The next morning, I wake to the smell of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. Raphaelle is already up, sitting on the lounge-chair by the fireplace, a reading light dimmed down beside him. As I enter the room, he looks up, expression changing fast and immediately.

"Good morning, baby," he greets me. He gestures for me to take a seat on his lap, and I don't hesitate to come. He wraps his arms around my waist, cradling me tightly.

"Did you sleep good?"

I shrug, "I slept okay, I guess."

His warm breath dances across my neck, "you'll nap on the plane then."

"Plane?"

"Mhm. We're going to Catania," he says while his fingers trail lightly down my back. 

"We are? But what about school?"

I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of his touch. His lips graze my ear, "school is coming with. You're having classes online." 

Raphaelle's fingers continue to trace delicate patterns on my skin. Catania? I have never been to Catania. I've never been out of mainland California. But why so spontaneously?

His lips brush against mine with a gentle urgency that leaves me breathless, "I have business to attend. Besides, I wanna show you off to my family."

I lean into his touch, "so soon?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly, "so soon? You've been mine for quite some time now, baby." 

I smile. "But your family? That's a lot of... pressure."

Raphaelle scoops me up in his arms, effortlessly carrying me towards the dining table. 

I find myself lost in Raphaelle's deep, piercing gaze as he sets me down on the velvet dining chair. His fingers brush lightly against my cheek, "pressure? No. No pressure. They'll love you."

Raphaelle moves across the table, taking the seat opposite me, "Nutella and pancakes?"

I nod eagerly, Raphaelle proceeds to call for the chef. Chef nods at his demand. I refrain from rolling my eyes, avoiding a red bottom at all costs. But I just wish he'd be nicer, to, well, everyone else but me. 

Shortly after, pancakes arrive. He watches me intently as I take my first bite, "you know, there's a lot more Nutella to come," he winks. 

What does he mean by that?

I swallow hard. "What will your family think of me?" I ask, unable to suppress the nervous flutter in my stomach. 

Raphaelle leans back in his chair, "they will see what I see - a beautiful, beautiful good girl. I promise, you have nothing to worry about."

I nod, swallowing another bite. 

"Baby, trust me. They'll adore you. It's impossible not to" he whispers, taking a sip of his coffee.

I blush like a rose under him. He brings out every shade of pink in me, in all places. 

"But, I'm not like them..."

He sighs, taking my fork and knife from my hands, cutting up a piece, holding it up to my mouth. I open. "You're not like me either. But you're still here, with me. Don't overthink this. Just be your cute little self, and let daddy handle the rest." 

Daddy? Let daddy handle this. I swallow, nodding. 

I finish my breakfast, and Raphaelle stands up and extends his hand towards me. I take it, and he leads me towards the grand staircase. Raphaelle leads me to his private study, a room filled with darkness, guns, and a grand mahogany desk. He sits me down on the plush chair in front of the desk and takes a seat himself. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me feel... bubbly.

"Listen, baby," he starts, his voice low and commanding. "You have nothing to worry about. My family may be intimidating, but they will see what I see in you. We all appreciate well-mannered people. And you're a good girl. You're as good as can be."

I nod, fidgeting with my fingers before him. He pulls me onto his lap, fumbling through a drawer, for an album of some sort. Inside there are photographs. Of men similar to him, but so different from him. He stops at a photo of a girl, looking five-years-old in the photo. In the background there's a teenage-looking-boy, so very much like him, but too... I don't know, not intense?  

"This is my little sister," he continues, smiling as he looks at the photo. "And yes, that tiny thing in the background is me. The thing is... she's like you. She's a good girl. She's not into violence, she doesn't like guns, and she avoids conflicts at all costs. Not all of my family are bad people, bambina. And you'll see that, once you get to know them." 

He shuts the album close, storing it back into the drawer. I nod, processing what he just said. 

"They'll love you. Now go pack a few toys and stuffies. I've already packed everything else. We'll leave in an hour" he murmurs, before kissing me softly. 

I wander to my room, my mind races with thoughts of what lies ahead in Catania. Raphaelle's words continue to echo in my mind. Perhaps it won't be all that bad? Perhaps I'm just mentally preparing for the worst again, as I always do. Ever since mom... I haven't yet learned how to let that go. 

I begin packing a few of my stuffies, including the squishmallow he bought me that day... I can't believe it's so many weeks ago. Time has passed so quickly, it's insane. Then I sprint off with my small bag in hand, running to my playroom a few doors down the hall, and once there I collect some coloring stuff. I don't want to come off as too childish for his family. I know Raphaelle loves this side of me, encouraging it, but his family might not be as accepting. I want them to like me, to approve. And I don't know why it matters so much to me, but somehow it does. 

An hour passes and Giancarlo arrives at the gates. I've come to learn that Giancarlo is Raphaelle's most trusted.  His Mercedes, all black and immaculately is parked up and ready to go.

Giancarlo takes our suitcases and throws them into the trunk. Raphaelle nods a thank you, then buckles me up per tradition.

Giancarlo drives, and Raphaelle sits beside me in the backseat. His hand rests possessively on my thigh. I love when he does that. It makes me feel some type of way. 

"Are you nervous?" Raphaelle asks.

I nod slowly, knowing he doesn't want me to be. But I just can't help it. This matters to me. He matters to me. And so naturally his family does too. 

He leans in closer, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, "there's no need to be. Daddy's got you."

I lean into his touch, craving more of his reassurance. It blows me away. I'm utterly blown away by him. Even though the storm breaks a few branches. I'll bleed, but not for long. I'll heal, to have it all over again. Because the slight pain of a branch breaking, is better than the pain of never knowing him. No pain can ever be worse than if I ever am to lose him. I love him. 

The car ride to the airport seems to stretch on forever, maybe it's all because of these suffocating nerves. 

As we reach the airport, Raphaelle's grabs hold of my hand, kissing it gently, "I know this is new for you, but it's all okay. You're safe. Just don't overthink." 

We make our way through security check, and then what surprises me is that we're in the private one. There are so few people here. We're flying private? woah. 

The private jet is waiting. Raphaelle is unfazed, doesn't seem odd or anything to him. Has he ever been on a commercial plane before? Like, ever? I have no idea. 

He holds out his hand for me, helping me step onto the plane, we step onto the plane. It feels way too luxurious for me. This is surreal. Yet for him, it seems normal. But of course everything abnormal is normal to him.

We settle into our seats, and watches me with that softness that I love. Raphaelle's fingers find mine, intertwining them, a silent reassurance. The plane takes off, soaring into the sky, leaving behind the world that I know and am familiar with. 

I look out of the small window, mesmerized. Everything becomes so tiny. It makes me think. And after thinking, my eyes grow heavy, and I lean back into my seat falling asleep. 

I wake to the jolt of the plane touching down in Catania, and I step onto the tarmac, the heat of the Sicilian sun surprising me. Why does the European heat feel hotter on my skin? weird.

Raphaelle's hand firmly clasps mine, leading me towards a waiting car. A girl peeps out, rushing towards Raphaelle, attacking him in a hug. 

"Ciao, Chiara, mi sei mancata, come vanno le cose con mamma?" he asks, as he releases her. I stand awkwardly by his side. Italian. I'll have to get used to not understanding things. But, I think he asked her about her mom? Their mom? They look similar. Chiara? That's his sister's name? Beautiful. 

"Le cose vanno bene. Lei è un po' peggio, ma nel complesso sta rispondendo benissimo alla chemio," she replies, her expression turning serious. What does that mean? 

Then she smiles, reaching out to hug me, kissing my cheeks. "You must be Sophia!"

"It's so nice to finally meet you! Sei bellissima," she says as she lets go. 

"It's nice to meet you too!" I smile, holding onto Raphaelle's hand, for the mere comfort of it.

"How was the flight?" She asks as we get seated in the car. She's in front with whoever that dark gruff man is, and I'm in the backseat with Raphaelle. I remind myself to always stay close to him. 

As we drive through the picturesque streets of Catania, the architecture blows me away. There's so much history here. It's so different from California, and the streets of LA.

We eventually reach Raphaelle's family home. It'is an impressive mansion, a grand villa surrounded by lush gardens and towering palm trees. Gated. I'm not surprised. I can't help but feel the weight of my expectations as we walk hand in hand towards the entrance. But Raphaelle's reassuring, holding my hand tightly, firmly, refusing to let go.

We enter an opulent foyer, much warmer than his LA residence. And we are greeted by Raphaelle's stepfather, I think. He's in his fifties, I think. Just as dark, just as rough and gruff. He's not a man to mess with either. They are a striking bunch, exuding power and confidence in their own way. But where is his mother? 

Giovanni, his stepfather, there is an air of authority that surrounds him. His piercing gaze meets mine, assessing, calculating. I shiver, nervously. 

"Sophia, si?" He asks, stretching out his hand. 

I look up at Raphaelle, he softens, then nods. I shake his hand, "si, Sophia."

Raphaelle stands beside me, his hand on the small of my back, "lei non parla italiano." 

Giovanni makes a flick of his hand, whatever that means, but it makes Raphaelle chuckle.

"Dille di sentirsi a casa. Non mordiamo la famiglia qui." Giovanni's voice is deep and strong as we're lead into the living room. Extravagant and warm. Whites and terracotta. It's so different from Raphaelle's home. Very different.  

Raphaelle's hand loosens on mine, "I was to tell you to feel at home. Don't be scared of him. He's a nice man." 

Is he seriously asking me not to be scared when a rabbit surrounded by hungry wolves? I'm only comfortable around him, because I know by now that he's vegetarian. 

"Dovete avere fame. Il letto è fatto per voi due, potete disfare i bagagli prima di mangiare," Giovanni calls, taking a seat on a suede couch.

Raphaelle nods, leading me out of the room, down a hall and into a grand spacious bedroom. Raphaelle turns to me, "do you want a few minutes to yourself?" 

I shake my head. No. Absolutely not. I'm tearing up just thinking about being alone. 

Raphaelle pulls me into his embrace, leaving our suitcases by the door, shutting it close. 

His lips find mine in a tender kiss, "why are you scared? Hm?"

I lower my head, pressing my forehead into his chest. "I just. It's all so new. I don't know anybody here. I don't understand the language. And I know Sicilia is known for mafia activity. And you're stepfather... I thought Giancarlo was intense to be around... but your stepfather... he's almost at your level of intense. It's... scaring me." 

He strokes my hair softly, brushing strands with his fingers, "shhhh. I understand. But Giovanni is a nice man. And I mean that. He's way nicer than me. And he won't hurt. Nobody else will either. You're corrupting your precious mind with fears that aren't true. Don't do that. Trust in daddy instead. Okay?" 

I nod against his chest, feeling the soothing beat of his heart against my cheek. "I'll try, daddy."

He pulls back slightly, his stormy gaze locked onto mine,  "that's my good girl," he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw before capturing my lips in another tender kiss.

"Come, let's go down to dinner. You need energy, baby." 

Dinner is an elaborate affair, filled with rich Italian dishes, too many of them, and lively conversations that I can't understand. Chiara and Raphaelle tries their best to include me in the chatter, translating bits and pieces for me, but I can't help but feel like an outsider.

After dinner, Raphaelle leads me back to our room. "Are you okay, baby?" he asks, softly.

I nod, "I'm just... overwhelmed, I guess."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek, "You don't have to be anything you're not around them. Just be yourself, okay?"

I nod again, the words sinking in slowly. Be myself. It sounds simple, yet it feels like an impossible task.

Raphaelle leans in, his lips brushing against mine, "I love you."

I feel safe and wanted, a feeling that both comforts and frightens me in equal measure. What if I ever lose him?

"I love you."

We move to the large four-poster bed, Raphaelle's eyes are caressing my soul as he gazes at me, softly and domineeringly. "What do you want daddy to do to make you feel better?" 

His lips trail down my neck, kissing softly.

"Do you want a bath? Do you wanna go out for a walk? Tell me, bambina. What can daddy do?" 

I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. "Kiss me," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

A predatory glint sparks in his eyes as he leans in closer, "Kiss you?" he teases, "where?" 

I blush, a whimper escaping, "daddy!" I whine. 

"Where, baby?I won't kiss you anywhere until you tell me," his voice is soft like silk, his fingers tracing the outline of my jaw. "Everywhere," I reply, leaning into his touch, my breath unsteady.

He leans in, but stops right before out lips collide, "everywhere is not good enough. Where?"

I pout. This is so not fair. 

"All over me. I-I need, please, don't make me say it," I beg. 

"Do you want daddy to kiss you down there? Is that why you're shying up?" 

I nod, relieved at his taking the lead. "You sure? Daddy hasn't touched you like that before. And I know for sure that you haven't been touched before. It can be very intense." 

I nod, "please."

"Alright. Daddy'll touch you. But only if you promise to tell me if you want to stop." 

I nod, "I promise," I breathe. 

He then captures my lips in a searing kiss. Raphaelle's hands caresses me cheeks, softly engaging. His fingers deftly lifts up my dress, exposing my skin to him. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispers as his fingers grace my arms.