SIX FURIES AND A ROSE

CHAPTER 7

Vincenzo stared, stunned, at his own captured wrist, then into Lex’s face. The fury in his eyes met a wall of cool, unyielding resolve.

“Get out of my way, Lex,” Vin snarled, trying to wrench his arm free. Lex’s grip didn’t budge.

“No. Look at her.” Lex’s voice was low, for Vin alone, but I heard every razor-sharp word. “She’s safe. She’s home. She’s terrified and she’s humiliated, but she’s here. Screaming at her now won’t undo tonight. It will only make sure there is a next time.”

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my sister!” Vin spat, but the heat was laced with a thread of shock. Lex had never intervened like this. Not in family discipline.

“I’m telling you how to handle this situation,” Lex corrected, his gaze unwavering.

“Your fear is justified. Your methods are failing. She’s not a twelve-year-old who sneaked out for ice cream. She’s a woman who ran from a cage and ran straight into a predator in an alley. That is what you need to be dealing with, not the fact that she defied your curfew.”

The words “predator in an alley” hit Vin like a physical blow. The rage drained from his face, replaced by a sick, dawning horror. He looked past Lex to me,seeing the remnants of panic in my eyes, the vulnerability under the coat.

“What predator? What happened?”

Lex finally released Vin’s wrist. “Ask her tomorrow. Gently. Right now, she needs to sleep. Not a lecture. Not a sentencing.” He turned slightly, his shoulder still shielding me. “Raphaella. Go upstairs.”

It was a command, but it felt like a rescue. I didn’t look at Vin. I couldn’t. I clutched the edges of Lex’s coat and fled up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn’t stop until I was in my room, the door locked behind me.

Downstairs, the silence was profound. I pressed my ear to the wood.

I heard Vin’s voice, raw and ragged. “An alley? Lex… what happened to her?”

And Lex’s reply, low and steady. “Nothing. Because I was there. But next time, Vin, you might not be so lucky. And neither will she. The strategy has to change. Starting now.”

——————————————————————————//NEXT MORNING//

Chloe, armed with two large lattes and a bag of still-warm pastries from the bakery Raphaella loved, moved with the cautious tread of someone navigating a minefield. Her mission: Operation Cheer-Up Rafe.

She was almost to the staircase that led to the family's private wing when a large, warm hand clamped over her mouth from behind, pulling her smoothly off the main corridor and into the deep, shadowed recess of a linen closet.

The door clicked shut. Before she could even gasp, the hand was gone, replaced by lips—firm, demanding, and achingly familiar. Marcello.

For a moment, she melted into it, the shock giving way to the secret thrill that still, after three months, made her knees weak. Then, practicality kicked in. She pushed against the solid wall of his chest, breaking the kiss with a soft, breathless sound.

“Marcello! Are you insane? Someone could have seen you!”

He didn't step back. In the sliver of light from under the door, she could see his face—all hard planes and softened eyes, a look he reserved only for her in these stolen moments. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb lingering on her jaw. “Let them see.”

“Oh, perfect,” she whispered, her voice laced with exasperation and affection. “That’s a great plan. ‘Hey Vin, while you're deciding Rafe’s curfew, just wanted to let you know I’ve been secretly making out with Marcello in your linen closet for the last quarter.’ He’d have a stroke. Dante will just joke around”

A ghost of a smile touched Marcello’s lips. “Dante’s jokes are the real threat.”

She swatted his arm, but he caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. The contrast was always startling—her small, paint-stained hand engulfed in his large, calloused one. The enforcer, holding an art student’s hand in a closet full of Egyptian cotton.

“When?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in the confined space. The single word was loaded. When do we stop this? When do we tell them?

Chloe’s bravado faltered. She looked down at their joined hands.

“Marcello… you saw last night. With Rafe and Ethan. With Vin. The way they are right now? If we tell them about us, it’ll be a five-alarm fire.

“They’ll see it as another threat, another variable they can’t control. They’ll dissect our relationship like a business deal. They’ll ask you a thousand questions about my family, my ‘intentions.’”

She mimicked Luca’s analytical tone.

“‘What are her long-term prospects? What is her exit strategy from this entanglement?’”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “My brothers are not my keepers.”

“Aren’t they?”

she challenged gently. “When it comes to Rafe, they are. And you’re one of them. You’re a Scarlatti. I’m just… Chloe. The best friend. The ‘bad influence’ from last night.”

She sighed, leaning her forehead against his chest. The scent of him—soap and something uniquely, ruggedly Marcello—was a comfort.

“I don’t want to be a problem you have to solve for them. I don’t want us to be a ‘situation.’ I just want… us. A little longer.”

He was silent for a moment, his other arm coming around her, holding her close. He understood strategy. He understood threat assessment. And he understood, better than anyone, the volatile climate of his family. Rafe’s rebellion had raised the shields to maximum.

“They will find out,” he stated, a simple fact. “Gabe is already suspicious. He saw you look at me during dinner last week. The look was not a ‘friend of the family’ look.”

Chloe groaned, hiding her face. “Which dinner? The one where your Uncle Fabrizio was telling that endless story about the olive groves?”

“Yes. You looked like you wanted to be saved. I wanted to save you. Gabe noticed.”

“Great. So the charmer is onto us. Wonderful.” She pulled back to look up at him. “Just… a little more time. Let the dust settle from Rafe’s great escape. Let Lex work whatever magic he’s working on Vin. Then… we’ll tell them. Together.”