CHAPTER 16 - Rafe
The deeper you bury a secret, the heavier it gets.
And right now, the weight of mine is suffocating.
Diego’s eyes are dark, unreadable pools, his gaze a slow drag of a blade across my skin.
The weight of it is heavier than the cigar smoke curling in the air between us. He leans back, one arm slung over the leather chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest in an idle, rhythmic motion.
But I know better—Diego doesn’t move without intention. Every breath, every shift of muscle, every flick of his gaze is calculated. And right now? He’s calculating me.
Diego is watching me.
Not the way he usually does. Not like a brother, not like a man confident in my loyalty.
But like a predator sensing a shift in the wind.
Like a man trying to decide whether or not to put a bullet in my head.
I don’t flinch under his stare.
I never do.
But I know that one wrong move, one wrong breath, and everything will come crashing down.
Emilia. The plan. Us.
I need to keep him distracted. Need to throw him off the scent before he sinks his teeth into the truth.
But Diego isn’t an idiot.
I can’t shake the feeling that he knows something. But I can’t ask, so all I can do is wait and hope he doesn’t catch on before it’s too late.
The hardest part right now isn’t getting Emilia out. It’s what happens after.
How do I make sure that Diego does not go after her?
How do I make sure that he doesn’t find out I let her go?
I have to be careful with this, but I do not have time.
Diego leans back in his chair, cigar smoke curling in the air.
"You’ve been quiet lately, Rafael," he muses, tapping the ash into a tray. "Unusually quiet."
I sip my whiskey, forcing my muscles to stay loose, relaxed. "Didn’t realize I was expected to entertain you."
Diego grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
"You always have."
A beat of silence.
He studies me, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the armrest of his chair.
"You know," he says slowly, "I think it’s time we… shake things up a bit."
A slow dread slithers down my spine.
I keep my face blank. "How so?"
Diego leans forward, his smirk widening.
"I want to see what she’s really made of."
Fuck.
Seems like we even had less time than I thought.
I smirk. Casual. Unbothered.
"She’s just a girl," I say. "What’s there to see?"
Diego chuckles. "That’s what I want to find out."
My fingers tighten around my glass.
Because I know what Diego means.
He doesn’t mean a test.
He means a spectacle.
A game where he gets to toy with her, push her until she breaks, until he can see exactly what she’s worth.
A game where I can’t step in.
I shrug, forcing my tone to stay bored, casual.
"You planning on throwing her into the pit with the rest of the dogs?" I say.
Diego chuckles, tapping ash from his cigar.
"Something like that."
A slow, tight coil of rage curls in my stomach.
Emilia doesn’t deserve this.
But if I stop it?
She’ll get worse.
And if I don’t?
She might not survive it.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, as if I’m thinking it over.
But inside?
I’m already calculating a way out.
Because I know Diego.
And when he says he wants to "test" someone?
It never ends well.
The training room in Diego’s estate is nothing like the sleek, polished gyms of the outside world.
It’s raw. Brutal.
A square of concrete and bloodstained mats, where men are broken and made into monsters.
Where strength is currency and weakness is a death sentence.
Diego stands beside me, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches Emilia being dragged into the center of the room.
My stomach tightens.
What the fuck is he doing?
Does he suspect me?
Or is he just doing what he does best—playing a game only he knows the rules to?
I grind my teeth as Emilia stumbles slightly but straightens almost immediately.
She looks smaller here. More fragile.
But I know better.
There is nothing fragile about Emilia.
She flicks her gaze to mine for a fraction of a second—just long enough to say, “I hate you.”
And then, she looks away.
Diego exhales slowly, amused, smug.
"Let’s see if she knows how to survive."
And then—
He throws her into the fire.
A man steps forward.
I hate this.
Hate standing here, watching her fight for her life while Diego watches like she’s nothing more than an animal in a fucking cage.
The room reeks of sweat, blood, and old violence, the scent thick in the air.
And Emilia?
She’s exhausted.
I can see it in the way she moves—sharp but slower than she should be, like she hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept, like her body is already betraying her.
Her opponent—a man twice her size, brutal, trained—grins like this is a game he’s already won.
And for a second, I wonder—
What if she doesn’t win?
What if she can’t?
Thenhe moves.
Fast. Too fast.
Emilia ducks just in time.
The swing cuts through the air, missing her temple by inches, but the force of it kicks up dust from the mats, makes the room feel even smaller.
She’s quick.
Too quick for a half-starved prisoner.
And Diego notices.
His smirk tightens.
I grit my teeth, staying silent, keeping my hands loose at my sides, pretending this doesn’t feel like watching someone drown in slow motion.
Because if I step in?
If I stop this fight?
I’ll have to kill every man in this fucking room.
And I’m not ready to do that.
Not yet.
Diego watches with the gleam of a man waiting for blood.
Waiting to see her fall.
And me?
I stand there, hands loose at my sides, my face unreadable.
Because this?
This is the moment I find out if she trusts me.
If she understands that I’m still on her side.
The man pauses, lets out a huge shout,
Thenhe lunges.
Emilia ducks, fast, her movements sharp and precise.
The swing barely misses her temple, the force of it cutting through the air like a whip.
She twists, uses her smaller size to slide under his arm, and slams an elbow into his ribs. It’s not enough to bring him down, but it’s enough to make him stumble. Enough to make him angry.
Diego tilts his head, amused
"She’s quick," he muses.
I say nothing.
I can only hope that Emilia is strong.
That I do not have to jump in to save her.
That she can do what needs to be done.
She fights harder than they expect.
Than Diego expects.
And that?
That seems to excite him.
Because Diego doesn’t like being proven wrong.
I see the moment his amusement shifts.
The moment it turns into something else.
Something colder.
He lifts a hand, barely a flick of his wrist.
And another man steps forward.
My pulse kicks up.
Emilia is already breathing hard, a bruise forming on her cheek, blood on her lip.
She can’t win this.
No.
I don’t let it show, but inside, I snarl.
Because this isn’t just about Diego testing Emilia.
This is about Diego testing me.
And the way he’s watching me now—his gaze sharp, waiting for me to react—
He knows.
He fucking knows.
I smirk, cocking my head. "Two against one? Thought you liked fair fights, Diego."
He laughs, slow and easy.
"Fair fights don’t teach you anything, hermano."
Emilia wipes blood from her mouth, breathing hard.
She can’t fight two of them.
Not like this.
Not when she’s already running on nothing but adrenaline and rage.
Diego tilts his head, considering me.
Thenhe laughs.
Waves his hand.
"Fine. Let’s keep it fair."
The second man steps back.
Emilia looks at me.
Just for a second.
And I know.
She understands.
She knows I just saved her life.
The fight ends in blood.
Not hers.
His.
Emilia leaves the man gasping on the ground, a thin blade pressed against his throat, her chest heaving.
I don’t breathe.
Diego watches, intrigued.
And then—he claps.
Slow. Amused.
"Well," he says, stepping forward, eyeing her like she’s an animal in a cage.
"That was… unexpected."
Emilia doesn’t move.
She’s smart enough to know this isn’t over.
Diego tilts his head, considering.
"You enjoy proving me wrong, don’t you?"
Emilia finally speaks.
Voice rough. Sharp as a blade.
"I enjoy not dying."
Diego laughs.
And then—he does the last thing I expect.
He turns to me.
"You might be right, Rafael," he muses, rubbing his chin. "She’s worth keeping after all."
Diego hums, watching like a man watching a chessboard, like a king deciding whether or not to sacrifice a pawn.
His gaze flicks to me, then back to Emilia, and I see it—the calculation, the slow turning of gears in his mind.
“She’s a fighter,” he muses. “I wonder what else she’s good at.”
The words are casual. Almost lazy. But I know what they mean. And if Emilia does too, she doesn’t let it show.
I grip my glass tighter, keeping my expression blank. This isn’t a game he’ll let me win easily. But if Diego sees a crack, a flicker of emotion, a reason to dig deeper? He’ll tear through me until he finds it.
I know I’m out of time.
That night, I return to my room, mind racing.
I pour whiskey into a glass.
Don’t drink it.
Just watch the way the amber liquid shakes in my grip.
Emilia won.
But it doesn’t feel like a victory.
Because Diego saw something tonight.
Something he liked.
And now?
He won’t let her go.
I exhale sharply, setting the glass down, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.
I need a new plan.
Because time just ran out.
I push away from the desk, grab my gun, check the chamber.
Because if I don’t get her out of here tomorrow—
I won’t be able to at all.