SIX FURIES AND A ROSE

CHAPTER 8

Marcello studied her face, his dark eyes searching. He saw the fear—not of him, or of his love, but of the formidable machine that was his family.

He saw the fierce loyalty to Rafe that made her want to keep this secret, to not add more drama to her best friend’s plate. And he saw the love, bright and stubborn, that she had for him, the silent brother.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was softer this time, a promise.

“A little more time,” he agreed, his voice a vibration against her mouth. “But Chloe,” he added, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with her, his tone deadly serious.

“If anyone does see us in this closet, I am not hiding you. I am telling them you were helping me… assess the thread count.”

A startled laugh burst from her, loud in the quiet closet. She clapped a hand over her own mouth, her eyes sparkling. “You’re terrible. And you don’t know what thread count is.”

“I know it’s important,” he said, completely earnest, which made her laugh harder, a muffled, joyful sound against his chest.

Outside, a floorboard creaked. They both froze. The moment stretched, filled with the scent of lavender sachets and shared secret laughter.

“Go,” Marcello whispered, reluctantly releasing her. “Take care of my sister. The lattes are getting cold.”

She gave him one last, quick kiss. “Assess the thread count,” she whispered, grinning.

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Chloe slipped into Rafe's bedroom, closing the door softly behind her with her hip. Rafe was a lump under the silk duvet, only a tangled mess of dark hair visible on the pillow.

"I come bearing caffeine and carbohydrates, the two fundamental food groups of heartbreak recovery," Chloe announced, her voice deliberately bright.

The lump didn't move.

Chloe set the coffees and pastry bag on the vanity and perched on the edge of the vast bed. She pulled gently at the duvet. "Come on, Rafe. Talk to me."

Rafe finally turned over. She was still in the slip of a nightgown from the night before, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed. She looked devastatingly young and utterly wrecked. "I'm such an i***t," she croaked.

"About Ethan? Yeah, a little," Chloe said, no-nonsense. She handed her a latte. "But mostly, he's the i***t. A giant, spineless, kissing-other-girls idiot."

"It's not just Ethan," Rafe whispered, sitting up and cradling the warm cup. She looked at Chloe, her eyes swimming with fresh misery.

"It's everything. I made a fool of myself. I proved Vin right. I ran away and the big, bad world bit me, just like he always said it would. And then Lex..." Her voice hitched.

"He saw me like that. Crying in an alley in that stupid dress. He had to rescue me. I wanted to seem strong, independent, and instead I just looked like a lost child."

"Hey," Chloe said, her tone softening. She brushed Rafe's hair back. "First of all, you slapped Ethan, which was iconic. Secondly, the world didn't bite you; one slimy worm of a man tried, and Lex handled him. That's not a failure on your part, that's just... city life. And Lex?"

Chloe paused, choosing her words carefully. "He didn't look at you like a child last night, Rafe. Trust me. He looked at you like... like a man who sees a woman in a situation she shouldn't be in. There's a difference."

Rafe shook her head, not convinced. "He covered me up with his coat and called me stellina. That's a child."

"He also stood between you and Vin, which is something no one does," Chloe countered. "He didn't treat you like a kid. He treated you like someone whose feelings and safety mattered more than Vin's temper. That's huge."

Rafe was silent for a moment, sipping her coffee. "What am I going to do, Chloe? I can't stay in this house. I can't breathe. But after last night... I'm scared. Not just of them, but of being out there. It was so stupid."

"It wasn't stupid. It was brave," Chloe insisted. "It just didn't go according to plan. Next time—"

"There can't be a next time! You heard Lex. Vin will have sensors on my windows and a GPS chip in my shoes."

"Maybe not," Chloe said, a sly smile touching her lips. "Things are shifting. Lex is back. And he's on your side, in his own weird, scary, coat-draping way. That changes the game."

Rafe sighed, leaning her head on Chloe's shoulder. "I just feel so... trapped. And humiliated."

"Well, we have two options," Chloe said, reaching for the pastry bag and pulling out a chocolate croissant. "Option one: We wallow. We eat our weight in pastries, watch sad movies, and you write a blistering song about Ethan that we will perform at an open mic night under assumed names."

A faint smile touched Rafe's lips. "And option two?"

"Option two," Chloe said, handing her the croissant. "We get dressed. We go to class. We hold our heads up. We show Ethan—and your brothers, and maybe a certain recently returned family friend—that last night didn't break you. It just... educated you. The Raphaella Scarlatti who walks out of this room today is smarter, tougher, and done with boys who aren't worth the trouble."

Rafe looked at the croissant, then at her friend's determined face. The crushing weight of shame began to lift, just a fraction. Chloe was right. Hiding would only prove her brothers right. "Option two," she said, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "But... can I have the croissant too?"

"Obviously," Chloe said, grinning. "The transformation starts with sugar. Now, let's find you an outfit that says 'I am a formidable woman who survived an alley and a broken heart before breakfast,' and not 'I am a sad heiress in a nightgown.'"

As Rafe managed a real, if small, smile and pushed back the covers, Chloe felt a surge of fierce protectiveness.

She was keeping so many secrets in this house—her own with Marcello, and now the fragile, hopeful spark she saw in Rafe's eyes when she mentioned Lex.

This family was a fortress of secrets and storms, but she was in it now. For her best friend, and for the silent, serious man in the linen closet, she would help navigate the tempest.