~The Fox~
I massage my aching wrists with a nasty scowl plastered on my face as Emil and Luis—the two guys who got rid of Antonio's body—lead me to my prison.
And by prison, I mean Rafe's house.
I stop in front of the main gate, tilting my head up to stare at the structure before me.
'So this is where Rafe Fierro lives?...'
Honestly, I'm not sure what I expected—but it definitely wasn't this.
Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful place. A freaking villa!
But I guess I've become so stereotypical that I assumed his house would be more… flashy?
Instead, it's a weathered villa tucked quietly onto the cliffs of Posillipo, overlooking the crashing waves of the Tyrrhenian sea below it.
But somehow, it still stands out.
It's a three-story tall building with cream-colored walls and an olive tree in the center of a cobblestone courtyard, and I'm beyond shocked when I realize that there aren't any cars around.
'Maybe there's a garage somewhere,' I muse.
As we walk through the gates, my eyes catch a terrace overlooking the ocean at the far side of the cliff. There's no railing or fence—just open air.
One wrong move and you'd be swallowed by the roaring waves below. The drop would be brutal. Fast.
And now I can't help but wonder how many bodies have been dumped from it.
Soon, we enter the house and I'm left awestruck by the sheer simplicity of the decor.
At first glance, nothing seems pricey or over the top. But that's just a trick to fool the clueless. I've barely gotten a good look at the place, and I've already spotted at least five items that probably cost around €100,000—each.
But that's the thing about real power—it doesn't need to shout.
The walls are coated in plain white paint, which feels oddly out of place for a guy like Rafe. Potted plants sit quietly in corners and the air—God, the air in here is too clean. It feels pure and filtered.
It's nothing like outside, where the stench of piss and cheap beer doesn't just choke your lungs—it clings to your clothes, too, until you feel like throwing up every five seconds.
The living room is wide and feels strangely cozy, and a massive flat-screen TV is mounted to the right.
On our way to the staircase tucked to the left, we pass a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a catalog, and I finally convince myself that there's no way Rafe stays in a place this calm.
They lead me deeper into the lion's den until we finally come to a halt in front of a room.
"You stay here," Emil grunts as he unlocks the door with a key and pushes it open for me.
I press my lips into a thin line, my eyebrows shooting up for a split second as I take in the small room.
Okay, I'll admit it—I'm a little bit disappointed. But I can't exactly complain when the only reason I'm still breathing is because Rafe decided not to put a bullet in my skull.
"Here is key… you take," he says rather meticulously.
He drops it into my hand, and before I can say thank you, they're walking past me.
My nose scrunches and I curl my lips in a sneer as they leave without another word.
Not like I'm thankful for anything. I still remember what he said about wanting to have a taste of me.
Shaking it off, I step into the room and turn to close the door when a deadly glare slices right through me.
My heart nearly jumps out of my throat and I instinctively reach for my gun that's usually tucked behind my back.
But when I don't feel anything there, I'm reminded of the events that happened earlier, and I drop my hand to the side.
There's a lady standing outside the room with her hip jutting out as she shoots me imaginary daggers with an icy glare.
'Where the hell did she come from? And how didn't I see her or hear her footsteps?'
Brown eyes that beautifully complement her olive skin are unnervingly trained on me and I shift my gaze to the plastic bag she's holding in her right hand.
"Raffa said you'd need these," she says, finally breaking the tense silence as she holds out the bag.
'Raffa? Who's Raff–'
'Ohhh,' I say inwardly as realization hits me. 'She's talking about Rafe.'
I'd almost forgotten that his real name is Raffaele, and that Rafe is just what he prefers to be called.
No one outside the Big Three ever uses his full name, and I still remember the rumor about how he killed an American who deliberately kept pronouncing it as 'Rayf' instead of 'Rah-fey'.
But why is she calling him that?
Is she… Is she his girlfriend or something?
I size her up for a moment, then eye the bag, wondering what its contents are, before taking it from her.
She watches in silence as I peer into the package.
"They're mine," she hisses, a hint of venom in her voice. "So don't think we bought them for you. Raffa told me to lend you a few of my clothes for the time being and when you've made enough cash for yourself, you're going to give them back."
I cock my head back, unsure of what surprises me more—the fact that Rafe asked her to give me her clothes, or that I have to return them.
She looks about the same size and height as me, and I try my very best to suppress the look of disgust threatening to etch itself onto my face.
"You have ten minutes to freshen up and change," her tone suddenly drops as she takes two slow steps toward me.
I take a small step back, my heartbeat picking up as her hawk-like eyes continue to pierce right through me.
'What's her deal? Why can't she just leave already?'
The lady keeps walking toward me, slow and deliberate, backing me up until we're standing in the center of the room.
Her eyes rake over me, like I'm some sort of prey and she's trying to find the best way to strike me down with one clean blow.
When I can't take the silent intimidation anymore, I stop moving, square my shoulders, and clear my throat.
"I was wondering what your name—"
"Elena," she cuts in sharply. "The name's Elena."
I grit my teeth for a split second, keeping my emotions in check as she finally steps away from me.
"I'm—"
"I know who you are," she snaps, folding her arms across her chest as she turns to leave. She walks toward the door, stops just at the frame, and then—
"I don't know why Raffa chose to keep you alive," she pauses, her back still turned to me. "But if you ever try to double-cross us again..." Elena turns, just enough to glare at me over her shoulder.
"...I'll make sure you wish you were never born."
Then, she walks out.
I stay rooted to the spot for a while, reeling over her threat, before I shake it off and go lock the door.
'Sheesh… talk about hostility.'
Is this how much I'm hated over here?
It's not like I killed a member of the Fierro family… I just stole already stolen money.
Isn't that what they do too? Or is the problem that I did it better than they ever could?
A sigh leaves my lips as I press my back against the door, eyes scanning the space I'm in.
It's a small room.
There's a bed big enough for two on the left, a bathroom, and a window right before the bed. There's also a wardrobe standing across the room, a dresser with a mirror on top and an AC humming quietly above the bed.
My chest suddenly feels tight as I remember how Luciano treated me like a queen after we met.
I almost regret killing him now.
Almost.
Rafe, on the other hand…
Well, at least he had the decency to ask Elena to give me some of her clothes—after they stole every damn thing I'd found.
I peer into the plastic bag again, expecting something decent. Maybe a few shirts, some nice pants… something that says you're not entirely unwanted here.
But no.
All she gave me were two jackets and a pair of jeans.
'That's it?'
My brows knit together in a frown as I walk closer to the bed and toss the bag on it before crossing over to the wardrobe.
I yank it open with more force than necessary, only to find it empty.
'Of course it is.'
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, biting back a curse that threatens to slip out.
Do they really expect me to use the clothes on my back as a towel until I can scrape together enough money to buy my own?
How quaint.
I puff out a short breath, running my fingers through my hair.
Luciano, for all his stupidity, gave me a warm bed and a beautiful, new dress the night I met him—despite what I did to get his attention.
Sure, I repaid him by putting a bullet in between his eyes but he tried to kill me first and to top it off, I caught him cheating on me.
But Rafe?...
Ten. Million. Euros.
That's what I took from him.
And if my suspicions are correct, that stunt of mine cost him more than the measly amount of money I stole.
It also cost him his title.
Demoted from soon-to-be Don to another small-time Capo working under the Fierros in Napoli.
And now I'm living in his house. Forced to wear his… what, bitch's clothes?
Oh, lucky me.
A rap from the door pierces through my thoughts and I crane my neck in its direction.
"What now?" I grumble, taking my time to walk to the door.
As soon as I swing it open, I'm met by a familiar face. It's my tail from earlier, and Elena's standing a few feet from him, not even sparing me as much as a glance.
I narrow my eyes at the bastard who played a part in my kidnapping, and I want nothing more than to shove the barrel of my gun deep into his throat and pull the damn trigger until I'm out of bullets.
"Didn't I tell you you had five minutes to freshen up and change?" Elena's nasal voice rings out and I choose to ignore her.
The fucking cunt has such poor memory. It's either that or she's just trying to get deeper under my skin.
"The Capo wants to see you," my tail finally speaks and I feel my heart sink at his words.
'Rafe wants to see me? Oh, shit.'
Has he changed his mind?
Maybe that whole work-for-me-or-die deal was just a temporary glitch in his brain. And now that he's realized his mistake, he wants to fix it. For good.
My eyes drop to their hands which are tightly wrapped around their guns like it's their lifeline.
I swallow hard.
Is this it? Have they come to escort me to my execution?
Is that why their guns are out? So in case I try to escape, they can shoot me down before I even get the chance?
Fuck!
I'm so fucking screwed.