once.

Her arms cross over her chest, her stance defiant. Kanyan leans back slightly, one brow arching in surprise. “I’m sensing some unresolved family drama,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he studies her.

“Please,” she scoffs. “If you put me in the same room as him, you’ll be cleaning up the bloodbath afterward.”

Her words are sharp, but there’s something else there, a crack in the armor she’s so determined to keep intact. I see it in the way her shoulders tense, in the way she avoids meeting anyone’s gaze too directly. She’s hiding behind her defiance, masking the fear that lingers just beneath the surface.

I know she’s more afraid of her uncle than she’s letting on, but I hold my tongue. Who am I to tear down the protective walls she’s built around herself? If this armor is what keeps her steady, I’m not about to be the one to strip it away—not here, not now, not in front of these men.

Kanyan lets the moment hang for a second longer before leaning back, a knowing expression flickering across his face. “Noted,” he says simply, his eyes an unreadable mask as they turn away from her.

The room shifts as Mason ends his call and turns back to us, his expression grim but purposeful. “Rudy’s willing to meet,” he says. “But we’re going to have to tread carefully. He doesn’treally want to bring the Russians back into his life, and I don’t blame him, considering what happened tonight.”

A beat of silence stretches, the weight of the next steps settling on all of us. Tayana shifts slightly, her arms still crossed, her face a mask of neutrality. But I know better. Beneath her defiance, there’s a storm brewing—a fear she’s too proud to admit and a vulnerability she refuses to show.

And somehow, I can’t help but feel that no matter what happens next, we’re heading straight into the eye of it.

I haven’t seenRudy Cavallo since the business with Daniel Russo and the Vicci family caused a restructure of the families and Dante Accardi called a meeting with all the heads. A meeting, mind you, which he insisted all the Gatti brothers be present at, so I was there.

Rudy doesn’t make frequent appearances, but when he does, his commanding presence is impossible to miss—loyalty and strength practically etched into every one of his movements. Beside him stands his youngest, Emilio, who always carries himself with a mix of ease and mischief. We exchange brief greetings, polite but distant, before settling into the living room.

The air shifts when Emilio’s attention snags on Tayana, standing by the window. His nostrils flare slightly as he gives her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Ah. You brought a Russian,” he says, a smirk creeping onto his face as he turns to shoot me a wink. That damn grin tells me everything I need to know. Emilio Cavallo, at twenty-seven, has a reputation—he’s a real ladies’ man, and it doesn’t look like he plans to change anytime soon.

“Be careful, brother,” I warn, my voice low but sharp. “Do not disrespect a woman in our home.”

“No disrespect meant, Rafi,” he says, though his tone is far from innocent. His smirk deepens. “She yours?”

“I said,no fucking disrespect!” The words rip out of me like a growl, and before I can think, I lunge at him, grabbing him by the collar. Emilio’s laugh—sharp and mocking—cuts through the air as though this is all some game to him. He shakes his head, his expression taunting, like he knows something I don’t.

“Never thought I’d see the day, Rafi brother,” he says, as Mason steps in, pulling me back before I can land a punch. Emilio takes his time straightening his clothes, brushing invisible lint off his jacket. With a smirk and a quick hand through his hair, he adds, “Don’t forget to send me an invite to the wedding.”

Mason holds me firm, keeping me from taking another swing. My chest heaves with the effort to restrain myself, but Emilio just gives me another wink before turning away. My eyes flick to Tayana, who stands watching, unimpressed. She shakes her head, rolling her eyes like we are nothing more than two overgrown boys playing at being men.

And maybe she isn’t wrong.

“You said you need help with the Russians,” Rudy begins, leaning forward, his fingers steepled between his knees. His gaze flicks to Tayana, cautious, as though weighing whether her presence is a liability.

“She’s clean,” Mason says firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

Rudy gives a curt nod before locking eyes with me. “Who, specifically, are you after?

“Igor Aslanov,” I reply, my voice steady.

Rudy’s eyes narrow, dark and calculating. He studies us in silence for a moment before turning to Emilio, offering a subtlenod. The shift in Emilio is almost imperceptible—the playful glint in his eyes dims, replaced by a hard, focused edge. Mischief might be his default, but when it comes to business, Emilio doesn’t miss a beat.

“Why the interest?” Rudy asks, his tone heavy with suspicion.

“We’ve traced Maxine Andrade back to him,” I say, the words clipped. “She was taken from us. The family wants her back.”

A charged look passes between father and son, the unspoken communication thick in the air. Rudy shifts in his seat, visibly uncomfortable, but it’s Emilio who breaks the silence.

“The timing’s… interesting,” he says carefully. “Dante’s already got us working a few leads to figure out who hit Brando’s wedding.”

I frown, the pieces not quite fitting. “Hold up. Wasn’t that Moreno, with some Russian muscle?”

“Yes. And no,” Rudy interjects, his voice grave.

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