Chapter 28 Rafael
RAFAEL
I didn’t suggest we have Riley over because it’s strategic. Or at least, that’s the lie I tell myself first, because strategy is a language I speak fluently. But the truth presses in anyway, quiet and insistent.
I invited Riley because Aisling lights up when she’s here. Because the tightness in her shoulders loosens and the guarded look in her eyes softens into something unarmored and real.
More and more, I find that’s what I want, because seeing her happy is making me happier than I ever thought I could be again.
I remind myself that it’s temporary. Everything about this is temporary.
Still, when Riley barrels through the front door like she owns the place, curls bouncing, laugh already echoing off the marble, my mouth curves upward before I can stop it.
“Dragon!” she shouts, throwing her arms wide.
I crouch automatically, catching her as she collides with my chest. She smells like strawberry shampoo and sunshine, a combination that doesn’t belong in my world but has somehow snuck in anyway.
“There you are,” I say, steadying her. “I thought maybe you’d decided not to come back.”
She gasps, offended. “Sissy says this is my home too.”
Aisling hovers behind her, hands twisting together like she’s bracing for something to go wrong.
Her eyes meet mine, cautious and hopeful all at once, and when I smile, those blue pools seem to melt.
The rest of the Murray family follows Riley in like a weather system.
Callum Murray fills the doorway, broad and watchful, eyes already scanning the corners of the room out of habit.
Lindsey trails behind him, polite smile, sharp gaze. Aisling’s brothers fan out, each one a different flavor of danger as they greet Sandro like an old friend—which is either comforting or deeply concerning, depending on how I look at it.
They even clap me on the shoulder in a way I can only describe as good-natured, greeting me with a quick “thought we’d drop in for a brief chat” before leading the way into the newly finished living room.
I watch the Murrays closely as we settle in, the adults orbiting the low table, accepting a shot of whiskey when Sandro offers them one.
Riley ends up on the floor with Aisling, coloring books spread everywhere, narrating some imagined story in great detail as she fills the pages with color, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place above her.
Aisling hums encouragement, brushing hair out of Riley’s eyes with practiced ease.
The movement is so natural, it makes my chest ache to watch it.
After a brief exchange of small talk, Callum clears his throat, crossing his ankle over his knee as he leans back against the freshly delivered couch that now furnishes the room. “You said you had updates.”
I nod, pulling my attention back where it belongs. “We had dinner with the commissioner last night.”
That gets the Murrays’ interest immediately.
“And?”
“He’ll be on our payroll within the week,” I continue. “He’s definitely in our pocket, and I think it’s safe to say we’re officially ghosts as far as the paperwork goes. Anything that happens in the near future, especially around the Chicago River, will be… overlooked.”
Ryan lets out a low whistle. “So, no one will be investigating any bodies that happen to crop up floating downstream?”
“Within reason,” I say dryly. “That doesn’t mean we can get sloppy.”
Callum’s mouth tightens, satisfied. “Good. That means we can finish this without worrying about uniforms showing up late to the party.”
“There’s more,” I add, glancing in Aisling’s direction. “One of Tatsuo’s men made an attempt on Aisling’s life on our way home from dinner last night.”
The air changes instantly, and Aisling’s eyes flick up to find mine, just for a moment before she’s drawn back into Riley’s story, but it’s long enough that I can see the lingering fear behind them.
Our passionate night together wasn’t enough to wipe the trauma completely from her mind—no matter how hard I tried.
Not that I can blame her. Every time I close my eyes, I can still see that knife coming within a foot of her jugular, and it makes my blood boil.
“What?” Callum growls, sitting up as tension snaps through the lines of his body.
“I handled it,” I say evenly. “But it confirms what we suspected. The Yakuza are feeling boxed in. They wouldn’t risk that kind of move otherwise, and they’re not happy about your new alliance with me.”
The Irishman’s hands curl into fists. “They dared to come after my daughter for it?”
“That surprises you?” I question. “The Tanakas proved to us a long time ago that women are fair game in their eyes. But they didn’t succeed, and they won’t get another chance.”
The room hums with agreement, and I can feel the bonds between our families strengthening, the alliance building momentum as our shared enemy gives us a singular purpose—and a looming deadline.
“They’re weak, desperate, starting to make careless mistakes. It’s time we meet with Miko to coordinate our final strike,” I say.
Callum gives a solemn nod, and sharp anticipation crackles beneath my skin.
But when I meet Aisling’s eyes, I see an undercurrent of worry I haven’t seen before. But I can read it like an open book.
Her eyes tell me that her passion for vengeance might not be so strong now that everyone she cares about is in the room—now that she knows what the Yakuza are capable of, what we’ll be up against. She would do anything for her family.
I know that.
And now, her efforts to support them might just be what gets them killed.
The Murrays don’t stay much longer, a renewed sense of purpose seeming to drive them silently toward the door, and as it closes behind them, the house feels quieter, yet somehow warmer than before.
“This is it,” Aisling murmurs, sensing the unspoken tension. “Isn’t it?”
I nod. “We will win this,” I promise.
Her azure eyes turn to me, wide and trusting, and it makes something clench inside me. But before we can say more, Riley is bouncing between us, ready to get this party started. And it takes no time at all before we’ve both been thoroughly roped into her magical world of fantasy.
The afternoon unfolds without urgency.
Riley insists on showing me every room she remembers, giving me a tour of my own home—and lighting up like a kid on Christmas every time she discovers a newly renovated room.
She asks a thousand questions—why the ceilings are so high, why Sandro has so many tattoos, why so many parts of the house aren’t in use.
Aisling watches it all with amusement dancing in her eyes. “She’s very observant,” she says after Riley asks me point-blank why I hardly ever smile.
“So I’ve noticed.”
Eventually, Riley drags me into a game that involves stuffed animals staging an elaborate heist. While Aisling is deemed her partner in crime, I’m assigned the role of getaway driver.
Sandro wanders through, assesses the situation, and joins in without comment, voicing a bear with a suspicious accent.
For a few hours, the weight of reality lifts from my shoulders.
The looming Yakuza conflict recedes.
I forget, for a short while, how many people will be dead soon because of this fight—how many have already died because of me.
When evening comes, Riley insists on helping in the kitchen, mostly by taste-testing and narrating each step like a cooking show.
I lean against the counter, watching the staff move patiently around Aisling and the little girl, allowing them to be a part of the activity while they prepare the night’s meal.
There’s no doubt about it. Everyone whose life Riley touches is smitten with Aisling’s spirited little sister.
Dinner is loud and messy and perfect. Dessert ends in a food fight that culminates in riotous laughter, and when we’re done, Sandro, Evi, and I have to take showers while Aisling uses the guest bathroom to give Riley a bath.
Then it’s bedtime for Riley, and I linger in the hallway as Aisling tucks her in. The light is low, the air soft as she reads Riley a bedtime story, her voice warm and soothing.
Aisling would make such a good mother.
My heart stumbles like it’s forgotten the rhythm as the realization hits me harder than a bullet.
I see it suddenly, vividly—Aisling in the morning light, laughter soft and real, a baby on her hip, safe and loved.
And just as quickly, it hits me that I might want that child to be mine. It’s a ridiculous, dangerous thought. Aisling hasn’t even said she wants whatever this is between us to be real. Neither have I.
This is still an arrangement, a means to an end. That’s what we agreed upon.
But after last night, it feels like everything has changed.