Chapter 33
Rafe
Cecelia's message lit up my phone screen and my lips curved into a smile before I could stop them.
No bra. Tiny lace thong. Fuck, she was trying to kill me.
I shifted in my leather chair, adjusting myself as my cock instantly hardened at the mental image she'd so helpfully provided.
Five hours since I'd left her sprawled naked across our bed, and it felt like five fucking years.
I typed back a quick response, imagining her smile when she read it. This flirtatious, playful side of Cecelia was addictive. Like everything else about her.
Setting my phone down, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the Manhattan skyline through my office window. Tonight. Our first real date. I wanted it to be perfect.
I picked up my desk phone and dialed the number the most exclusive restaurant in the city. The ma?tre d' answered on the second ring.
"Lucien's, how may I assist you?"
"Antoine, it's Rafael de Luca."
"Mr. de Luca." His tone shifted immediately to effusive delight. "It's been too long since we've had the pleasure of your company."
"I need to make a booking for tonight. Seven o'clock."
"Tonight?" He hesitated. "I'm afraid we're fully booked, but perhaps I could—"
"I don't want a table," I interrupted. "I want the restaurant."
Another pause. "The entire restaurant, sir?"
"That's what I said. Just for my wife and me. I'll pay whatever it costs to clear your reservations for the evening. Chef Marcel can prepare his seven-course tasting menu. The wine pairings are at his discretion."
"Of course, Mr. de Luca."
"And I want the terrace set up. Candles, flowers, the works. But no roses." I remembered the stalker's dead roses and felt my jaw tighten. "Orchids, if you have them. White."
"Consider it done. We'll make the necessary arrangements with our other guests."
"Thank you, Antoine. I'll have my office call to handle the details and payment."
I hung up and turned to my laptop, pulling up the website for, Natalie de la Fuente, a famous designer. My eyes scanned through evening wear options, searching for something that would make those green eyes of hers light up.
A burgundy silk dress caught my attention—off-shoulder with a plunging neckline that would showcase her perfect tits.
The kind of dress made to be peeled off slowly at the end of the night.
I clicked to check availability and delivery options.
Same-day delivery was possible for an extra fee. Obviously.
My phone buzzed with another text. I checked it, expecting Cecelia, but it was Liam confirming our gym session for tomorrow. I typed a quick affirmative response before returning to the dress selection.
"Mr. de Luca?"
I looked up to find Andrew hovering in my doorway, a stack of paperwork clutched to his chest like a shield. My assistant had worked for me for ten years, and he still looked perpetually terrified that I might bite his head off. Which, to be fair, I occasionally did.
"What is it?" I asked, not bothering to hide my impatience. I wanted to finish ordering Cecelia's dress before my next meeting.
"The Goldman contract revisions you requested." He took a tentative step into my office. "And your father called. Twice. He says it's urgent."
Of course he did. Ever since our confrontation about Cecelia, my father had been on a campaign to make my life as difficult as possible. Urgent probably meant he'd found another society princess for me to consider marrying instead of my actual wife.
"Since he’s the one sending me out of town, tell him I’m not available." I turned my attention back to the dress. "And leave those on the desk. I'll look at them later."
"But sir, he seemed quite—"
My phone lit up with Cecelia's name and photo, and everything else immediately became background noise. I snatched it up, already smiling as I answered.
"Missing me already?" I purred.
Instead of her laugh, I heard a scream. Her scream.
"Rafe! Help me! He's here. The stalk—"
The call cut off.
"Cecelia?" Her name came out strangled. "Cecelia!"
Silence. Dead air. I redialed instantly, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. Straight to voicemail.
"Shit. Shit."
Cold sweat broke out across my skin as I bolted upright, knocking over my chair with a crash. I gripped the phone so tightly pain shot through my fingers.
"Sir?" Andrew was staring at me, wide-eyed. "What's happened?"
Ignoring him, I pulled up the security app on my phone. The feeds from the penthouse cameras should show me what was happening. I could dispatch security, call the police, do something other than stand here helplessly while Cecelia was—
The screen loaded. Connection Failed flashed in red letters where the video feeds should be. All of them—living room, kitchen, hallway, foyer—offline.
"Sir, should I call someone or—"
"Get out of my way," I snarled as I shoved past Andrew, not caring when the papers he'd been holding scattered across the floor. Nothing mattered except getting to Cecelia.
In the outer office, heads turned at my explosive exit, but I registered none of them. My mind had narrowed to a single focus: Cecelia in danger. Cecelia screaming my name. Cecelia cut off mid-word.
I jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, cursing when it didn't immediately appear. "Come on, come on, fucking come on!"
The doors finally slid open, and I nearly collided with an older executive stepping out.
I pushed past him without apology and hammered the button for the parking garage.
As the doors closed, I pulled up Mac's contact and called, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight I could feel my nails cutting into my palm.
He answered on the second ring. "De Luca."
"It's Cecelia." My voice was clipped. "Someone's in the penthouse. She called me screaming for help before the line went dead. Security feeds are down."
The change in Mac's tone was immediate, all traces of casualness gone. "On it." I could hear movement on his end—drawers opening, keys jangling.
“You'll need the security code for the private elevator," I told him before rattling off said code as I watched the elevator's descent with growing impatience. "Get your ass over there, Mac. Please."
"I'm already moving. Calling for backup now. Stay on the line."
The elevator reached the parking garage, and I exploded into the concrete space, phone pressed to my ear as I sprinted toward my car. I could hear Mac speaking rapidly to someone else, his voice muffled as if he'd pulled the phone away from his mouth.
"I'm fifteen minutes out in this traffic," Mac said, coming back on the line. "Dispatch is sending units that should be there in five. Where are you?"
"Leaving the office. Ten minutes away if traffic cooperates." I reached my Aston Martin and fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped them. When I finally yanked the car door open. I threw myself into the driver's seat. "Just get there. Please."
"I will. De Luca, listen to me." Mac's voice took on that authoritative tone he used when he needed someone to follow his instructions. "Don't do anything stupid. Wait for backup if you get there first."
I barked out a harsh laugh as I peeled out of the parking space. "Not a chance in hell."
"Rafe—"
I hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, needing both hands on the wheel as I navigated the tight turns of the garage. I nearly collided with a concrete pillar as I took the final turn too sharply.
Bursting out of the garage onto the street, I immediately hit a wall of midday Manhattan traffic. "Move!" I shouted uselessly at the sea of yellow cabs and delivery trucks clogging the avenue. I laid on the horn, drawing angry glares from pedestrians on the sidewalk.
My mind raced with images of Cecelia in danger. Was she hurt? Scared? Had that fucker touched her? The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I spotted a narrow gap between a taxi and a town car and gunned the engine, cutting them off with inches to spare.
Horns blared around me, but the sound barely registered.
I reached for my phone again, trying to call Cecelia.
Maybe the first call had been a fluke, a bad connection.
Maybe she was fine and I was overreacting.
Voicemail again.
"Fuck!"
I slammed my palm against the steering wheel hard enough to send pain shooting up my arm. I tried Mac again as I wove through traffic, ignoring red lights and one-way signs in my desperation to reach the penthouse faster.
"Any update?" I demanded the moment he answered.
"Units are three minutes out. I'm still en route."
I hung up again, unwilling to waste time on conversation when every second might be the difference between—No.
I couldn't let my mind go there. Couldn't imagine Cecelia hurt, bleeding, or afraid.
Couldn't contemplate what I would do if I lost her just when I'd finally admitted to myself how much she meant to me.
Traffic came to a complete standstill at the next intersection, cars packed bumper-to-bumper with nowhere to go.
I looked frantically for any escape route, any possible path forward, but we were boxed in by delivery trucks on both sides.
Through the windshield, I watched pedestrians flowing past on the crosswalk, moving faster than any of the vehicles around me.
I pounded the dashboard with my fist, frustration and fear coalescing into a rage that threatened to consume me.
I could jump out, try to run the remaining fifteen blocks, but would that be faster than waiting for traffic to clear?
My indecision paralyzed me for precious seconds as scenarios played through my mind.
I closed my eyes briefly and did something I hadn't done since I was a child. I prayed, to whatever force might be listening. Keep her safe. Let me get to her in time. Let her be okay.
I looked out at the gridlocked traffic, at the distance still between me and Cecelia, and felt a despair so profound it threatened to swallow me whole.
I made a decision.
Shoving the car into park, I grabbed my phone, and yanked the keys from the ignition. Then I was out the door, leaving it open behind me as I sprinted toward the sidewalk.
“Hey,” a voice called from behind me. “You can't leave your car there.”
I ignored it and pushed past startled pedestrians as I broke into a full run. The penthouse was still fifteen blocks away, but on foot I at least had a chance. Every second counted. Every heartbeat was one more moment Cecelia faced that monster alone.
My lungs burned as I ran, dodging through the crowded sidewalks, ignoring the stares and muttered curses as I shoved past people.
In my mind, I pictured Cecelia as I'd last seen her that morning—sleepy-eyed and beautiful, her hair mussed from our lovemaking, her lips curved in that smile that seemed reserved just for me. The image gave me strength, pushing me to move faster, to ignore the burning in my legs and lungs.
I would get to her. I had to. The alternative was unthinkable.