CHAPTER 12 – Rafe
I’ve spent years perfecting the art of indifference.
Of hiding what I want.
Of making men believe I feel nothing.
And yet—right now, sitting across from Diego, listening to him talk about her—
It’s taking everything I have not to snap.
To not let my fingers curl into fists.
To not let my rage seep into my expression.
Diego pours himself another drink, his gold rings glinting in the low light.
"You know what I like about women like her, Rafael?"
I take a slow sip of whiskey, playing along.
"What’s that?"
He leans back, a smirk curling his lips. "They think they can win."
I say nothing.
Because there’s nothing to fucking say.
Because Diego doesn’t see what I see.
He doesn’t understand that Emilia isn’t some conquest.
That she isn’t a woman who will break for him.
That she will die fighting before she bends.
And that?
That’s what scares me the most.
Because if she pushes too hard, if she refuses to play this right—
Diego will get bored.
And when he gets bored?
She won’t survive.
"She’s quiet now," Diego continues, exhaling a lazy stream of smoke. "But that won’t last."
He watches me.
Testing me.
Waiting for a reaction.
I give him nothing.
Just a slow smirk as I tip my glass at him.
"They all talk eventually."
Diego chuckles, pleased. "Exactly."
I hate myself for saying it.
Hate that I have to pretend she’s just another nameless woman, just another pawn.
But there’s no other way.
Not yet.
Because if I want to get her out of here—if I want to do it right—
I have to earn Diego’s trust first.
I have to make him believe I don’t give a shit about her.
Even if it’s killing me inside.
I wait until Diego is too distracted to care.
Until the drinks flow, until the conversations shift to business, until the room relaxes.
Then, I push back my chair.
"Taking a walk," I say, adjusting my jacket.
Diego barely lifts his head, waving me off. "Try not to kill anyone while you’re at it."
I smirk. "No promises."
I step out into the hall, keeping my pace steady, controlled.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
The underground cells smell like damp concrete and misery.
Dimly lit. Barely ventilated. The kind of place men are sent to die slowly.
The guard outside the door barely spares me a glance.
I know him—Lozano, one of Diego’s lapdogs. A man with more brawn than brains.
I tilt my chin at him. "She still breathing?"
Lozano snorts. "Unfortunately."
I force a smirk. "Diego wants her alive. Try not to get carried away."
Lozano shrugs. "She’s not much fun anyway. Won’t talk, won’t scream. Just stares like she’s gonna rip my throat out."
That’s my girl.
I roll my shoulders, keeping my tone bored. "Open the door."
Lozano hesitates.
I arch a brow.
"You got orders against it?"
A beat of silence.
Then, he shakes his head, unlocking it.
The second I step inside, the door closes behind me.
And I exhale.
Finally.
The room is small.
Dark.
The kind of place where hope comes to die.
The air is damp, thick with the scent of stone and stale air.
The single overhead light flickers, casting Emilia in sharp, shifting shadows.
She isn’t bound.
She isn’t broken.
But she’s here.
That’s enough to make me want to burn this whole fucking place to the ground.
She sits in the corner, her back against the wall, her legs drawn up just enough to look relaxed—but I know better.
She’s watching me.
Studying me.
Not with fear.
Not with desperation.
But with pure, molten rage.
I exhale slowly. I deserve it.
I crouch in front of her, keeping my voice low. Controlled.
"Are you okay?"
She laughs.
A bitter, hollow sound.
Then, she leans in just enough to whisper—
"Go to hell."
I bite back a sigh.
"Emilia—"
"Don’t."
She glares at me, voice sharp as broken glass.
"You’re really fucking good at this, huh?" she whispers, her eyes burning through me. "Playing the part. Pretending you don’t know me."
I grit my teeth, swallowing down the urge to grab her, shake her, make her fucking listen.
"You need to listen to me," I murmur.
Her jaw tightens.
"Why?" she hisses. "So I can hear more lies?"
I don’t blame her.
I don’t expect her to understand.
But I need her to trust me.
Even if she hates me for now.
I lean in closer, voice a razor-thin whisper.
"I’m getting you out of here."
She freezes.
And for the first time, something flickers across her face.
Something like doubt. Hope.
But then—she shoves it down.
Her arms cross over her chest, her body going stiff.
"How?" she mutters.
And that’s the question, isn’t it?
I take a slow breath.
"I didn’t know, Emilia."
She flinches.
Like she wasn’t expecting those words.
Like she doesn’t believe them.
I keep my voice low, even, urgent.
"I didn’t know Diego took you. I had nothing to do with it."
Her brows furrow, a flicker of confusion before her anger flares again.
"Right," she mutters. "And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?"
I grit my teeth.
"He told me himself, Emilia. He saw you in the city. He liked you. He sent his men after you."
She stills.
I can see the wheels turning in her head.
Trying to figure out if she can trust me.
Trying to understand how deep this goes.
I glance at the door—the guard outside is still in place. Still listening.
I don’t have much time.
"Listen to me," I murmur, leaning in, voice so low it barely makes a sound. "He took over the cartel after I was left for dead. It happened fast. Too fast. But nature abhors a vacuum, and the cartel can’t afford to look weak. He stepped up. He’s been in charge ever since."
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
But I can feel it—the storm brewing beneath her skin.
"He didn’t tell me he took you until tonight," I continue. "He was bragging about it, Emilia. Like you were some kind of fucking trophy."
Her face twists with disgust.
I feel it too.
The same red-hot rage simmering beneath my skin.
But I force it down.
Because this isn’t about me.
It’s about her.
And she still doesn’t know the worst part.
I look at her. Directly. No more half-truths.
"I will get you out."
She stares at me.
And then—she laughs.
A low, sharp, humorless laugh.
"Get me out?" she repeats, voice dripping with bitterness.
"Yes."
"You’re the reason I’m here in the first place."
The words cut deeper than I expect.
"You left me," she whispers, eyes dark and accusing. "You left. And now look where I am."
My stomach twists.
I want to tell her she’s wrong.
I want to tell her I never meant for this to happen.
But the truth is?
She’s right.
I left.
And now she’s here.
I take a slow breath, forcing myself to keep my voice steady.
"I’ll fix this," I promise.
She looks at me. Long. Hard. Unforgiving.
And then—
"Get out."
I still.
"Emilia—"
"Get out."
I clench my jaw.
But I don’t argue.
Because this isn’t about me.
Because she deserves to be angry.
She’s safer hating me.
I push to my feet, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
And as I step out of the cell, back into the shadows—
I hear her whisper.
So soft.
So broken.
"You better not be lying to me again."
And fuck—
I wish I could promise her that.
I step out into the hall, locking my mask back into place.
Lozano glances up. "She still acting tough?"
I smirk. "She won’t last long."
He laughs.
And I walk away.
Because the only way I get her out of here alive—
Is if every single one of these bastards believes I don’t give a damn about her.
Even if it’s killing me inside.