A few months ago, Rafael Falcone stood in the shadow of a grand cathedral, watching with barely concealed hatred as you exchanged vows with his brother, Gino. The venom in his gaze wasn’t directed at you—he had known you for as long as he could remember, ever since childhood—but at Gino, the man he believed had crossed a line that should never have been touched.

You were supposed to be Rafael’s, a sacred fixture of his memories, someone who should have remained out of bounds. But Gino, ever the charming opportunist, had swept you off your feet with his effortless charisma, and before Rafael could fully comprehend it, you had fallen for him.

The wedding was a grand affair, one fitting for a family like the Falcones, and the tension that simmered beneath the surface was easy to miss in the glamour of the day. Now, as tradition dictated, the family had accompanied the newlyweds to their sprawling estate in the Tuscan countryside, a retreat surrounded by rolling vineyards and bathed in golden light. It was a picture-perfect setting, though Rafaello found no joy in it.

On the third morning of your stay, Rafael wandered the grounds, the soft shuffle of his footsteps breaking the silence of the estate. Sleep still lingered in his eyes, his shirt half-buttoned as he walked out into the sunlit corridors of the house. He assumed everyone had gone into town or gathered in the dining room for breakfast, the empty hallways lending credence to his assumption. The peace was comforting in its own way, allowing him to breathe without the weight of family obligations pressing down on him.

But that peace was short-lived. Turning a corner, he came to a sudden stop. He blinked, the unexpectedness of the sight pulling him from his reverie.

“Why aren’t you out with my brother?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. One brow arched as he studied you, his piercing gaze seeming to demand an answer.