Bred In Violence (A Mafia Romance Book One) #𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏

Chapter 27

Real love is always chaotic. You lose control; you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself. The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It's a given, and that's the secret.

                 ~Jonathan Carroll~

                               Sophie

I woke up alone. I threw up the covers and realized I had on my pajama shorts, which I couldn't remember putting on. I sat down abruptly, shocked and embarrassed because I knew Raphael had dressed me and probably bathed me too, considering I didn't stink of vomit.

I checked around, noticing there was no dent on his pillow, which told me he had been awake for some time. The house was silent, but I knew Gabs, Nonna, Flora, and probably either Bruno or Romano were somewhere in the house. I found it strange that Raphael always left one of them with us even though I could clearly see how bored they were just sitting around doing nothing.

My cheeks heated as I remembered how I had behaved yesterday, shamelessly kissing Raphael, touching every part of him that wasn't covered by clothing. He made me impulsive, reckless, and uninhibited, like kissing his neck and biting his earlobe. I hide my face with my hands, willing to forget it, but I knew I would remember it for the rest of my life.

Turning to check the room, I saw a phone on top of the bedside table on my side of the bed. It was a white iPhone.

A handwritten note got my attention, before marveling at the new phone I knew without a doubt was mine; another gift from Raphael- it was becoming a habit of his, this need to gift me with things I could never afford.

When I first came into this house, my clothes wouldn't fit a quarter of the closet's size in this house; now, it was full. I had a dozen designer jeans, evening gowns that I didn't think I will ever get a chance to wear, but which Raphael mentioned I needed. I felt like a gold-digger because I secretly loved all the clothes, shoes, and everything else he had bought for me.

I read the note and re-read it a few times. There was nothing special about the wordings; it's just that he wrote me a note, he left me a note. I stared at it far more than I should...I loved him. That realization came with joy, uncertainty, and a pending feeling of imminent heartbreak. I laid across the bed thinking of all the intoxicating kisses we had shared, every word he has ever said to me since we met, even the mundane ones.

I wondered if I had the same effect on him. Does he remember every word I have ever said to him, every touch, every smile because God knows I remember every single little thing about him.

Kicking myself out of a daze, I took my new phone, scrolling through, finding numerous messages from my grandmother. I have been selfish; I realized as I listened to her scared voice messages imagining the worst had happened to me since I hadn't called or returned her calls.

But calling her had to wait until I had taken a shower. I needed to know what exactly to tell her and what to leave out.

Raphael's bathroom was bigger than the one in my room, or more precisely the room flora had allocated me, which I never slept in or kept my clothes anymore now that Raphael had instructed her to transfer all my belongings to his room. It almost felt like I was married, except I wasn't having sex, which was another thing I needed to think about. Why Raphael always pulled away, why he never let us go all the way. I was ready; I knew I was. Why didn't he want to make love with me? How did he control it? Men always want to have sex- or so I have heard; why was he different?

I remembered Monica-one of my high school classmate whom I overheard once say - "if he ain't getting it from you, he is definitely getting it from someone one else."