CHAPTER FOUR – Dinner with the Devil
1027 Words
The knock on the door came just before sunset.
Soft. Deliberate.
Leona looked up from the velvet armchair where she’d been pretending to read. She hadn’t turned a page in over thirty minutes. Her mind was still stuck on Raefael’s words from earlier.
“You’re not here as a guest. You’re collateral.”
And yet… she had a library. A wardrobe. A suite larger than her first apartment.
Collateral, but curated.
Alessandra entered without waiting for permission. “Dinner is in thirty minutes. You’ll wear this.”
She handed Leona a garment bag and turned to leave.
Leona unzipped it with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
It was a black evening dress. Sleek. Backless. Subtly daring but tasteful—strategically designed to distract without screaming for attention.
Like a weapon in silk.
She considered not wearing it. She considered refusing dinner altogether.
But she also knew men like Raefael didn’t react to tantrums—they reacted to strategy.
And if he wanted a performance, she’d give him one that made him wish he hadn’t asked.
The grand dining room was lit by crystal chandeliers and candlelight. The walls glowed with old money and old blood. A long oak table stretched between them, though tonight it was set only for two.
Raefael was already seated when she arrived, a glass of red wine in hand.
His eyes lifted when he saw her.
He didn’t smile. But something in him shifted. His gaze sharpened. Slowed.
Like a man recognizing a dangerous storm forming just offshore—and admiring it anyway.
“Black suits you,” he said.
“It suits my mood,” she replied, stepping into the light. Her heels clicked with purpose.
“Shall I worry?”
“You already should.”
She took her seat across from him, spine straight, jaw set. She wouldn’t let him see the tremble under her skin. This dress made her feel exposed. Not because of the fabric—but because of the way he was looking at her.Like he saw the steel she was trying to wear as armor.
Food was brought in silently—grilled lamb, spiced vegetables, saffron rice. She barely noticed. Her eyes were on him. Always him.
He poured her wine. “You didn’t eat this morning.”
“You kidnapped me,” she said sweetly. “Forgive me if I wasn’t hungry.”
He held her gaze. “You’re here because your father made a choice. I’m just the consequence.”
“Don’t insult me,” she snapped. “You didn’t have to take me. You wanted to.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I wanted leverage.”
“Don’t lie to me, Raefael. You could’ve taken his business. His blood. But you took me.”
Silence fell between them. Heavy. Full of truths neither wanted to say aloud.
Finally, he spoke. “Your father deals in numbers. Paper. Things that burn. But you? You’re real. Valuable. And unlike him… you can’t be replaced.”
Leona felt the words like a stone dropped into deep water.
She looked away, unsure if she wanted to scream or crumble.
He saw too much. Knew too much.
“I’m not a pawn,” she said quietly.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re a queen who was forced to play like one.”
Dinner continued, the food untouched on her plate. The air between them warmed with tension, not comfort.
“Why do this alone?” she asked, voice more curious now than defiant. “Where’s your army of capos and cigar-smoking monsters? Aren’t mafia dinners supposed to be full of bodyguards and betrayal?”
He chuckled. A real one this time. Low and brief.
“They’re not worth your time,” he said. “Besides… they don’t bite like you do.”
She took a sip of wine. “Careful. You’ll make a girl feel special.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not special, Leona.”
Her breath caught.
“But you are different,” he added softly. “You don’t scare easily. And you haven’t tried to seduce me or scream for freedom. You sit. You observe. You strike.”
She met his gaze. “That’s because I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the moment I can end all of this.”
Raefael’s expression didn’t change. But something in his posture tightened. Like a wolf realizing the prey might have teeth of its own.
“I admire that,” he said finally. “But don’t wait too long. In this world, if you hesitate—”
“You die?” she interrupted. “I’ve heard the cliché.”
“No,” he said, leaning forward. “You get turned into someone else.”
The room grew quieter. More intimate.
And just when the weight of silence threatened to become unbearable, Raefael poured himself another drink and said:
“I was seventeen when I watched my uncle bleed out on the marble of my father’s office.”
Leona blinked.
“He’d stolen from the family. A million in cash. My father gave me the choice—punishment or mercy.”
She didn’t breathe.
“What did you choose?”
Raefael didn’t look at her. “I pulled the trigger.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of ghosts.
“You tell me that,” she whispered, “so I’ll be afraid of you?”
“No,” he said. “So you’ll understand what I’ve lost to survive.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
And he didn’t press.
As dessert came—a simple pear tart with caramel sauce—Leona pushed her chair back. She stood, elegant, composed.
“Dinner was enlightening.”
Raefael rose too. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.”
“Mm,” she said, stepping past him. “So am I.”
He reached out—just barely—and brushed a stray strand of hair from her shoulder.
It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t aggressive.
It was intimate.
Too intimate.
She turned away before he could see what that touch did to her pulse.
“Goodnight, Raefael.”
And then she walked out.
- Writer
