16. Ezra

Chapter sixteen

Ezra

I can barely feel the evening breeze on my skin as I stand by the open window in my office. My mind is filled with many thoughts as I gaze at the trees in the compound. This new mansion reminds me of my mother. She loved trees and flowers just as much as she hated me being the don.

On some nights, when Dad’s training became intense, she’d apologize for bringing me into such a life. Mother was a firm believer in leading a normal life. But she, too, was forced to live this life. A life of uncertainties, dangerous dealings, and disappointments.

Even a smoke cannot wipe away the anger in my chest. The shipment is late again.

I clench my jaw and exhale loudly. We have timelines for a reason—precision is what keeps us ahead. But Frank Paterson, the head of the new task force, has been nothing but a pain in the ass.

“Don, there’s word from the docks.” Elio’s voice cuts through the silence, and I hear him step inside.

I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. My patience is wearing thin, and even the slightest bad news can tick me off.

“Speak.”

“ C’è stato un altro ritardo (There’s been another delay).”

“That’s the third one this week.” I slam my fist into the wall beside me. The pain is nothing compared to the anger boiling in me. “What I want to know is why this keeps happening. Why the fuck my shipments are getting held up from leaving the ports. Why am I being fed excuses instead of results? We’re not running a charity here, Elio.”

He clears his throat. “Of course not, but the ports get tighter. More inspections. More eyes. The feds are getting stricter.”

I finally turn to face him, my eyes narrowing. The only thing I can deduce from this development is that Miller is a lazy ass cunt. So what if there’s a new task force? His job is to prevent this from happening.

“Contact Miller,” I say, my voice low. “We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“Sì, Don,” he says, but doesn’t leave.

I raise a questioning brow at him. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a few seconds before speaking. “Well, Raven is asking that you dine with her…” he pauses again, most likely studying my blank face. “In the dining room.”

“Why?” I tilt my head in question.

Elio shrugs.

I mostly have my meals in my office. I don't have the time to sit in the dining room and enjoy a meal.

“Miller. Now,” I order Elio.

He gives a curt nod and walks off briskly as though the tiled floor is covered with burning coals. I turn to the window again but feel a headache coming on. Letting out a sigh, I lift my hand to massage my temples as I turn to the window.

I should have known it would lead to this. Women. Show them the littlest hint of care, and they’ll become clingy. Although I don't know if it's the clinginess that bothers me…

I knew it'd happen. The one week we’d spent laying in the same bed was sure to warrant such a response, and despite knowing this, I couldn't help but still do it. At first, my actions had seemed like a natural response but even I knew it was beyond that.

For fuck’s sake, I could choose to sleep elsewhere in the mansion. But I chose to return to her… every night. It’s like there’s no restraint when it comes to her, and even now, my feet are taking me to oblige her request. But this is only to make her feel safe. Nothing more.

When I reach the large brown door, I immediately push it open and enter.

Raven is seated at the far end of the table. Her hair is in a loose bun with a few strands framing the side of her face. Both of her hands are placed on either side of the steaming plate of pasta before her, and her eyes are fixed on them.

I arch a brow at her untouched food. She really is waiting to have dinner with me.

Tucking my hands into the pockets of my pants, I stride towards the table and assume my seat on the chair two spaces away from her.

She finally acknowledges my presence as she raises her eyes with a small smile. I’m a bit taken aback by her smile, perhaps because I’ve never seen her smile like this before… at least not at me. There’s a softness to it, something I can’t quite place.

But I feel it, and her next words confirm it.

“How are you?”

The same tenderness in her smile swims in her eyes. I’m too stunned to speak. I haven’t been asked that in years… not in this way. Whenever Elio asks me, it’s in relation to an event or revolves around the dealings of business. Silvia was the only one who asked me about anything outside of my don title.

That’s why I don’t know how to respond and, thankfully, the door opens. A chef walks in. She’s holding a white ceramic-covered bowl and walking towards me.

“Good evening, sir.” She bows curtly before dropping the bowl on the table. Then opens the cover to reveal the same pasta dish.

I don’t acknowledge her greeting and watch her serve the contents of the bowl onto an empty plate before me. She bows when she’s done and hurries out.

Once we’re alone, I bring my gaze back to Raven. “How are you feeling?” The question leaves my lips too casually and not as concerned as I’d wanted.

“I’m fine,” she replies, almost immediately, lowering her gaze to grab a fork. I don’t miss how her smile slowly fades. I’m also aware that I didn’t answer her question, and I don’t intend to. Answering would be crossing a line I didn’t want to. She had to know the shenanigans of the past few days were no more than a normal humane response.

I pick up my fork and roll the pasta. The clank sound of our cutleries against the plates resonates lowly in the room, and before I bring the food to my mouth, her voice reaches me again.

“I still feel scared,” she says, just as she swallows. “Paranoid even that someone will appear out of nowhere and…” she trails off.

My grip around the fork tightens as her words tug at something in my chest. No one will. I’ll make sure of that. “I’ll double the guards at the door.”

“No,” she quickly shakes her head. “It’s…fine.”

I take a bite of spaghetti, willing my mind to focus on the food. I don’t want to think about how she has to go through all this because one bastard mentioned her name. I don’t want to think about her undecided fate.

Another fork full of spaghetti hits my tongue, and I revel in its taste. The last time I had good food was weeks ago. Russo and the recent happenings seem to have been consuming my time. Since the delays started, my attempts to buffer the situation have been successful but that will only last so long. Customers will start to grow impatient, and I’m not one to make excuses.

“Do you sometimes feel scared?”

I raise my head to find her staring at me as she pushes a strand of hair from her face. Furrowing my brows, I hold her gaze and search… really search her eyes. I’m wondering where her ridiculous questions are coming from. Is it the incident?

“No,” I press my lips into a thin line. It’s not a lie. The only thing that could cause fear for me is gone.

“Wow… that’s a first,” she mutters, before her eyes flit around the room. “Not even when you go on missions?”

“No.”

She seems to adjust her feet under the table as I hear her thick release of breath. “I used to think everyone has fears, you know. That one thing they’re scared of.”

Her gaze lands on me, and she continues, holding her fork again. “For you, I just thought it’d be…fear of getting killed.”

Of course. I used to fear for my life. Back when I still had my daughter to go home to. Life used to be worth living.

Clenching my teeth, I pick at my food. “Fear is nothing but an illusion.” I pick up my fork filled with a ball of pasta. “On the field, allow it to fill your mind, and you’re as good as dead.”

She nods and inhales a deep breath. I notice her grip around the fork loosen. Her back hunches a little as she slightly curls into herself before leaning against the chair. “I used to be scared of losing my father until it happened.”

I say nothing even though a forlorn expression settles on her face. Jeremiah Nightshade. The man who abandoned his daughter to do life on her own at eighteen. I wonder why he left.

“How about you?” she sighs, fixing her eyes on me. “Have you ever been scared of losing…anybody?”

As she says the words, I get flashbacks to that horrible night. My hand instinctively clenches into a fist, and my heart rate quickens. That was the last time I felt fear.

“No.” The words come out hard through my gritted teeth. I didn’t come to have dinner to relive what I wanted to forget.

My appetite is suddenly gone, and I instantly rise to leave. There are much better things to do with my time. Without sparing her a glance, I turn to the door when her voice stops me dead in my tracks, and my blood runs cold.

“Were they your family?” Her voice is a whisper, but it reaches me loud. I turn around and find a knowing look in her eyes. The tender expression is now replaced with sympathy– stupid sympathy.

“Who?”

She inhales, and I hope she’s not about to say what I think. “T-the woman and... and the girl.”

I feel my body tense. She’s trespassed.

“You’ve been to my study, Raven?” I demand, anger spreading through my veins as I take one step forward.

“Look, I’m sorry but... But I- I just thought to kno-”

Fuck .

“I allowed you to roam the damn mansion and you intrude on my private space!” I sneer, taking quick strides toward her. She has no fucking right to mess around with my past, nor to question me.

“I- I was just try–” Her words are cut off when I slam my fist against the table. She flinches, but it doesn’t bother me.

With short, quick breaths, I lean forward, a thick breath of tension the only thing that separates our faces.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to meddle in my business,” I spit. My nostrils flare with anger when she curls into herself. “Don’t you dare try to act like a therapist because you’re not…”

“You’re a hostage, Raven. Nothing more.”