Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 61 - Chapitre 70

Raffaele’s POV Valentina slowly rose, leaning against me. She looked emotionally drained and torn. I could see the doubt creeping in, nesting its way deep into her heart. I sighed. Patience was what I needed. “Let’s go have those oysters, shall we?” I whispered, trying to lighten the atmosphere. But the truth was heavier. I know I didn’t kill Valentina’s father—that much is clear. Yet the suspicion about my grandfather Domenico gnaws at me relentlessly. I feel torn between anger, betrayal, and the desperate need for answers I don’t have. Despite these lingering doubts about whether this relationship is salvageable, and the heavy weight of my family’s dirty secrets, I can’t help but choose to forgive Valentina. I understand her pain and where her mistrust really comes from—deeper wounds that aren’t my doing—and I have to protect her from whatever may be hurting her. I guess you could say my forgiveness is both strategic and emotional. Like she said—“for my own emotional

Valentina’s POV Jens, our guide, had driven us to the log cabin in the nearby town of Sørvágur. It was a small, charming place that offered a touch of modern comfort and accessibility. The town had picturesque shops, cozy cafés, and better infrastructure. Being close to the airport made it convenient for travelers and thrill seekers like us. The town was nestled against a dramatic, sloping hillside, its earthy tones of brown and gold contrasting with the overcast sky. This creates a sense of serene isolation within me, as if the settlement was carved into the wild landscape, untouched by modernity’s rush. The black wooden church with its white-framed windows and pointed steeple radiated a historical and rustic allure blurred outside the window. The surrounding houses, painted in a mix of muted reds, greens, and grays with grass roofs, evoke a traditional Nordic architectural style that felt timeless and charming. “Please give us a call, Mr. and Mrs. Ricchezza, if yo

Raffaele’s POV Valentina held the gun steadily, aiming it toward the door and loading it with practiced ease. Then, without warning, Fiametta burst in—fiery red hair wild, thick cakey makeup, teetering on high heels as she dragged her suitcase behind her. “Enzo! Where are the concierges? You have to help me!” she pouted dramatically, stumbling into the room. Enzo was busy trying to assist her while a breathless Domenico entered alongside a stern-faced Giuliana, who had her arms protectively around Rosalia, my mother. No one noticed the gun—until Fiametta’s sharp voice cut through the chaos. “Oh my God, Raffaele, are you really sleeping with that slut? Paolo’s daughter, you know—the infamous archaeologist who got shot!” She smirked, eyes flicking to the gun. Valentina lowered the weapon awkwardly, fury boiling just beneath the surface, her knuckles white from gripping it so tight. “No, I wasn’t expecting uninvited company,” she said coolly, “and I don’t appreciate gue

Valentina’s POV I sat in Raffaele’s lap, my cheeks pressing against him. I could feel his heat beneath me. I had to keep him here—drag him away from all the poisonous family drama swirling around us. That snake Fiametta was exactly as Raffaele had described: dramatic, unhinged, and obsessively possessive over Enzo. And his father? A tragic, washed-up playboy drowning in his own failures. And Domenico—God, don’t even get me started. His dark comment rattled me to the bone. He hated her guts, truly. If I were her, I’d be careful what I drank around him. So, I sat there, looking innocent in his lap, trying to distract him. The Assyrian goatskin lay nearby waiting to be used. “Raffaele, look at me.” He was so deep in thought it was hard to get his attention for once. “Valentina, look… this is not a good time for play… I’m thinking.” “I can see that,” I said, and kissed his neck. “Think of something else… think of me.” I trailed down to his chest. “See… all bette

Raffaele’s POV The wind roared, and foam sprayed like froth over the raging sea. Saltwater burned in my lungs and stung my eyes. The small cliff we had managed to climb overlooked the turbulent Atlantic Ocean in uproar. I held Valentina in my arms; she was shaking, the cold seeping deep into her bones. Then, finally, I heard the familiar sound of Enzo’s helicopter hovering above the stormy waves. As the helicopter closed in and lowered, Kareem popped his head out. “Raffaele, grab my hand!” Kareem shouted through the wind. “No, take Valentina first!” I said, gripping her thighs firmly and heaving her upward. She was weak and slippery. “Raffaele, I can’t hold!” she screamed as she fell back. Kareem reached for her, but their hands slipped apart, and she fell back onto the rocks with a thud. I couldn’t catch her. We both stumbled backward. Then Kareem grabbed me with an iron grip around my arm and dragged me into the helicopter. “No, Valentina!” I screamed. “