Her Sinful Desires

Chapter 002

Chapter 002

Elisabetta POV

My fears were true. The man who stood by the passage during dinner, who also came into my room last night, is a member of the family, the eldest child. Raffaele Moretti.

Violet explained to me that he is also currently the head of the mafia and in charge of all illegal underground activities, with half of the world's criminal masterminds on his side. This man holds power in the air he breathes.

Breakfast would be served by 9 am, but since it’s still seven, Violet suggested that we have tea by the garden. Which is where I am right now, slowly sipping my tea while my mind travels far away.

I had mentally agreed to be okay that Mom decided to marry a retired mafia lord out of all the men in the world. What I didn’t know is that I’ll become a part of all this mess. I don’t want to be a mafia princess.

Violet seems to have accepted her fate from birth, because she told me Raffaele would have an arranged marriage set out for her once she turns twenty-three, which is a few months from now. I’m to be twenty-five in three weeks; that means Raffaele would have a man arranged to marry me before then.

“Just what the hell are you thinking of?” Violet voices out. I forgot I was sitting next to her having tea; her cup is empty, while mine has gotten cold.

“Just...random things,” I tell her.

“I hope I didn’t scare you with all those things I said. Raffaele might be very hardheaded and intimidating, but he’s still the best brother I’d ever wish to have. He wouldn’t have a problem with you, trust me.” As convincing as her words sound, I’m not buying it.

“I doubt that.” My voice comes out stressed.

“Why do you say so?” Violet asks curiously.

‘Because I’ve crossed a huge line, and he’s been looking for me.’ I don’t tell her that; instead, I say, “Because we’re not related by blood.”

“Rubbish, as long as my dad loves your mom, you’re not part of the family, and Raffaele will treat you like one.”

“Including arranging a husband for me?”

My question meets silence, and Violet chewing on her bottom lip gives me the answer I need. My life is ruined.

Sighing, I rise from my feet, telling Violet I’m going to freshen up before breakfast gets ready. I walk slowly back inside. I’m about to enter my room when the entrance door is pushed open and Raffaele comes jogging inside.

Holy freaking hotness. This man carries the beauty of a demigod so effortlessly; it’s not fair that a man is blessed with so much beauty.

I stand rooted on the spot, even as he climbs up the stairs and stands in front of his room, which is at the far end from mine. His head slowly turns to me, and he lifts an eyebrow before an amused smirk covers his face.

He turns his whole body in my direction, and drool nearly falls from my mouth as my eyes land on his body, greedily taking in every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a deep baritone voice.

I don’t even bother answering as I blink rapidly, my senses coming back to me as a wave of shame hits hard. I’m flushed, and heat creeps up my face and neck. I manage to make one last eye contact with Raffaele, and seeing that his smirk has grown wider, I dash into my room.

*****

We’re all sitting at the dining room table, me between Raffaele and Violet. The meal is served, and everyone is digging in, but my appetite seems to be missing. Mom and Alessandro are exchanging small conversations, while the rest of us dwell in silence.

It’s weird coming to terms with the fact that these people are now my family, I miss my dad, and accepting these people, this man, as my father seems as if I’m betraying Dad.

I reach for the glass of water at the same time as Raffaele, and our hands touch. I draw my hand back quickly; the wave of sensation flowing through me does nothing to calm my nerves.

He drops the glass of water next to my plate. “Drink,” he orders, and I gulp down the contents in one go.

“Why have you barely touched your meal? Perhaps the cooking doesn’t meet your taste, Elisabetta?” Alessandro asks, and I can hear the sternness in his voice, and I’m starting to feel this man doesn’t like me that much.

“It’s not that; I just seem to have lost my appetite,” I answer calmly.

“But you barely ate anything at dinner yesterday,” Violet chirps in, slowly drawing everyone’s attention to me.

“Uh… I—I’m not much of an eater.”

“Lies, you’re a foodie, Elisabetta,” Mom tells me. Okay, can everyone just stop?

“Do you have anything you feel like eating?” This time Raffaele asks, and I silently grab the side of my dress.

“Not really, I’m fine, and, uhh, I have some things to finish up in my room, so, uhm, thanks for breakfast.” I’m already up and making my way to my room; my anxiety starts to kick in slowly, making my breaths turn to pants.

I’m barely in the room when I’m shoved inside; I hear the sound of the doorknob clicking before a resounding slap meets my left cheek. I lose my balance, and tears threaten to spill from my eye as I stare at my mother.

“Have you gone insane, Elisabetta!?” Her voice is thunderous, with her eyes red and jaw clenched.

“Mama, please just let me go back. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair,” I say with a calm I don’t feel.

“Shut up! You think I’ll let you disgrace me in front of this powerful family?” Her hands fly to my shoulder, and she grabs me firmly; then, lowering her voice, she says, “Do you know how hard I worked to be able to win Alessandro’s heart? I won’t let you ruin everything I’ve suffered for—the wealth, the fame, the power. I won’t let you ruin it with your disgraceful behavior.”

With that she storms out of my room, leaving me falling to the ground, curling my legs against my chest as all the emotions flood through me.

The salty sting of tears on my bruised cheek is a poor comfort. My mother's words, her blatant display of prioritizing wealth and power over her own child's well-being, echoes in the room. Disgraceful behavior. Was wanting my old life, my real father, and a life free from mafia chaos truly a disgrace?

A soft, hesitant rap came at the door. I freeze, scrambling to wipe the tears from my face and forcing myself to sit up against the bed frame. It is certainly too soon for her to come back.

The knob turns slowly, and the door doesn’t just open—it is pushed wide by a presence that fills the doorway. Raffaele stands there, his breakfast clothes exchanged for a dark, form-fitting turtleneck and tailored trousers. His expression is unreadable, perhaps a shade darker than usual.

"You left in a hurry," he states, his voice a low vibration that seems to move the air. He takes a single, slow step inside, his eyes sweeping the room, then landing on me.

"I wasn't feeling well," I manage, my voice a shaky whisper, avoiding direct eye contact. I keep my left hand pressed subtly against my cheek, hoping the flush of pain and embarrassment is hidden by my hair.

He doesn’t move any closer, yet I feel suffocating. "You're crying." It isn’t a question.

"No, I... I just stumbled. I hit my head on the way in," I lie, hating how quickly the words spill out.

Raffaele's jaw tighten. Without a word, he close the distance between us in three long strides, making me flinch. He crouch down, his proximity robbing me of breath, the scent of expensive cologne and something inherently masculine filling my senses. His gaze is sharp, dissecting my pathetic pose on the floor.

"Move your hand, piccola."

I hesitate. He doesn’t ask again. Instead, his large, warm hand wraps around my wrist, pulling my protective hand away with a gentle but non-negotiable force. His eyes immediately fix on the stark red imprint of fingers blossoming across my pale cheek.

The amusement that had danced in his eyes earlier is completely gone, replaced by a cold, dangerous fury that doesn’t seem directed at me, but radiating from him like physical heat. He look back at me, his face inches from mine.

"Who did this to you, Elisabetta?"