I just need to see for myself…what? That she’s okay? That doesn’t quite cover it though. How is one ever okay with losing both parents in the circumstances she did. Marco gave me the bare details on her blunt statement of truth, and now I just…I just want to see for myself that the grief of reliving that experience, of learning the plans she wants for her future are hanging in the balance in the hands of the Godfathers, hasn’t snuffed out her light and allowed the darkness to swallow her whole.
I call five more times, but still nothing.
My driver parks the car, and I take my briefcase and make my way to the door.
Thankful I dressed the part so I can make it past the doorman and all the staff in Arabella’s apartment complex and up to the penthouse.
Grateful that Luca’s connection to Arabella and my notoriety as a lawyer means that there is some recognition of my family name and my identity that offers a lax approach to following the strict security protocols, though I will be having words with Arabella about that.
I press the buzzer of the intercom at the front door and it opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with dark hair dressed in uniform.
“Hello, Sir, how may I help you?”
“I’m here to see Ms. Gigioliotti on an urgent legal matter.”
“No problem, please come in and wait in the sitting area and?—"
“No, I don’t want to wait,” I interject, leaving no room for argument. “She’s expecting me. Please escort me to her.”
An almost white lie given that technically I am her legal counsel and that she just emailed me about an urgent matter. Even if the house call part is entirely on me.
The woman stares at me for a beat but decides against challenging me and does as requested.
“This is her room, sir. Perhaps I should?—”
“No. I’ll text her to let her know I’m waiting. Thank you. You’re free to go now.” It’s dismissive, and I’m being a complete asshole to this lovely woman who’s just trying to do her job, but I’m impatient to see Chiara.
The woman nods and heads back the way we just came. When she’s out of sight, I quietly turn the nob of the door and open it a crack. It’s empty. So I quietly slip inside and look around. There’s a king-sized four-poster bed, sheer white drapes affixed to each post. It’s made, but there’s a dent from where Chiara must have been lying on it.
Her phone is discarded on her bed, and I can see a trail of her clothes leading to the bathroom, almost like she was in a hurry to discard them. It’s disarming, because I know she’s naked behind that door, the rain-like tinkle of the shower reminding me of last night when I had a feeling of being watched, only to have it confirmed when she stumbled. I know she saw me jerk off in the shower to thoughts of her, and the memory shoots a thrill straight to my cock.
Eye for an eye, I think.
This is entirely not appropriate, Raf. You need to make yourself known.
“Chiara,” I call out, weakly, so I can placate the logical part of my brain completely at war with my primal urge to just barge right in there and see for myself that she’s still my perfect little devil.
What the fuck!I shake my head. Where did that come from? Another symptom of this rare disease.
I lean against the frame of her bed in wait. There’s no way she’ll hear me behind a closed door and the thundering of the shower, but then it goes silent. I could call out again, but a loud click renders me speechless, and the door opens and Chiara steps through it wearing nothing but a towel, her hair wrapped in another on top of her head. Barefoot and all traces of makeup scrubbed from her sweet face, she looks tiny. But as I suspected, the light is gone and she looks so fucking sad I swear my heart cracks a little, rattling the wall I’ve caged it behind.
“Raf. What are you doing here?” Her voice is clear but devoid of all emotion, no surprise at my sudden appearance and no bite, for that matter.
“You didn’t pick up your phone, and I need to talk to you about the email you sent.” I follow her lead. Curt. Factual. To the point. I am the lawyer; she is the client.
“I’d suggest you might like to take a clue,” she says. “If I didn’t pick up any one of your ten calls, safe to say I’m not really in the mood to talk.”
“You didn’t think it could’ve been an emergency?”
Something flickers in her expression, almost like I whipped her and she’s trying not to show it hurt. I push on.
“We don’t really have much time, seeing as you’re leaving two days from now and will be gone for almost three weeks” I say, secretly high-fiving myself.Yes. Stick to the facts, Raf.
“Seemed straightforward from the email they sent you. You just needed to update the dates on the paperwork.”
“Yes, but I need your signature.”
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you, Raf Princi, partner at one of New York’s top law firms, telling me you’ve never heard of DocuSign?”
