Chapter 24 RAFFAEL #2
She catches the shift in my posture and chuckles, the sound low and knowing. Casually, she moves her hand, an almost elegant gesture, and adjusts the clasp of her clutch, just enough to flash the black handle of a Magnum nestled inside.
She doesn’t bother to close the bag all the way.
Message received.
She’s too far for me to make a move without her putting a bullet in me first. And I have no doubt she would, calmly, cleanly, even if it meant the plane went down in flames around us.
By all accounts, she is one cold-blooded, iron-hearted… what?
Not a lady. Even though she pretends to be.
Not a queen. Even though she wants to be.
Not even a devil. Even though she wears temptation like perfume.
Something worse. She smiles like salvation, but every word she speaks is a knife. Aimed and on target.
She crosses her legs, one elegant heel swinging idly, and studies me like I’m a puzzle she already half-solved. "So," she begins, in a voice that drips with amusement, "let’s start simple. Why the hell did you want to break into Silvestre’s home? Were you coming after me?"
Interesting. The woman rumored to know everything has no clue why I was there, which means she doesn't know about Sophia either. I vow to keep it that way and meet her eyes, allowing a slow, mocking smile to tug at the corners of my mouth. "Would you like to think that?"
Her lips curve, but it’s not from pleasure. "Men have tried to come after me before. They’re not around anymore."
Maybe she thinks that’s supposed to scare me.
It doesn’t. I realize that the woman across from me is more dangerous than many men I've encountered, but the fact that she saved me intrigues me.
For now, I'm inclined to play her little game.
"Maybe they just weren’t very good at it," I counter, leaning back as far as the seatbelt allows.
She tilts her head, considering. "Coming from someone who was captured, gift-wrapped, and delivered to me. Doesn’t say much for your skill, does it?"
"Depends on how you look at it," I reply, not showing that her knife hit right where she wanted it to. "Some cages are worth getting into… if you know how to get out."
Her eyes narrow just enough to let me know she knows I'm bluffing. "Careful, caro. Men who think they’re clever tend to end up disappointing me."
"Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if I’m the exception."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The hum of the engines fills the space, and the air between us is tight with unspoken threats and curiosity.
She’s the one who breaks the silence first. "Fine," she says, settling deeper into her seat, "tit for tat then.
Why were you going to attack the Valverde family? "
I shake my head slowly. "Why did you save me?"
Her lips tighten, just a fraction. Another standoff. Will against will. Stubbornness pressed hard against stubbornness. Neither of us is willing to blink first.
Then she says it, soft, almost like a sigh. "Oh, Raffael."
My eyes snap to hers. "How do you know my name?"
She smiles like a cat with its paw on a mouse’s tail.
"What? Raffael DeSantis? Head founder and CEO of Umbra Arcana? Raised by Giorgio and Lucia DeSantis?" The way she says my parents’ names makes the air feel heavier. She tilts her head and studies me like she’s peeling back layers.
"Also… your last name is a lie, isn’t it? "
She doesn’t push—yet. She lets the words hang there, tempting me to bite. It's hard, but I wait. The plane begins to level out. A flight attendant appears and asks, "Would you care for something to drink?"
"Two Negronis. Strong," Margarita says before I can open my mouth, her gaze never leaves mine. She doesn’t ask what I want; she decides.
I let the order hang in the air for a beat, then stop the attendant with a raised hand. "Blue Label. On the rocks."
The attendant nods and slips away. Margarita chuckles, low and musical, like she’s genuinely amused. "Well, if we’re done with the power plays…"
"I didn’t know we’d started," I reply evenly.
Her smile deepens, the kind that says she’s exactly where she wants to be. "Your company intrigues me, Raffael. Omertà Infernale. You built it from nothing."
"It’s not for sale," I cut in.
Her brows lift, as if the idea of me assuming she’d want to buy it is amusing. "No," she says, almost purring, "but for hire, I suppose."
I keep my expression unreadable. We are for hire, and I’ve never been choosy about clients before, but there is something about this woman that not only sets me on edge but warns me to stay the hell away from her. "Why would you need to hire me?"
She shrugs, "Sometimes I need to keep a low profile, an untraceable… hit. Trust me when I say, you and your company are extremely valuable. And I can help you. We can help each other."
Even if she weren't who she is, I wouldn't trust her. Nobody in La Famiglia offers to help without a shitload of strings attached. Especially not her.
"Help me?" I echo, letting the skepticism bleed into my tone.
Her smile doesn’t waver. "In my world, information is currency, caro. And I am very, very rich."
"And what do you want in return?"
Her eyes glitter like she’s been waiting for me to ask.
"Nothing… for now. But when the day comes, I may require something done quietly.
Discreetly. A problem removed without leaving fingerprints.
" She leans back, crossing her legs with languid precision.
"And I have a feeling you’re very good at… disappearing problems."
I study her, weighing every word. "And if I say no?"
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but her gaze sharpens just enough to tell me it matters a lot. "Then you say no. But one day, Raffael, you might find yourself in a situation where you do need me. And I never forget the ones who turned me down."
I lean back, mirroring her posture. "I’ll take my chances."
Her laugh is low and warm on the surface, but there’s an edge underneath it—steel hidden in velvet. "You will. That’s what makes you so interesting. But trust me…" she lifts her glass, the ice clinking softly, "…we will speak again. And when we do, it will not be as strangers."
"But if this… relationship of ours is going to work," she says, swirling the dark amber in her glass, "I need to know why you attacked Silvestre."
She has no idea what the mention of his name does to me. It jolts me like a slap, igniting a chain reaction that weaves through me with the power of a tsunami. Sophia's name is the first that hits me. Where the hell is she?
I push the thoughts down before they reach my face. I can’t give Margarita the truth. If she doesn’t know why I was there, she doesn’t know about Sophia, and I’ll keep it that way.
"Yeah," I say slowly, "I was hired to kill Silvestre."
Her eyes glint. "By whom?"
I let a cold smile spread across my face. "No."
She tilts her head. "No?"
"I won’t tell you who hired me. A fact you should appreciate. It means I keep my word."
Her expression doesn’t change, but I see a flicker of approval, even if she’d rather die than admit it.
"To come to an agreement," I continue, "I won’t fulfill the contract." I pause, leaning slightly forward. "And I’ll take care of the person who hired me."
One perfectly arched brow lifts.
"Satisfied?" I add.
She holds my gaze for a long beat before she nods. "Partially."
We fall silent as she pulls out her phone, making me realize I have nothing. No phone, no tablet. No way to reach anyone.
Mario. Pierre. Both gone. My two best men—my friends—wiped out in minutes because I underestimated the Valverde. My soldiers… probably scattered or dead, too. All I have left is the image of Sophia in that fortress, and the hollow weight of knowing I failed her again.
Right now, I’m at Donna Margarita’s mercy. I don’t even know where we’re going. I have zero control. Just the steady hum of the engines and her scrolling lazily through whatever empire she runs from behind that phone screen.
I need to get back to my house. Reach out to the network. See what’s left to salvage from this clusterfuck of a mission. I need to regroup, rebuild, and plan.
But none of that can happen until she decides I can go.
And that’s the part I hate most, sitting here, watching her thumb swipe across the glass while I’m cut off from my world, my war, and my people.
For the first time in years, I’m not the hunter. I’m the one in the cage. And I fucking hate it.