24. Rafi
24
RAFI
T he girl has secrets. I can see it in her guarded eyes, in the way her shoulders tighten every time someone gets too close. They’re the kind of secrets that weigh heavy, the sort you shouldn’t carry alone. But I’m a patient man. I can wait until she’s ready to unpack them. And she will—because I’ll be there when she does.
Tonight, I’m sleeping beside her. Not with her, of course, but in the spare room Scar set up for me, right next to hers. It’s close enough to hear every sigh, every restless shift of the mattress. And I do. Every small sound she makes keeps me awake. The thought of her being right next door is like a live wire humming in my veins. But I’d never disrespect my brother by fucking my girl right under his roof.
My girl. The words are as foreign to me as the lick of fire that crawls through my veins, threatening an explosion every time I think about her.
When her scream pierces the night, I am out of bed before I can think. Barefoot and shirtless, I throw open the door and find her sitting upright, tangled in the aftermath of whatever demons haunt her dreams as she tries to catch her breath.
“Tayana?” My voice is sharp, enough to pull her back.
Her chest heaves as she gulps in air, her eyes wild and unfocused. She looks like a cornered animal, caught between fight and flight, until her gaze lands on me.
“I’ve got you,” I say, stepping closer, my hands raised as if approaching something fragile. For a moment, I think she’ll push me away. Her lips part, but no words come out—only a soft, broken sound that guts me. Then, like a dam giving way, she reaches for me, clutching my arm with a desperation that I’ve never seen in her before. “You’re safe, Tayana. I’ve got you.”
I don’t hesitate. Sliding into the bed beside her, I pull her into my arms, tucking her head against my chest. Her fingers curl into my skin, gripping me like I am the only thing keeping her afloat.
But the way she trembles tells me the dream she had was far too real. Too distressing.
The pain in her voice twists something inside me. Tayana isn’t just haunted by her own trauma—she carries the weight of others’ suffering, too.
I hold her tight, letting her know she isn’t alone. Her breaths gradually even out, the trembling subsiding as exhaustion takes over.
But I can’t sleep. Not with her so close, her warmth seeping into me as she finally relaxes. And not with the growing realization that Tayana isn’t just someone I want to protect. She is someone I want to know . Someone I want to possess. Every last inch of her.
Her resilience draws me in like a flame, but it’s her vulnerability, the one she keeps hidden behind a sky high wall, that keeps me looking to her for more. She is a contradiction of sorts, fighting battles no one should have to face, yet crumbling in the quiet hours when no one is watching.
By the time her breathing settles into the soft rhythm of sleep, I’ve made up my mind. Tayana might think she is better off alone in this fight, but she’s not.
Not when she has this fighter by her side.
Her breathing softens against my chest, but my thoughts churn like a storm. I can’t ignore the pull she has over me, like gravity drawing me closer with every passing moment. Tayana is a puzzle, her jagged edges fitting together in ways that don’t make any sense yet, but I know the picture they form would be worth waiting for.
I’ve never been one to rush into things. My brothers might joke about my patience bordering on stubbornness, but right now, that patience feels like my greatest strength. Tayana isn’t someone you push; she is someone you wait for.
As I sit here, holding her like she might disappear if I let go, fragments of her story begin to surface in my mind. Little things she’s said or done since we met, hints of a life that has been anything but easy.
I remember the way her hands trembled when we first talked about Igor Aslanov, how she’d clenched them into fists like she could crush the fear before it consumed her. The way her voice hardened when she mentioned the girls she’d tried to save, as if she blamed herself for not doing more.
I want to know everything. The good, the bad, the things that keep her up at night and the dreams she dares to chase. But more than that, I want to give her a reason to laugh without bitterness, to see the world without the weight of her past dragging her down.
She stirs against me, mumbling something I don’t quite catch. I brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her. Even in sleep, there is a tension in her expression, as if she can’t fully let go.
What has she been through?
I’ve pieced together enough to know that her fight against human trafficking isn’t just a cause—it’s personal. Her anger burns too hot, her drive too relentless for it to be anything else. Somewhere along the way, this fight has become her identity, and I can’t help but wonder what it has cost her.
Her family, maybe. Friends. A chance at a normal life.
“Who hurt you, Tayana?” I whisper, the words swallowed by the quiet room. “And why won’t you let anyone in?”
But even as I ask the question, I realize I already know the answer. Tayana is a fortress, her walls built high and thick to keep the pain out—or maybe to keep it in. Either way, she doesn’t let anyone past them lightly.
Yet here she is, in my arms, trusting me in a way that feels as fragile as it is significant. I’m not going to take that trust lightly.
For the first time in a long while, I feel something stir in me—something I’ve never allowed myself to feel. It’s not just attraction, though God knows Tayana is beautiful in a way that makes it hard to look away. It’s deeper than that, more complicated.
It is a need to protect her, to understand her, to be the one she turns to when the world feels like it is closing in on her.
Tayana shifts again, and her face presses against my chest. I can feel the faint dampness of tears she hasn’t yet wiped away, and my heart aches for her.
“Whatever you’ve been through,” I murmur, “you’re not alone anymore. Not with me by your side.”
I let myself imagine a future where she isn’t just someone I am protecting, but someone I am building a life with. It’s a dangerous thought, and it’s one that comes out of left field—one that comes with its own set of risks. But looking down at her now, I realize it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Tayana’s past may have shaped her, but it doesn’t define her. And if she lets me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to her.
I sit in the chair beside her bed, my elbows resting on my knees, hands clasped together as I try to make sense of the whirlwind Tayana has brought into my life. The faint light from the side lamp spills across the room, casting long shadows across her peaceful face.
Her breathing shifts, a subtle change that draws my attention. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes slowly open, unfocused at first. She blinks against the dim light, stretching with a languid grace that makes me look away, suddenly hyper-aware of how intimate this moment feels.
Her gaze sweeps the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Then her eyes land on me, and her movements still.
For a second, neither of us speaks. I feel her study me, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and wariness. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen that guarded look, but this time it feels more fragile, like it might crack under the weight of one word too many.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice low.
She blinks again, the tension in her body softening slightly as recognition dawns. “Rafi?”
I offer her a faint smile. “That’s what they call me.”
Her eyes flick down to the blanket draped over her, and I see the moment she registers the borrowed pajamas Allegra left for her. A hint of color rises in her cheeks, and she tugs the fabric closer around her collarbone. Either it’s too early in the morning for her, or her brain must have somehow missed the memo that I’ve already seen her naked.
“I figured you’d be more comfortable if I got out of the bed before you woke,” I say, trying not to sound awkward.
“Oh my God,” Tayana murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep as the memories of her nightmare come rushing back to her. She smooths a hand over the blanket, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Did you spend the whole night here?”
I lean back in the chair, giving her space but not quite ready to leave. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She hesitates, as if weighing her words. “It was just a nightmare,” she says finally. “I haven’t had one in years.”
Her eyes meet mine again, and this time there’s something else in her expression—something vulnerable, unguarded. It hits me harder than I expect, the realization that she trusts me enough to let her walls down, even just a little.
“Why do you think they’ve started again?” I ask softly.
She shrugs slowly, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket, a telltale sign that her thoughts are far from settled. I realize that Tayana Kamarov might try to act all tough and badass, but she’s as fragile as a wallflower.
“Tayana,” I say after a beat, my voice steady, “if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here. No judgment.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war waging behind her eyes. She wants to say something, to share the weight she’s been carrying, but something stronger than that urge holds her back.
I don’t push her. I won’t. This is her battle to fight, her past to confront when she’s ready. All I can do is let her know she doesn’t have to do it alone.
As the silence stretches between us, my eyes are drawn to her face again. She’s beautiful, yes, but it’s not just that. There’s a quiet strength in her, a resilience that refuses to be snuffed out no matter how many times life tries. It makes me want to know every part of her, to peel back the layers and understand the woman behind the guarded smile and fierce determination.
“Why are you here?” she asks suddenly, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
I frown, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“In my room,” she clarifies, gesturing vaguely around her. “Why didn’t you just let me wake up on my own?”
I let out a soft laugh, leaning forward again, resting my elbows on my knees. “To be honest, I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d watch you instead.”
Her lips part, and for a moment, I think she might argue. But then she nods, a faint smile tugging at her lips like it’s unsure of its place.
“My mother used to do the same,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Any time I had a nightmare.”
The words hang in the air between us, delicate and trembling. My chest tightens. Her mother. She never mentions her. Not once since the moment we met. But the way her voice shifts—soft, almost reverent—it’s enough to tell me this woman is no small part of the burden Tayana carries.
“You never talk about her,” I say, keeping my tone light, careful not to scare her off.
She shakes her head slowly, her fingers picking at the edge of the blanket like she’s unravelling a memory, thread by painful thread. “It’s hard,” she says, and the way those two words fall from her lips is like a stone dropping into a well, echoing with the weight of things unsaid.
I sit back, giving her space to continue, but she doesn’t. She stares down at the blanket, her gaze far away, her breath uneven.
“What happened to her?” I ask, even though I know it’s a dangerous question.
She freezes, her breath catching, and I instantly regret it. Her head turns away, and I can see the tears she’s trying to hide.
She swallows hard, her shoulders trembling as though she’s holding back a flood of emotions. For a moment, I think she’s going to shut me out, to put those walls back up that she’s so good at hiding behind. But then she surprises me.
Her words are fragile, pieced together like shards of broken glass, but they cut deep. I can see it in her eyes—the way she’s been carrying this memory, clutching it close like a talisman against the dark.
“She’s gone,” she cuts in, her voice trembling.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. There’s so much anger, so much pain wrapped up in them that it’s impossible not to feel it, too.
I reach out, my hand hovering near hers before I think better of it. She’s been through enough; the last thing she needs is for me to push too hard, to try and fix something that isn’t mine to fix.