46. Rafi
46
RAFI
T he smell of sweat and metal fills the air as I push through the doors of the training centre. It’s late, and the place is mostly empty except for a few diehards working the heavy bags or shadowboxing in the corner. My boots echo against the concrete floor as I make my way to the cage.
Milo is there, wrapping his hands with practiced ease. He looks up when he sees me, his brows furrowing. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he says, his tone light but curious.
“Need to let off some steam,” I mutter, pulling off my jacket and tossing it over a nearby bench.
Milo eyes me carefully. “You sure? You don’t look?—”
“Just get in the cage,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, stepping into the cage without another word. I follow, shutting the gate behind me with a metallic clang. The sound reverberates in my chest, sharp and final, like a lock turning.
We circle each other, the dim light above casting long shadows across the mat. My fists are up, but my heart isn’t in it. My mind is elsewhere—on Tayana, on the plane, on the way she didn’t even say goodbye.
Milo throws the first jab, a testing shot that grazes my jaw. I don’t react.
“Come on, man,” he says, his voice low and steady. “At least make it a fair fight. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I snap, lunging forward with a wild hook that he easily sidesteps.
He shakes his head, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t hold back. His next punch lands square on my ribs, the impact sharp and jarring. I stagger but don’t fall.
Good. The pain feels good.
I want to feel it.
Milo doesn’t wait for me to recover. He comes at me again, a combination of strikes that I barely bother to block. His fist connects with my cheekbone, then my gut, driving the air from my lungs.
I welcome the sharp, bitter edge of pain that blooms across my body.
By the third round, I’m barely standing. My breaths are ragged, my vision blurred, but I don’t stop. I throw a sluggish punch that misses by a mile, leaving myself wide open. Milo takes the opportunity, landing a brutal right hook that sends me crashing to the mat.
I lie there, the cool surface pressing against my skin as the ceiling of the gym comes into view. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow. My chest heaves, and for a moment, all I can do is stare up at those lights, unblinking, mesmerized by their magic glow.
It’s not the pain that gets me. It’s the emptiness.
I came here to lose myself, to drown in the hurt, but instead, I’m confronted by it. The memories flood back—Tayana’s laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about anything and everything, the way she so effortlessly carried a room like she owned it. That first night at the club…when she so shamelessly walked away from me, then watched from across the dance floor as women clawed at me, when all I wanted was to have her see me.
An epiphany starts to form, a flicker of something I can’t quite grasp. Maybe it’s clarity, maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe?—
“Kanyan,” I whisper, realizing too late that the face above me isn’t my imagination.
Kanyan stands over me, arms crossed, his expression a mix of exasperation and something softer, almost sadness. “Enjoying your little pity party?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I blink, confused, as he crouches down, his face coming into sharper focus.
“Come on, Rafi,” he says, his voice gentler now. “How long are you planning to stay down there?”
“Not long enough,” I mutter, but he doesn’t laugh.
He holds out a hand, and after a moment, I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs wobble, and my ribs scream in protest, but I manage to stand. Kanyan steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, his gaze searching mine.
“You’re not the first person to lose someone,” he says quietly. “And you won’t be the last. But staying here, letting yourself get beat to hell—it’s not going to bring her back any sooner.”
I want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t understand, but the words die in my throat. Because he’s right. And that’s the hardest part.
“You say that like you expect her to come back.”
I glance back at the cage, at Milo, who’s leaning against the ropes, watching us with a mix of concern and confusion. The fight’s over, but the war inside me rages on.
Kanyan gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’ve got a choice to make, Rafi. You can stay here, wallowing, or you can get up and do something about it.”
His words hit harder than any punch Milo threw tonight. I nod, even though I’m not sure what that something is yet. But I know I can’t stay here, lying on the mat, waiting for the pain to fix me.
Because ultimately, it won’t.
With Kanyan’s arm steadying me, we leave the cage. The fight isn’t over—not by a long shot. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might have the strength to face my demons head on.
“She left me.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them, yet they don’t feel like a release. Instead, they wrap around me like an ill-fitting coat, scratchy and suffocating. I glance at Kanyan, searching for some semblance of understanding, but his expression is neutral, his hands steady on the wheel. He’s so emotionless, I wonder if he’s ever had his heart pulled out of his chest.
For the past hour, he’s driven us through the city in a silence so thick it seemed to echo with all the things I couldn’t say. Now we’re parked outside the Gatti estate, shadows swallowing the car as if we’ve been forgotten by the world.
Kanyan breaks the silence. “You know her better than anyone, Rafi. Is she really the kind of person to walk away from her life’s work without a damn good reason?”
The question hits me like a slap, stirring a mix of emotions I can barely name. Anger? Guilt? Longing? Did I even really know her in the first place? If I knew her, I should have been able to see this coming right? I run a hand through my hair, my frustration escaping in a sharp exhale. “It’s been three weeks, Kanyan. Three weeks without a word.”
He shrugs, his calm infuriating. “Time doesn’t change who she is. She’ll be back.”
“Maybe she’s not running from her work.” My voice drops, bitterness seeping into my words. “Maybe she’s running from me.”
The possibility has haunted me since the day Tayana disappeared. It tears at me, sharp and relentless, like a blade against raw flesh. I’ve replayed every moment, dissected every conversation, searching for the moment I might have driven her away. But the truth is elusive, slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to hold on.
Kanyan lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no malice in it. “There you go again, feeling sorry for yourself. Let’s get one thing straight, kid: self-pity won’t get you anywhere. Now, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
His words pull me out of my spiral, curiosity sparking faintly in the fog of my despair. Kanyan has a way of commanding attention, his voice steady and deliberate, like a man who always knows where he’s headed. I sit up a little straighter.
“Scar wants me to go to Ukraine,” he says, his gaze fixed on the empty street beyond the windshield. His fingers tap a slow rhythm on the steering wheel. “To bring Jack Vicci back.”
“Why you?” I ask, genuinely curious. “That’s grunt work. Family heads don’t do grunt work.”
Kanyan’s lips twitch into a small smile, but his focus doesn’t waver. “Jack Vicci isn’t just anyone. He’s important to Jacklyn, and by extension, to the family. Scar wants to make sure he gets back safely, and I’m honored he thinks I’m capable of handling it.”
I lean back, studying him. Kanyan exudes a quiet confidence, the kind that comes from years of proving himself in a world that demands nothing less than perfection. It’s not jealousy I feel—at least, I don’t think it is. It’s more like a gnawing hunger, a need to show my worth, to prove that I’m more than just a shadow trailing after my brothers.
“Good for you,” I mutter, the words tasting sour even though I mean them.
Kanyan turns to face me fully, his dark eyes sharp but not unkind. “Kid.” Kanyan’s voice is smooth, consoling. “I see you. I do. And I see so much of me in you. You’ve got a lot of potential, Rafi.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “I wasn’t always where I am right now. “I started at the bottom, just like you. The difference is, you’ve got something I never had.”
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend.
“Brothers.” The word hangs in the air, heavy with meaning. “Good men who have your back. Let that be your guide. Lean on them, learn from them, and you’ll find your way. You’ve got time, kid. Don’t squander it.”
His words settle over me, a strange mix of comfort and challenge. I want to believe him, to trust that my time will come. But the question lingers, gnawing at the edges of my mind: How long will it take? How long before I can stand beside my brothers as an equal, not just the kid brother trying to prove himself in a world that knows no mercy?
The darkness outside seems to press closer, but for the first time all night, it doesn’t feel quite so suffocating. I push open the car door, the chill of the night air biting against my skin as I step out. The weight of Kanyan’s words clings to me, heavy but grounding. I inhale deeply, the sharpness of the cold burning my lungs, and for a moment, I feel alive—raw, exposed, but alive.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper into the night, before I make my way into the emptiness of my house.