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I absorb his grave words silently, uncertainties churning to life within me once more. Since the day I brought Clara here, she's stirred feelings and desires I thought were scourged from my soul long ago. Under the family's scrutiny, I had to convince myself it was merely lust and vanity spurring my fascination with her. But alone with my thoughts tonight, I can no longer deny the deeper pull I feel to stay near Clara.
"I don't know if I have that kind of strength," I admit hoarsely. The confession feels like a blade slicing to the deepest parts of me. But the words needed to be spoken aloud, to pierce the festering doubt I've been harboring ever since Clara came into my life. Rafael's hand tightens on my shoulder, grounding me once more when I feel my foundations threatening to crack and crumble.
"You do, Antonio. In another life, this might have been different." His stern tone gentles slightly. "Your doubts do you credit. Any wise man would hesitate before inviting more chaos into this life. But this is how we were all raised. She's a liability."
I turn to meet my brother's knowing gaze, so similar to my own, yet infinitely more certain in matters of judgment and conscience. In this, I must trust Rafael's wisdom to guide me down the right path, no matter how painful it proves to be.
Resolve settles over me once more as I come to terms with what must be done, however it might wound me. "You're right. I know the choice that must be made." Saying the words aloud cements my decision in fate, even as regret already gnaws at my core. "I'm not so selfish as to upend our family's world on a passing fancy. The trap has been set. I can keep my distance."
Rafael searches my face intently, then nods. "A hard path, but the best one." He clasps my shoulder one last time in wordless support before pulling away. Shadows slip over his harsh features as he turns to go, muting the concern I know lingers beneath the surface.
At the patio door, he pauses, one hand on the iron handle. Rafael glances back, hesitation plain on his normally stoic face. "Get some rest tonight if you can. We have a long road yet ahead, and a possible battle with the Farraros." With those heavy parting words, he slips inside, the door falling shut with an ominous groan behind him.
Once alone on the secluded patio again, the gravity of what awaits settles upon my shoulders, a physical weight bowing my spine. Keeping my distance from Clara, for both our sakes, is unquestionably best. Raphael thinks she'll betray us. Giovanni's sure she won't. I'm still not sure what I believe when it comes to her motives.
But even knowing what must be done, the thought of watching her betray my family, seeing fear cloud those brilliant emerald eyes, feels akin to a blade twisting into my own chest. With Clara, I've glimpsed a fragile possibility, been reminded there is more to this life than violence and rage. Her inner radiance calls to long-buried softer edges of myself I thought parenting and duty had calcified to stone. Only in the brief time I've known Clara, the world felt limitless, ripe with potential.
Now, closing my eyes wearily, I can already envision the cold walls descending once more, my heartbeat slowing to a relentless machine-like rhythm. The ordered brutality of my days stretching before me into eternity, countless and indistinguishable again. Because Clara's light will be gone, taking with her the man I briefly became under her patient warmth. He will be scoured away by bitter duty, all the gentle mercy within me turning to ash.
I clench my jaw against the howl building in my chest. Better to excise this sentiment now, like lancing an infected wound. Clean, quick, clinical. Allowing myself to indulge this foolish ache will only prolong the misery for us both. I ball my hands into fists, nails carving bloody crescents into my palms. The pain helps anchor me once more to cold logic.
But I cannot be so selfish, cannot put my desires above my family's future and safety. And underneath Rafael's concern is a deeper truth - even if she doesn't betray me, I can only offer her a bloodstained throne built on fear and brutality.
So I stand motionless as the house settles and goes silent, gathering the strength needed for the path ahead. By the time everyone else has retired for the night, I've schooled my features back to their customary mask - impassive, detached, revealing nothing of the anguish churning inside me. There can be no hesitation today. I will do what must be done.
CHAPTER17
CLARA
The early morning sunlight streams in through the expansive arched windows of the palatial dining room, bathing everything in a warm, buttery glow. The lavish breakfast spread laid out on the antique mahogany table is decadent and mouth-watering - flaky chocolate croissants with melting chocolate centers, artfully sliced tropical fruit - pineapple, mango and kiwi, their citrusy sweetness perfuming the air - and perfectly cooked eggs, their rich golden yolks just starting to ooze.
But as pleasing as the food looks, it's Antonio's smile that truly warms me as I enter the room. He's seated in an ornate high-backed chair at the head of the long dining table, an ivory tablecloth draped over the gleaming wood. Dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit that accentuates his athletic frame, his dark hair is neatly combed, a few loose strands falling roguishly over his forehead. As he reads the newspaper, I can't help but admire his elegant poise, the easy authority with which he commands a room.
When he glances up from the paper and sees me hovering in the doorway, his hazelnut eyes light up, the lingering tension from last night's extravagant gala melting away.
"Buongiorno, Clara," he says warmly as he folds the newspaper and rises gracefully from his chair to pull out my seat. "I hope you slept well after such an eventful evening. You were absolutely magnificent last night."
A faint blush rises to my cheeks at the earnest compliment as I move to take my seat, brushing past him. His expensive cologne, with hints of sandalwood and bergamot, envelops me. "Thank you. I'm just glad I could help make the party a success for you and your family," I reply modestly.
Antonio settles back into his high-backed chair and regards me thoughtfully over his coffee cup, the rising steam wreathing his handsome face. "You did far more than just help, cara mia. Mingling effortlessly with my associates, charming even the most taciturn of guests - you made quite the impression. I know these lavish events, filled with sharks posing as socialites, can be...challenging, especially for someone unaccustomed to our world."
I nod silently, busying myself preparing a cup of oolong tea, the fragrant leaves steeping in the hot water. Challenging is an understatement when describing the constant performance of maintaining a gracious facade inside one of the most powerful mafia families in the city. My neck is still sore from constantly looking over my shoulder for threats while making small talk about yachts and vacations in Monaco. The layers of social niceties felt thin and brittle over the underlying current of menace that permeated the party.
Antonio reaches over and gives my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his rough palm warm against my skin. "I'm proud of you, Clara. I know I've asked a lot of you, but you've handled it all with poise. As a small token of thanks for everything you've done, I've booked you a full day of pampering at the exclusive Primavera Spa. A day of luxury - massages, facials, herbal baths - you deserve to relax and be thoroughly spoiled."
My eyes widen in genuine surprise and delight upon hearing I've been gifted a day at the luxurious Primavera Spa, nestled in the glittering hills high above the city. A visit to the spa is the stuff of dreams - a true oasis of indulgence and tranquility, hidden away from the stresses and dangers of this life. For a few blissful hours I can pretend I'm just a normal girl enjoying some well-deserved pampering, rather than entangled with the mafia.
But as I breathlessly thank Antonio, my smile falters as I remember the ever-present threats that lurk outside the heavily guarded walls of the mansion. The thought of leaving this sheltered stronghold, even just for a spa day, makes my palms grow clammy with anxiety, my pulse quicken. What if Roberto Ferraro's men have people watching me, waiting for me to leave the safety of the mansion to pounce? Antonio has enemies who won't hesitate to use me to hurt him if given the chance.
Antonio notices my hesitation, his piercing gaze narrowing shrewdly, assessing. "You have no reason to be afraid, Clara," he says firmly, his mellow tone underlaid with steel. "I'll send my most trusted guards to escort you there so you can fully relax. You'll be completely safe under their protection. I give you my word."
His commanding assurance is clearly meant to reassure me. I force my lips into a smile of gratitude, not wanting Antonio to see the doubt still lingering behind my eyes. "That's very thoughtful of you. A day of luxury sounds just lovely. Thank you again, Antonio."
After breakfast, I return to my lavish bedroom suite to get ready for my spa day, my nerves still jangling with quiet apprehension. I take my time choosing a casual outfit suitable for a carefree day of pampering - a pale blue sundress with a fluttery skirt and strappy white sandals. Standing before the full length antique mirror, I pull my long chestnut hair up into a purposefully messy knot, a few wispy tendrils framing my face. On the surface I look at the picture of an untroubled young woman, relaxed and excited for a day of self-care. But beneath the facade, my mind churns with gnawing unease. Can I really trust Antonio's personally selected security team to protect me beyond these walls? Or am I naively walking straight into the clutches of the Familia's enemies by leaving the safety of the mansion? Either way, I have no choice but to trust Antonio's judgment over my own misgivings.
I meet my stern-faced security escorts downstairs in the grand marble foyer. Their muscular frames strain against their tailored black suits, conspicuous bulges of weapons obvious beneath their jackets despite their attempts at discretion. We drive to the spa in tense silence, the city sights speeding past the smoked-glass windows in a blur. My imagination tortures me by conjuring up a hundred dire scenarios on the drive, vivid visions of violence, each one bloodier than the last. By the time we arrive at the elegant spa tucked into the verdant hills overlooking the city, my hands are clenched into tense fists, half-moon indentations marking my palms.
But as soon as I step through the carved wooden doors into the spa's hushed interior, the troubles of the outside world begin to slip away. Soft, tranquil spa music fills the air, the gentle notes of the lyre accompanied by the soothing trickle of water flowing from an interior stone fountain. The sweet scent of jasmine mingles with woody sandalwood, the botanical aromas working in harmony to envelop my senses. For a precious few hours I can allow myself to relax into the illusion that I'm just an ordinary, albeit extremely privileged, young woman enjoying a day of restorative pampering.
