CHAPTER 17 - Rafe
The air in Diego’s estate had been stifling.
Too many eyes.
Too much control.
Diego’s laughter from earlier still echoes in my skull, each word laced with something I hadn’t expected—finality.
"She’s worth keeping after all."
The second Diego uttered those words, something in me snapped.
Not loud, not obvious, but deep. A silent, internal fracture I couldn’t ignore.
I knew it then—he had decided. Emilia wasn’t just a tool, wasn’t just leverage.
She was something Diego wanted. And Diego never fucking lost the things he wanted.
I should have expected this. I should have prepared for it.
But hearing the confirmation—feeling the finality in his tone—sent ice curling through my veins.
Because it meant I wasn’t just running out of time. I was out of time.
Fuck that.
Diego wasn’t going to keep Emilia.
Not if I had anything to do with it.
Which meant I had to move. Now.
I couldn’t afford to wait anymore.
Not after the stunt Diego just pulled.
Parading Emilia around like a prize. Testing her. Seeing if she was strong enough to belong to him.
He wasn’t going to delay for much longer.
I needed to finalize the plan, to figure out the best way to get Emilia out before Diego made his next move.
That’s why I stepped out.
To clear my head.
To finalize every last detail before I put it into motion.
But I never get the chance.
Because the second I step onto the streets of Port Amara, I feel it.
That creeping sensation.
Port Amara is a city that thrives on desperation.
The city breathes in shadows.
I feel them closing in—watching, whispering, waiting.
This city belongs to the Cartel.
And the Cartel belongs to Diego.
No, scratch that.
The Cartel is Diego.
His influence stains every alley, every transaction, every deal that keeps the underworld running.
He doesn’t just own the men who pull the triggers.
He owns the law that looks away.
The businesses that launder his money.
The desperate souls who owe him debts they can’t pay back.
And now?
Now, I’m on the outside of it all.
For the first time since I came back, I don’t feel like a part of this empire—I feel like prey.
And if I don’t act fast, Emilia and I will both be corpses rotting in the gutter.
The scent of gasoline clings to the air, thick and suffocating, mixing with the acrid burn of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. Every figure in the crowd moves with purpose—or the illusion of it.
The addicts, the drunks, the ones who don’t know they’re being hunted.
And me? I’m the one they think they can hunt tonight.
Someone is following me.
I don’t look back.
Not yet.
I let them think I don’t notice. Let them play their little game.
Because if they think they have the advantage, they’ll get sloppy.
And that’s when I’ll strike.
I take a sharp turn into an alleyway.
It’s narrow, lined with dumpsters overflowing with trash, the stench of piss and old beer thick in the air.
The perfect place for an ambush.
The perfect place for a kill.
My muscles coil, my heartbeat steady.
I slow my steps. Let the silence stretch.
The city noise fades behind me, and then—there it is.
The feeling comes first. That slow, creeping awareness.
A shift in the air, a weight that doesn’t belong. The sound of footsteps that match mine too well—never too close, never too far.
Like a breath just at the edge of my ear, waiting for me to turn around.
I continue moving forward, readying myself.
Let them believe they have the upper hand.
And then—
A gunshot.
I drop.
The bullet slices past where my head was a fraction of a second ago, embedding into the brick wall beside me.
Fuck.
I roll, pulling my own gun, but my attacker is already moving.
Fast.
Silent.
Precise.
This has happened before.
My muscles react instinctively, memory screaming warnings through my veins.
A sickening sense of déjà vu creeps down my spine.
The first time I was left for dead, I didn’t see it coming.
One second, I was on top of the world.
The next? A fucking ghost.
Bleeding out on the cold pavement.
Every nerve in my body screaming.
Every breath harder to take.
Every second stretching into eternity.
And the worst part?
I never saw who pulled the trigger.
The same weight is in the air—like death is hovering just over my shoulder, waiting to claim me.
The same mistake I made before.
I won’t make it again.
I shift, rolling behind a dumpster, pressing my back against the cold metal.
Footsteps.
Steady. Measured.
They’re closing in.
I tighten my grip on my gun, forcing my breathing to slow.
One chance.
One shot.
I spring forward, gun raised—
But they’re already on me.
The blade comes first.
Fast, sharp, deadly.
I dodge left, the knife slicing past my ribs.
I counter, my elbow driving into the attacker’s jaw, knocking them back a step.
But they recover too quickly.
They move like a shadow, footwork flawless, attacks relentless.
And then—it clicks.
I know this movement.
I know this precision.
Because I trained with it.
I taught it.
Ghost.
Of course it’s fucking Ghost.
A flash of memory—years of training, hours in the ring, countless times we fought just like this.
But this isn’t training.
This isn’t a fight for dominance.
This is a kill order.
One of us isn’t walking away.
Ghost doesn’t hesitate.
He feints right, goes for my ribs again.
I block, twist, grab his wrist.
The knife flies from his grip, clattering against the concrete.
He pivots, swinging his elbow toward my face.
I duck, counter, drive my fist into his ribs.
He grunts, but doesn’t go down.
He never does.
Ghost has always been a survivor.
But so have I.
I feint left, then slam my knee into his gut.
He staggers—just for a second.
But a second is all I need.
I grab his jacket, twist, and slam him into the alley wall.
Hard.
His head snaps back against the bricks, his breath punching out in a sharp exhale.
I press my gun under his chin.
"Why?"
Ghost doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even blink.
Of course he doesn’t.
I should just pull the trigger.
End it.
But I don’t.
Because I need to know.
I need to hear it.
"Who gave the order?" I demand.
Nothing.
No flicker of fear.
No hesitation.
Just cold, empty silence.
Ghost has never feared death.
But I know one thing.
He fears failing Diego more.
I press the gun harder against his jaw.
"Talk."
Still nothing.
I exhale slowly.
"Fine. Let’s do this the hard way."
My free hand snaps up, yanking the mask off his face.
And there he is.
Ghost.
His expression blank.
His eyes dark, but beneath it—
A flicker of something else.
Not regret.
Not fear.
Resignation.
Like he knows this was always going to end like this.
My pulse thuds in my ears.
I don’t hesitate.
I slam my gun against Ghost’s temple, knocking him unconscious.
His body slumps to the ground.
***
The warehouse is silent.
The kind of silence that comes before a storm, before a bullet, before death.
The only sounds are the faint hum of the single dim bulb swinging from the ceiling and the distant rush of cars from the city beyond these walls.
Ghost is tied to a chair, arms bound behind him, ankles locked down.
The ropes bite into his skin.
The light casts sharp-edged shadows over his face, accentuating every hardened line, every scar, every emotion he refuses to show.
He doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t struggle.
Just watches.
Because Ghost knows what I do to men who cross me.
I roll my knife between my fingers, crouching in front of him.
I drag the edge of my knife down his cheek. Not enough to cut.
Just enough to remind him what I can do.
I know how to break him.
"You ever wonder," I murmur, voice smooth as silk, "what it feels like to drown?"
His gaze flickers.
"You ever felt that burn in your lungs, that moment when your body begs for air?"
Still, he doesn’t move.
But I see it.
The tic in his jaw.
The way his fingers flex against the chair.
I grin.
"That’s what it’s going to feel like, hermano," I whisper. "Because if I put a bullet between your ribs, you won’t die right away. You’ll feel it. You’ll beg for air. And I won’t let you have it."
"Diego gave the order." He finally speaks.
No reaction.
"But you already knew that."
Still nothing.
I tilt my head, my voice even. Controlled.
"Why now, Ghost?"
A flicker of something.
Something close to hesitation.
And then, finally—he speaks.
"Because he knows about her."
Everything stops.
I go still.
Cold rage coils deep in my gut, wrapping around my ribs like a vice.
I keep my voice calm. Controlled.
"Who?"
Ghost exhales. "Emilia."
I don’t react.
I can’t.
Because if I do?
He’ll see the crack.
But inside, my blood turns to ice.
Diego knows about Emilia.
About me.
And that means I don’t just have a target on my back.
She does too.
I lean in, pressing the edge of my blade against his collarbone.
"What does he know exactly?"
A hesitation.
Then"One of his men saw you together. He knows you care for her."
Fuck.
I inhale through my nose, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth ache.
I force myself to stay still.
To think.
"How much does he know?"
Ghost’s jaw ticks.
"He knows you’re protecting her. He also sent men to her place. They saw a drawing of you there."
My grip on the knife tightens.
This changes everything.
Because if Diego knows she means something to me—
Then he won’t just use her as leverage.
He’ll destroy her.
I move away from Ghost, running a hand through my hair.
Think, Rafael.
Think.
Diego sent Ghost to kill me.
Not because I’m a threat.
Not because of power.
But because of Emilia.
Because she’s leverage he can’t afford to lose.
And now?
Now, I don’t just need to get her out.
I need to make sure Diego never touches her again.
Ghost watches me.
His eyes calculating.
But he isn’t finished yet.
He inhales deeply, like a man about to rip open an old wound.
"There’s more."
I turn back to him, my mask slipping back into place.
"What?"
Ghost hesitates.
Then"It was him, Rafe."
The room goes deathly still.
"What?" My voice is lethal, low, edged with something sharp.
Ghost exhales, his gaze burning into mine.
"Diego. He was the one who ambushed you that night. He set you up, made sure you were left for dead."
The words hit like a fucking bullet.
I can’t breathe.
I feel the cold pavement beneath me, the blood soaking through my clothes, the fucking weight of betrayal I never saw coming.
"He was masked," Ghost continues. "But he wasn't careful enough. You marked him before he could finish you."
The memory slams into me.
That fight. The masked man.
The slash of my knife, the poison laced on the blade.
The gunshot to my leg.
The way my body collapsed, left in the dirt like nothing.
I feel like I’m falling through time.
Like the world is slipping out from under me.
"You left a scar," Ghost murmurs.
My eyes snap to his.
"He wears gloves now," Ghost says. "Covers his arms at all times."
The rage burning inside me is absolute.
A slow, creeping inferno turning everything I’ve ever known into ash.
I should have seen it.
I should have fucking known.
I had always believed Hector Ruiz ambushed me.
But Diego—
No.
No.
No.
It doesn’t make sense.
Diego saved me.
He took me in when I came back. Gave me a place in the cartel at his side.
He laughed with me. Shared drinks. Spoke about the future.
I trusted him.
But the scar—the gloves—
The memories I ignored.
The pain in my ribs that night. The taste of blood in my mouth.
The figure looming over me, masked, faceless.
And now?
Now I know exactly who it was.
My body locks up, a slow, creeping numbness crawling through my veins.
He wanted me gone.
He never expected me to survive.
Ghost knew about it.
And he said nothing.
Until now.
I stare at Ghost, my mind a storm of fire and blood.
"You sure?" I ask, voice cold. Deadly.
Ghost just nods.
And that?
That’s all I need.
Because now, this isn’t just about getting Emilia out.
It’s about finishing what Diego started.
It’s about making sure he never fucking breathes again.
Ghost watches me.
His expression blank. Unshaken.
He knows what’s coming.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders back.
"You had your chance," I murmur. "You failed."
His gaze remains cold.
"You’ve got two choices, hermano."
I circle him slowly, my boots echoing against the concrete.
"One," I continue, "I kill you right now, and Diego finds your body in the river tomorrow morning."
Ghost doesn’t flinch.
"Or two," I murmur, stopping behind him. "You work for me instead."
Silence.
Thenhe exhales.
A slow, measured breath.
"You think Diego won’t know?"
I smirk.
"He won’t. Because you’re going to tell him the job’s done."
Ghost doesn’t move.
But I know he’s considering it.
I press the tip of my knife against his ribs, right over his heart.
"Time’s running out, Ghost."
A long pause.
Thenhe nods.
And just like that?
The game changes.
This is about war.
Diego thinks he won.
Thinks he buried me in the dirt and walked away clean.
Thinks he owns this city, owns me, owns her.
But he’s about to learn a hard fucking lesson.
Because I don’t stay buried.
And I sure as hell don’t forget.
I turn back to Ghost, my voice low.
"You’re going to tell Diego I’m dead."
He exhales, slow. "And then what?"
I smile.
"And then? We burn his empire to the ground."