Raffaele: Taming His Tempestuous Virgin

Raffaele grabbed her from behind.

She yelped, his legs tangled with hers and they went down in a heap. She tried to roll away but he had her on her back, his hips straddling hers, his hands clasping her fists. Now his brothers were there, too, disheveled and panting and looking down at her with anger in their eyes.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

Raffaele stood up and dragged her to her feet.

“I said, let—me—go!”

“Never,” he growled, and the hard look in his face made her shudder.

“I will scream—”

“No. You won’t,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

Chiara beat her fists against her husband’s powerful shoulders. She nipped at his lip. And then, even though it was disgraceful to do it, she gave herself up to this one last kiss.

And then another. And another…

“Uh, Rafe? You need us, buddy?”

Rafe didn’t answer. Instead he framed his Chiara’s face with his hands, changed the angle of the kiss and felt his heart take a tentative leap when she gave one of those little moans.

“He doesn’t need us,” Falco said.

“No,” Nick said, laughing, “he doesn’t.”

They wished him luck, said they’d really like to meet the little woman if the two of them ever came up for air—

And then they were gone.

“I love you,” Rafe whispered against his wife’s lips.

“No,” she said brokenly, “you do not. I heard every word you said.”

“You couldn’t have, because I never had the chance to say the only words that mattered.” Rafe held her away from him, just far enough so he could see her beloved face. “I love you, Chiara.”

“But you said you didn’t know how to tell me you wanted to end our marriage. You said—”

“I said I didn’t know how to tell you I loved you. At least, that was what I was going to say.”

Rafe smiled. “You just didn’t give me the chance.”

“Oh, Raffaele. Be sure. Please, be sure…because I love you. I adore you. I—”

Rafe kissed her again. This was New York, and people were detouring around them, but even some of those hardened New Yorkers smiled.

“I love you,” Rafe said. “I don’t ever want to lose you. I want you to be my wife, forever.” He swallowed hard. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

Chiara laughed, even though tears still shone in her eyes.

“I will have you for all the rest of our lives, my Raffaele,” she said, and her husband swept her into his arms. Those hardened New Yorkers whistled and cheered, and Raffaele Orsini carried home his beautiful, tempestuous bride.

Not every man got to marry the same woman twice.

Rafe did.

When he broke the news of his marriage to his family, everyone went a little crazy.

His mother wept. His sisters, too. Falco and Nicolo, who, of course, already knew all about it, rolled their eyes at the unseemly commotion. Dante, who’d been clued in on his return from only he knew where, shrugged and flashed a cryptic smile.

Cesare just looked smug and said he had known it would happen. Rafe decided to leave it at that.

His father had meddled in his life, not to benefit his son but to salve his own conscience. That things had worked out changed nothing.

“A wedding,” his mother said, drying her eyes on her apron. “We must have a real wedding.”

Rafe said they’d already had one, but his sisters took up the chant, and when he looked at his wife, he saw that her eyes were shining at the very idea. So he did what men always do in such situations.

He gave in.

The ceremony took place in the little neighborhood church Sofia Orsini had always loved. Either the Feds and the cops were kind that day or they simply kept a low profile, but there wasn’t an agent or a police officer in sight.

Chiara wore a gown of antique French lace over silk. Tiny pink silk rosebuds adorned the train, and Sofia’s wedding veil fell gracefully from a tiara of pink roses in her dark hair.

“Cesare and I eloped,” Sofia said shyly, “but my mama knew our plan and gave me her veil. I would be honored if you wore it.”

Chiara wept a little, kissed her mother-in-law and said it was she who would be honored.

Anna and Isabella were her maids of honor. Nick, Falco and Dante were Rafe’s best men. It made for a crowd at the altar. The men grinned, the women giggled, but everyone grew solemn once the simple ceremony began.

“My Chiara,” Rafe whispered when it was time to lift his bride’s veil and kiss her.

She smiled into his eyes. “My Raffaele,” she said softly, and kissed him with all the love in her heart.

Afterward, at the reception, Isabella and Anna happily agreed it had all been like a fairy tale.