Chapter Nineteen #2
"I never said that I wanted this!" Azar cried, throwing her hands up in the air, pacing a tight circle in the narrow aisle.
"I never asked you to buy the world for me!
I don't want you to come with me, Raphael!
What is wrong with you? You are the Don of the Castellan-Marchetti syndicate!
You are a king! You belong here, on this estate, ruling your family! "
Raphael slowly stood up. He did not tower over her aggressively, but his frame seemed to swallow the blue light of the room.
"What good is a Don without his heart and his soul?" Raphael asked, his voice dropping into a ragged, guttural whisper that echoed off the concrete walls. "What good is a throne, Azar, when the only thing that keeps me breathing is boarding a plane to another continent?"
Azar stopped pacing. She looked at him, her breath catching in her throat as the sheer, agonizing vulnerability in his eyes stripped her defenses to the bone.
"I know you do not trust me," Raphael continued, taking a slow, cautious step toward her, as if approaching a wild, terrified animal. "I know I broke the one thing in this world that was pure. I know that when the dark closed in, I threw you to the wolves instead of standing between them and you."
His chest hitched, the memory of his betrayal tearing at his own throat.
"But if I ever want to prove to you that I can be trusted again...
if I ever want to earn back even a fraction of what I destroyed...
I cannot lock you in this estate. I cannot cage you here.
I have to let you walk out those gates. I have to follow you on your terms. And I have to be the shadow that ensures you are never, ever in danger again. "
Azar stared at him, the world tilting violently on its axis.
For a year, she had convinced herself that his love was just a byproduct of guilt. She had told herself that his remorse was a temporary haunting, a phase he would eventually outgrow when he realized she was never going to melt for him again.
But looking at the undeniable, billion-euro proof on the monitors, looking at the man who was willing to abandon an empire just to breathe the same air as her in a foreign city, the sheer, crushing reality of his devotion finally broke through the ice.
He wasn't trying to force her to stay. He was building a world where she could be free, and he was willing to abandon his crown to protect her in it.
"Raphael..." Azar whispered.
The ice cracked. The vault shattered.
A hot, blinding tear spilled over her lashes. Her lower lip began to tremble violently. The overwhelming, paralyzing weight of her exhaustion, her longing, her heartbreak, and the staggering magnitude of his love collided in her chest, tearing a fractured, agonizing sob from her throat.
She covered her face with her trembling hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she finally, truly broke down.
There was absolutely no way Don Raphael Castellan-Marchetti was composed enough to watch her cry and do nothing.
The respectful distance he had maintained for a year vanished in a microsecond. Raphael closed the gap between them with a desperate, frantic speed. He reached out, his arms wrapping around her slender frame, and he swept her violently, into his chest.
Azar didn't fight him. The moment the hard, solid warmth of his body enveloped her, the moment she smelled the familiar, intoxicating scent of cedar and his skin, her hands dropped from her face, and she gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, holding on as if she were drowning.
"I'm sorry," Raphael chanted, his voice a broken, desperate prayer against her hair. He folded her into his embrace, crushing her against his pounding heart. "I am so sorry, mia anima. I am so sorry."
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his own eyes burning with unshed tears as he held the woman he loved for the first time in over a year.
He kissed her hair, he kissed her temple, his large hands rubbing soothing frantic circles across her back.
He rocked her gently, absorbing her sobs, his deep voice a constant, gravelly murmur of comfort and worship.
"I've got you," he whispered fiercely, pressing his lips to her forehead, holding her so tightly she could feel the frantic hammering of his heart against her ribs. "You're safe. I'm here. I am so sorry."
Azar cried against his chest, her tears soaking the expensive fabric of his suit. She cried out the resentment, she cried out the fear, and she surrendered to the physical, overwhelming relief of finally being held by the only man she had ever wanted.
It was a long time before the violent shaking of her shoulders began to subside.
Slowly, the tears slowed. Azar took a deep, shuddering breath, her lungs expanding against the solid wall of his chest. She didn't pull away, but she loosened her death grip on his lapels, tilting her head back to look at him.
Her hazel eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, yet clearer than they had been in a year.
Raphael reached up with a trembling hand, his rough thumb gently, reverently wiping a stray tear from her flushed cheek. He looked down at her with a tenderness, so profound it was almost holy.
"I still want to leave," Azar whispered, her voice raspy and fragile in the quiet hum of the server room. It was not a threat. It was a simple, undeniable truth. She still needed to step outside the walls of the Castellan estate. She still needed her freedom.
Raphael did not flinch. He did not tighten his grip to hold her in place. He simply stroked her cheek, his obsidian eyes shining with a calm, unshakeable vow.
"You can do whatever you want, Azar," Raphael replied softly, his voice a steady, grounding anchor. "You can go anywhere on this earth. My only job for the rest of my life is to make sure you feel safe with me. Wherever that may be."
Azar stared up at him. She looked at the prince who had finally learned how to be her shield instead of her cage.
For the first time in a year, Azar did not pull the mask of polite apathy over her face. She did not retreat into the fortress of her professional detachment. She simply rested her cheek against the reassuring warmth of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
And as the blue light of the servers bathed the subterranean hub in a quiet glow, Azarelle Maren was finally, deeply, quietly thoughtful.