Page 77 of Raziel
He chuckled. “It isn’t less than you wear most times.”
He had a point.
We drove in silence to a house that looked like a fortress—all sharp angles and dark glass, standing alone on a manicured lawn.
Inside, it was cold. Spotless. The air smelled sterile, like a museum after hours. No art on the walls. No clutter on the counters. It was the opposite of my place.
“This is where I live,” he said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space.
I hugged my silk robe tighter. “It’s very… clean.”
“It’s a house. You can live here with me if you want,” he said, turning to face me fully. “You can change it. Whatever you want. Paint it. Burn it down. Build a new one. It’s yours.”
The offer stole my breath.
Before I could process it, his expression shifted—growing heavier.
“And I owe you an apology,” he said. “For before. For the indifference. For making you feel like you were nothing when you were… everything.”
He looked away, toward a blank wall, like he was seeing another time. “I was battling ghosts. A promise made to my mother on her deathbed—that I would marry Alessia. Every time I looked at you, I was choosing between honoring a dead woman and wanting a living one. The guilt… it made me try to push you away. My silence wasn’t because I didn’t see you. It was because I saw you too clearly.”
His eyes came back to mine.
“Do you know what it feels like to want someone so much, you resent them for it? To hate how they make you feel because you’re supposed to feel nothing?”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
He stepped closer, voice quieter now.
“I don’t know how to express this stuff, Maya. I never had to. Alessia wanted a man who obeyed. My father wanted a successor. I’ve never had to be a man in love.”
He took another step, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin.
“I’m sorry. For all of it. You deserved none of my coldness. You only ever deserved this.”
I looked from his tormented face to the cold, perfect house. Understanding dawned.
The house was a tomb for the life he thought he was condemned to.
And he was giving me the keys.
He leaned in, pressed his forehead against mine.
“You still want me?” he whispered.
“I’ll never stop.”
Chapter Thirty Four- Maya
The text from Raffaele was simple.
In town. Have time for an old man to buy you a coffee?
I expected a bodyguard-laden car, but he was alone, seated at a small table in the back of a quiet café. He looked more like a retired professor than a man who could order a city buried under concrete.
He stood as I approached, a warm, genuine smile softening his sharp features.
“Maya. You look well. Radiant.”
