Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
ISLA
“Eliseo?” His name chokes from my mouth as I relive what I went through, seeing it in a new light… The interrogation… The same question over and over… Wait. “Were you involved?”
“No.” Raffael’s answer is emphatic. “I had no fucking idea, Isla. I swear.”
I inch away, hearing his truth, seeing it. But I don’t feel it. What consumes me is dissonance, tearing and tugging, while paranoia gnaws through what’s left of my composure.
That’s why the cops haven’t been called. Why Raffael didn’t want me talking to Quinn.
I swallow over the acrid lump in my throat. “You were stalling. You didn’t want me to know.”
He approaches. “What I wanted was for you to have time to get over what you’d been through before I added more—”
“Stop.” I raise my hands, trying to ward him off. “He choked me with pepper gas.”
Raffael’s nostrils flare. “He told me.”
“He sedated me. Undressed me while unconscious.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m aware.”
“And at the time you had no clue what was happening?”
He squares his shoulders, his once effortless confidence now seeming forced. “I was oblivious. I’d been too caught up trying to forget how I felt about you to see what was going on right in front of me. I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing the signs.”
Humiliation crawls under my skin. “And I’ll never forgive you for the lengths you’ll go to in an effort to save him.”
“What—”
“‘I can’t live without you’?” I repeat what he’d said.
“‘I want us to be together’?” Every tender word curdles in my mind, recontextualized, weaponized, rewritten as strategy instead of sincerity.
“The moment your brother’s future is in my hands, suddenly you backflip on our ability to be together? ”
“No,” he insists. “That’s not—”
“What was the plan, Raffael? Were you willing to pretend to be my loving partner until when? The statute of limitations ran out?”
His jaw ticks. “There’s no statute of limitations on what he did to you.”
A tormented scoff escapes my throat. “So you were willing to sign yourself up for a lifetime of romantic manipulation?”
He stands taller. “You think I’m capable of that?”
He’s a man of bold action and ruthless authority. The type who would take the fall and ruin a friendship for the sake of that friend’s relationship with their father. Someone who would risk a kidnapping charge on a luxurious yacht to maintain the charade.
“You’re a man geared for strategy and manipulation.” I itch to get out of his shirt, to remove the scent of him from my skin. “We parted ways with you wanting nothing more to do with me, and now you’re selling your soul to keep Eliseo from facing the consequences of his actions.”
“We parted ways, Isla, because it was what I thought was right.” His voice gains an edge of menace. “And my desperation to now be with you is because I no longer have the restraint to give a fuck about anything other than us.”
Maybe it’s true. Maybe I could believe him, but—“You didn’t call the cops.”
He falls silent. Still.
Each second of muted suffering screams through me until he finally drags in an audible breath.
“He’s still my brother. And although I didn’t play a part in what he did to you, I certainly had a role in creating the man who was capable of abducting and imprisoning an innocent woman.
I taught him to put family first. To protect his brothers above all else.
And despite his sickening methods, that’s exactly what he was doing—trying to find out what you knew. If you were capable of destroying us.”
“And if I would’ve caved and told him?”
Guilt bleeds into his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Liar.
I wrap my arms around my middle, holding myself together with both hands. “I want to go home.”
“Isla—”
“Take me home,” I demand.
He hesitates, caught mid-breath, tension locking him in place, but I notice the moment defeat sets in. The pinpoint second the steel in him buckles. The very blink his gaze dims.
I battle the urge not to weaken at his downfall, not to bridge the void between us just to hold together the man who’s breaking me.
“I’ll get my keys.” He walks away, leaving the room, isolating me with the burn I frantically blink from my eyes.
When he returns, it’s with my tote bag hooked over his fingers, holding it out like a peace offering.
I beat back the betraying gratitude, grab the strap, then follow him to the elevator.
We descend to the parking lot without a word.
The drive through the city is no different. I rummage in my bag and find my phone, the urge to trauma dump building with every block we pass until I can’t take it anymore.
Me
I need you.
Quinn
Where are you?
Me
On my way home.
Quinn
I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t stress when you can’t find Nyra. I took her to my apartment.
Raffael double-parks out the front of my building, oblivious to the vehicles struggling to pass. “Will you let me walk you—”
I release my belt and escape his car, not waiting for him to finish.
I cross the pavement toward the front doors, vaguely aware of strangers’ curious glances, acutely aware I’m dressed in nothing but Raffael’s shirt.
Every step feels like I’m peeling skin from bone. Like I’m closing a door I’d once spent sleepless nights begging to be opened.
I enter the foyer, pass the doorman who shoots me a concerned glance, and press the button to call the elevator. My neck tingles as I tap my foot, impatient to discard civility and unleash the torrent of emotion clogging my throat.
I glance over my shoulder and regret it the instant my eyes lock with Raffael’s.
He’s still in his car, holding up traffic, watching me with sorrow that travels the space between us to wrench a whimper from my chest.
I’m desperate to believe his anguish is for me. For us. But common sense says it’s damage control.
The elevator dings its arrival and I rush to step inside.
My apartment feels wrong as soon as I let myself in, the familiarity not bringing an ounce of comfort. The second I click the door shut behind me, the walls feel like they’re closing in.
I pace the length of my living room—back and forth—hands dragging through my hair, denial and grief making it hard to breathe.
Last night I’d woken disoriented, my addled state quickly shifting to relief when I found Raffael at the end of the bed. Everything inside me eased at the sight of him. I recognized him as safety. As shelter. A true north after days trapped and lost.
I’d fallen back asleep reassured by his presence. The mere thought of him anchored me.
Now everything feels upside down and inside out, the instability nauseating.
A rattle of keys in the hall spikes my pulse, the fear that shadowed my captivity returning to leave me frozen until Quinn opens the door, Nyra tucked under her arm.
Relief hits so hard my knees falter.
I stumble forward, hands outstretched.
Nyra meows, offers a trademark glower, then leaps to the floor and saunters into the kitchen, blissfully indifferent to my impending emotional collapse.
I catch my breath, my point of structural failure reached.
A sob rips free, violent enough to fold me in half. I crumple to the carpet. Let destruction take hold.
“Oh, babe…” Quinn rushes forward and drops beside me, dragging me into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry.”
I cover my face with both hands, heaving my grief with such force bile coats the back of my throat.
There are tears. Cries. Nonsensical blubbering.
She holds me through them all, whispering soft assurance, clutching me tighter.
I struggle to pull myself together. It feels like hours, days, my face swollen and eyes sore when I finally sniff myself into some semblance of stability.
“Do you feel any better?” Quinn sweeps the tear-soaked hair from my cheeks. “I promise you’re going to be okay.”
Am I?
I don’t even know how to talk to her about this. What I can share without risking her safety or mine.
“Don’t worry.” She offers a sad, knowing smile. “I’ve been brought up to speed on what happened.”
I’m sure she has details on some of it. She was there. Beside my cell. Minutes after Eliseo left the basement. But is she familiar with every manipulative detail? All the tiny intricacies that span multiple years full of secrets and lies?
I sit back on my ass and curl my legs to my chest. “I can’t get the police involved.”
“They can’t stop us if that’s what you want to do.”
Us.
Even after I dismissed her like an incompetent employee and gaslit her into ignoring her intuition, she’s still willing to fight for me.
“Did this all start because you found out about Lorenzo Cappelletti?” she asks. “Is that the real reason you tried to cut ties between CrossPoint and the Cavallo Group?”
“No.” I wince, wishing it were that simple. “This is about my dad and how he owes their family money.”
I might not have the details on how she became more embedded in this, but however it happened, she’s earned some transparency.
So I tell her about the agreement—everything except the soul-crushing blood debt I’m too ashamed to discuss. I outline what I understand of my father’s financial problems and how he hid them from me. Then I follow up with the explanation Raffael gave for pushing me away years ago.
True to form, Quinn doesn’t judge. She doesn’t even interrupt.
She absorbs every word, compassion softening her features. “That’s one messed-up situation. For everyone involved.”
“I guess. But my dad—” I choke on the words, the thought of him encouraging another swell of emotion. There’d been missed calls on my phone, but had he tried to come and see me after what happened on the yacht? Had he even noticed I was missing?
“He loves you, Isles. I get that it’s hard to imagine right now, but from what you’ve described of his high-price spending habits, I think we might need to acknowledge this is something more than mismanaged funds.
He might have an addiction—to what degree or vice, I’m not sure—but you don’t accumulate that kind of debt without suffering from some sort of demons. ”