Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
RAFFAEL
I hear Isla wake from the living room. The rustle of bedsheets. The flush of the toilet. The cascade of the shower’s spray.
She slept for seven hours after we spoke, but I didn’t catch a wink. I couldn’t. I stayed in the room, my thoughts held hostage by what she went through while the lingering effects of sedation had her knocked out cold.
She’d been confined. Interrogated. Pepper gassed. All because of my family.
My fucking father’s legacy.
I’d wanted to stay with her until she woke. To consume each unsettled whimper. But the longer I remained at her side, the harder the damage of my bloodline tore through me.
My resentment intensified.
The demand for change grew.
A cold shower hadn’t been the answer. Neither had coffee.
Yet here I stand, downing my third mug, dressed in my usual suit, as if today is like any other, while I lean against the armrest of my sofa, staring through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the city skyline, pretending calm is a characteristic I still possess.
I bristle the moment she enters the room, her presence a balm I crave and a complication I can’t outrun.
She pads forward, her delicate frame drowned beneath one of my shirts, her feet bare against the tile—fragile and faultless in the same breath.
“Hi.” Her voice is small as she stops before me, hair damp and braided over one shoulder, smile faint and forced.
“Hey.” I ache to reach for her. To pull her close. Instead, I take another mouthful of coffee and pretend I’m not caught up cataloging the changes inflicted upon her—the dimming of that ruthless CEO confidence, the collapse of her razor-sharp posture.
She lowers her attention to my mug, staring at it. Studying.
No, she’s examining my knuckles. The swelling. The bruises.
She reaches out and runs the lightest touch over the broken skin. That’s all it takes, the briefest of contact, and everything inside me recalibrates to live and breathe for no other reason than to cherish her.
“Can we discuss this?” she whispers, the hint of a plea in her tone. “I slept well. I feel better. I can handle it.”
I have to deny her. To delay the blowout. She needs to heal before I level her with the aftermath of her abduction.
“Please.” She meets my gaze, long dark lashes framing the stormiest of gray.
“You’ve been through enou—”
“Please, Raffael.” Her finger continues to roam my knuckles, the path a torturous caress. “Do you swear you didn’t kill them?”
I loathe that she thinks me capable of murder, but the concern is warranted. I’d been close. Within the devil’s grasp.
I’ve known rage. Have lived in it. Battled it.
But it was nothing compared to what called to me when I started swinging my fists.
I threw punches until blood stained my clothes and dripped from my skin.
I lost myself to fury. To violence. And sprinted toward crossing a line I would never have returned from.
If it weren’t for Michelo dragging me back from the brink, the fallout would’ve been catastrophic. Even now, I’m one misstep from the edge.
“Nobody died, Isla.”
She exhales deeply. “Good. I kept fixating on the worst.”
Her relief is a punishment. A sweet taste of torture.
She pries the mug from my hands, places it on the carpet beside our feet, then steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, snuggling her face into the crook of my neck.
For one impossible moment, the tightness coiled inside me loosens. The world stops breathing fire. Everything narrows to her softness, as if the planets decided to align for this stolen second of peace.
I hug her back. Pilfer pleasure I don’t deserve.
“What happens now?” she asks. “What did the police say? Are they coming here to take my statement?”
I kiss her crown, buying time. “We don’t need to talk about this now. Relax. Have breakfast.”
“But won’t they want to hear from me now when everything is fresh? Isn’t that protocol?”
I hold her tighter, waging war with the advance of inevitability.
“Raffael?” She pulls back, her gaze questioning. “What did they say? What did you tell them?”
I pause, taking a beat to stare into the heart of ruin and pretend it’s not destroying me. I’m going to lose her. It feels like she’s already fucking gone. “I didn’t involve the police.”
She blinks. Frowns. “What do you mean?”
The gears of comprehension churn behind her eyes, her thoughts running a mile a minute until slow dawning loosens her features.
“You didn’t call them…” She swallows. Retreats. “You’re worried this will expose your family.”
It will. Without a doubt. The secrets I’ve struggled to keep hidden will be fodder for the tabloids. All the predators itching to tear Lorenzo’s legacy apart will come running for me and my siblings. And that’s only the beginning.
“How this moves forward is up to you.” Family loyalty demands I shape her response, to manipulate the narrative, but she deserves better.
This has to be her choice. Her pace. No matter the consequences.
“I’ll do whatever you want—whatever you decide—all I ask is that you give some consideration before involving the authorities. ”
She digests my request in silence, the confusion returning to her features. “I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Did you let them walk free?”
“No. The cage you were kept in has been put to good use.”
“You’re holding them captive now?” Her face bleaches of color. “You realize if you’re caught you’ll go to jail, too.”
“If I get caught I could go to jail. The alternative is to make this public and solidify the destruction of my life and the lives of those I care about. Including you. And I’m not willing to do that.
” I push from the armrest, bridging the space between us.
“If the police are involved this goes to court. You’ll need to testify.
You’ll have to handle bail being granted.
Because I promise you, that will happen.
The defense team would be the best money can buy. ”
“But you’re breaking the law.” She rebuffs my approach with a raised hand. “You’re kidnapping, right? I thought you didn’t want to be like your father.”
My muscles tense with the insinuation. The brutal accuracy. “It’s too late for that.”
“Too late?” Her eyes flare wide. “This isn’t you, Raffael.”
“It’s who I have to be to keep everyone safe. But like I said, I’d prefer to discuss this later. I want you focused on recovery.”
“You have men imprisoned,” she cries.
“And given my family history, I have the means of sustaining that confinement. It’s not anything you need to worry about.”
Don’t fucking worry, Isla. Drop it. Move on.
“What about Quinn?” She places a shaky hand to her stomach as if nauseous. “She was there. What does she know?”
Too much. Which is its own problem, but given the scope of her knowledge and what she witnessed last night, Isla’s best friend is well aware opening her mouth will end badly.
“She understands the need for privacy.” I grab my mug off the floor and make for the kitchen, hoping distance will defuse the conversation. “You can speak to her once you’ve given yourself grace to digest everything you’ve been through.”
There’s a beat of silence. One wrought with tension.
“Is that a suggestion or a stipulation?” she asks.
I pause at the dishwasher, pretending the hairs on the back of my neck aren’t raising with unease. “Let me cook you breakfast and make some coffee—”
“Suggestion or stipulation, Raffael?” she whispers.
Guilt settles in my gut, dragging the truth to the surface whether I want it or not.
I shove the dishwasher closed. Clutch the counter. Hang my head. “La mia rovina—”
“Don’t do that,” she begs. “Don’t use my weakness for you against me. I adore you. Now more than ever. But you’re hiding something and that scares me, because what could be worse than what I already know?”
I bite back a bitter laugh.
What could be worse? Everything. All of it.
There’s no part of this that won’t haunt me for the rest of my life.
“I’m not using your weakness, Isla.” I stride back to her, grab her hips, my palms pressing to the smooth fabric warm from her skin. “I can’t live without you. I want us to be together.”
Surprise parts her lips, a spark of hope brightening her features. “I… I want that, too. But—”
“No buts. We’ll make it work.” I palm her face, trying to force her to feel my sincerity through the desperation. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll do whatever necessary to separate you from the aftermath of this. Just let me handle it, okay?”
The smile she levels me with is somber. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of this, but I’m not broken. Those men… What they did…” She cringes. “I can handle it. I’ll recover. What I don’t like is the unknown. I can’t be left in the dark.”
No, she needs more time.
I need more time.
To strategize. To cauterize.
“You have to trust me. Give it a few days.” I press my forehead to hers, the air weighted with everything I’m avoiding. “Let the dust settle.”
Her lips brush mine. A kiss of compassion. A tentative sweep of fear and yearning intertwined.
I slant my mouth over hers, leaning in to the distraction, deepening it, attempting to fortify the one connection that hasn’t broken.
God, I burn for her, my senses caught up in flame.
Yet all too soon she severs contact. “Please,” she rasps, the plea for honesty not seduction. “I love you, Raffael. But I need you to tell me.”
Love?
The declaration strikes like a branding iron, burning into my soul, demanding I confess in return.
“Please,” she repeats.
She’s drowning in uncertainty and I’m the one holding her underwater. Lengthening her suffering.
The need to do right by her grows rampant, the truth clawing for freedom faster than I can beat it back.
We could’ve been flawless together. In another life. Without legacy, debt, and the secret that’s about to ruin it all.
“You’re under the impression you were imprisoned by the men who boarded the yacht.” I force the words out slowly, indulging in one last glimpse of civility. “That’s not the case.”
She stands taller, as if bracing for impact. “If not them, then who?”
“It was one man, Isla. And he didn’t work for my father.”
Her breath catches, the fear of the unknown blinking back at me. “Tell me.”
I stand my ground, ashamed, fucking resentful. “It was Eliseo. My brother did this to you.”