CHAPTER 13 – Emilia
I don’t sleep.
Not really.
It’s impossible to when all I feel is intense heat and sweat, when the walls press in too tightly.
My body is sore, my limbs aching from hours of stillness. But my mind? That’s the real problem.
I can’t stop replaying it.
Rafe. Standing beside Diego. Silent. Cold. Unfazed.
Like I was nothing.
Like I wasn’t the woman who nursed him back to health from near death, who lay beside him in the dark, who let him touch me like I meant something.
The betrayal curdles inside me, hot and acidic.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
But the shock still hit like a blade to the ribs.
Because some foolish, na?ve part of me thought he was different.
That part of me?
It fucking dies tonight.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath shaky, trying to force the exhaustion to take me under.
But sleep won’t come.
Not when my heart is still pounding from what I saw.
Not when I can still hear Diego’s voice, still see his smirk as he bragged about owning me.
And not when Rafe just stood there.
No anger. No reaction.
Nothing.
I drag my knees up to my chest, pressing my forehead against them.
I won’t cry.
I won’t.
Because Rafe is just another liar. Another monster pretending to be something else.
And the next time I see him?
I’ll make damn sure he knows I’m not some weak, helpless little thing he can throw away.
I hear a noise.
A click.
My head snaps up.
Someone’s unlocking the door.
My pulse spikes.
If it’s Diego—
If it’s Rafe—
I don’t know what I’ll do.
But I do know one thing.
Whoever walks through that door?
I’m going to make them bleed.
The door clicks open
I don’t move.
Not even as the door swings open.
Not even as the dark silhouette steps inside, quiet as a ghost.
I wait.
Wait until the door shuts.
Wait until the footsteps stop.
ThenI strike.
I move fast.
I slam my elbow toward his throat. He jerks back just in time, but I don’t let up. I twist, driving my knee toward his ribs. He blocks it. Barely.
A curse hisses past his lips, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I swing again, this time aiming for his temple—but he’s faster.
His hand catches my wrist mid-air, yanking me off-balance. Fuck. Before I can recover, he pivots—spinning me so fast I barely register the movement—until my back slams into the cold, unforgiving wall.
A deep, sharp pain shoots up my spine, and for the first time, I freeze.
Because I know this grip.
I know these hands.
Even before he speaks, I know.
"Jesus, Emilia," Rafe mutters, his voice low, sharp. "You always have to fight first."
I go still.
Not because I’m afraid.
But because anger crashes into me like a fucking tidal wave.
I shove against his chest. Hard.
He barely moves.
"Get the fuck off me."
He hesitates, but then his hands drop, releasing me.
I step forward, shoving him again, harder this time.
He lets me.
And I hate that.
I hate all of it.
"Why are you sneaking in here in the middle of the night? I thought it was Diego trying to come finish me off." I spit, voice shaking with fury and fear.
His jaw locks. "I couldn’t sleep."
“Why not?” I snap, half afraid, half infuriated at myself for caring. “Didn’t you leave me without hesitation? Didn’t you just act like you’d never met me in front of Diego?”
My words cut him, but I’m too angry to care. I’m trying to drown the other feelings rising in me.
He is here in front of me, as one of my captors, and I am almost fantasizing about him?
“Don’t,” he says. His voice is raspy and laced with raw emotion.
"Don’t what?" I laugh bitterly. "Don’t act like you sold me out? Like you sat there, pretending I was nothing to you while he—"
I stop, breathing hard. It’s all I can do. My body wants to betray me, but I can’t keep this up much longer. I need to know I’m not being foolish. That I’m not lying to myself.
Rafe’s expression is unreadable, but his eyes burn.
"That’s not what happened."
I shake my head, chest tight, fire curling in my gut.
"Then what the fuck did happen, Rafe? Because from where I’m sitting, you played your part real fucking well."
He steps forward, too close, too fast.
"Because if I hadn’t—you’d already be dead."
His voice is low. Deadly.
The words hit like a fist to the ribs.
But I don’t back down.
Because I can’t.
"Then why are you here?" I whisper. "Why risk sneaking in if I’m just another prisoner to you?"
A tense silence stretches between us.
Then
His jaw clenches. His hands flex.
And just like that—the snap happens.
Because he doesn’t answer.
He kisses me instead.
His lips hover inches from mine.
Waiting.
Giving me the chance to push him away.
But I don’t.
Because the anger, the frustration, the betrayal—it’s all tangled up in something else.
Something just as dangerous.
Something I don’t want to name.
I don’t kiss him back right away.
I let him suffer.
Let him feel the way I hesitate, the way my body stiffens under his hands.
I want to deny him.
I want him to believe I don’t want this.
But then—his hands slide up my arms, his thumbs skimming my jaw, tilting my head back just enough.
And when he whispers my name—broken, desperate, wrecked—
I shatter.
I kiss him back like I want to hurt him.
Because I do.
But I also want him closer.
I hate him.
I want him.
I want to hurt him, punish him, make him feel even a fraction of what he’s put me through.
But the second his hands tighten around my waist, dragging me flush against his body, every ounce of my resistance crumbles.
He tastes like whiskey, danger, and something that shouldn’t feel like home but does.
God! I want him so bad. I want to taste him more.
But he can’t see that. I must not let him. Not that easy.
I shove against his chest, trying to push him back—
He doesn’t budge.
Instead, he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head against the cold stone wall, pressing his body into mine.
"Still fighting me?" His voice is low, dark, rough with need.
I breathe hard, my pulse thundering in my ears.
"You deserve it," I whisper.
His lips curl into a dangerous smirk.
"Then fight me, baby," he taunts.
Oh. He knows. Damn him. He knows I am just putting up that defense. He knows I want him too.
Damn him to hell.
Damn his sexy lips!
I fight.
I claw at him, my nails raking down his back. I bite his bottom lip, tugging until he groans against my mouth.
He’s too close—too much heat, too much tension, too much history.
I hate how good he is at this.
How good he is at me.
His hands skim down my sides, gripping my hips, pinning me where he wants me.
"I hate you," I gasp.
He chuckles darkly.
"Liar."
I am lying.
But so is he.
Because this isn’t just lust.
It’s war.
And I’m losing.
Fast.
Rafe’s hands are everywhere, dragging up my thighs, gripping my waist with bruising force, yanking me against him like he’s trying to fuse our bodies into one.
I whimper as he bites my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, hot and desperate, making my stomach clench with raw need.
His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat to his hungry mouth.
His lips blaze a path down my neck, kissing, nipping, licking to my collarbone, each touch igniting sparks under my skin.
“You still hate me?” he growls, voice rough against my pulse.
I shudder, defiance warring with desire. “Yes.”
His teeth scrape my throat, sharp and teasing. “Liar.”
He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hips grinding against mine, letting me feel the hard, unrelenting length of his cock through his pants.
My breath catches, my fingers itching to reach for him, to grip his shaft, to feel him throb in my hand.
Fuck, I want him now. His hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up, baring my skin to the cool air before his palms heat me again, branding me with every touch.
“You want this,” he mutters, lips dragging over my jaw, his voice dripping with certainty. “Say it, Emilia.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to give in, defiance burning even as my body betrays me. He’s not getting this easily. He smirks, dark and dangerous. “Fine. I’ll make you scream it.”
He goes to work, his touch a storm—fingers grazing my breasts, pinching my nipples through the fabric, his lips sucking them into tight, aching peaks.
His hand slides between my thighs, teasing over my panties, finding me dripping, massaging with a pressure that makes me tremble.
It’s a blur of sensation, my breath hitching, my body opening up in a way I haven’t felt in years.
I want to scream, to moan, to let it all out, but I bite my lip, fighting to hold onto control.
I reach out, yanking him closer, needing his skin against mine now.
He rips my shirt off, then his, our bare torsos colliding, nothing between us but heat and hunger.
His hand dives back between my thighs, fingers slipping beneath my panties, stroking through my slick folds, teasing my clit with slow, deliberate circles.
I gasp, head falling back, hips bucking into his touch, my pussy aching for more.
“Still fighting me?” he rasps, voice thick with amusement and need.
I open my mouth to curse him, to deny it, but he pushes two fingers inside me, deep and claiming, curling against that perfect spot.
My cry is raw, my body arching, trembling as he pumps slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling my clit with ruthless precision.
My pussy clenches, dripping, the pleasure coiling tight, sharp, unbearable.
“Rafe—” I gasp, nails clawing his shoulders, chasing the edge as he drives me higher.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips against my ear, “falling apart already.” He adds a third finger, stretching me, his thumb relentless, and I’m shaking, my breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps. I’m so close, my body wound tight, teetering on the brink of shattering.
“Come for me,” he orders, voice a low growl, nipping my throat as he presses harder, faster.
I shatter, my scream echoing as my orgasm rips through me, my pussy spasming around his fingers, soaking his hand.
He doesn’t stop, drawing out every shudder, every moan, until I’m trembling, oversensitive, wholly his.
I should stop, catch my breath, but I don’t. I shove at his waistband, freeing his cock, my fingers wrapping around his thick, throbbing length. He groans, head dropping back, jaw clenched. “Fuck, Emilia,” he rasps, “you’re driving me insane.”
I smirk, stroking him with teasing precision, relishing the way he tenses under my touch. “So are you,” I murmur, wicked and breathless. But I want more. I need him inside me.
He flips me onto the bed, pinning my wrists above my head with a leather strap from his belt, the restraint biting just enough to ground me.
“You’re mine,” he growls, ripping my panties away, his lips crashing into mine, tongue claiming me with bruising force.
His mouth trails lower, sucking my nipples, nipping hard enough to make me gasp, my back arching into him.
He spreads my thighs, breath hot against my core.
“You want me to taste you again?” he taunts, voice pure sin.
I nod, desperate, and his tongue dives in, licking through my folds, sucking my clit with relentless hunger.
I cry out, hips bucking, pleasure crashing through me as he devours me, unyielding, his hands pinning my thighs open.
I’m trembling, my pussy clenching, another orgasm building fast. “Rafe—fuck,” I moan, pulling at the restraints, needing him closer. He rises, kissing me hard, letting me taste myself as he lines himself up, teasing my entrance with the tip of his cock.
“Ready?” he asks, voice tight, control fraying.
“Please,” I beg, legs wrapping around his waist. He thrusts inside, hard and deep, splitting me open, filling me completely. I cry out, nails raking the air, the stretch a delicious burn. He stills, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch, his breath ragged against my neck.
“You okay?” he murmurs, forehead pressed to mine.
“Move,” I gasp, hips rolling, needing more.
He chuckles, dark and smug, but his control snaps.
He fucks me hard, fast, brutal, each thrust driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur.
The bed creaks, the air thick with moans, curses, the wet slap of skin.
I match him, meeting every thrust, my pussy clenching, pleasure coiling tight.
“Rafe—faster,” I beg, voice raw, desperate.
“Not until you beg properly, sweetheart,” he growls, pinning my thighs, keeping his torturous, deliberate pace. I want to curse him, to fight, but I break. “Please, Rafe—fuck me harder.”
He groans, control shattering, and he fucks me like he’s trying to ruin me, each thrust a claim, a punishment, a vow. I cling to him, moaning his name, grinding against him, lost in the fire. “Fuck, Emilia, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, voice wrecked.
I can’t think, can’t breathe, only feel him—his body, his hands, his cock driving me under.
“More,” I beg, and he gives it, harder, faster, until I’m screaming, my pussy clenching, my orgasm crashing through me in violent waves.
He follows, spilling inside me with a guttural groan, his body shaking as we collapse together, sweat-slicked, breathless.
Silence falls, heavy with the weight of what we’ve done. Our bodies stay tangled, chests heaving, skin pressed close. I soak in the moment, his forehead against mine, his grip still firm on my hips, grounding me.
Then he speaks, voice rough. “I’m getting you out.”
I freeze, heart lurching. He pulls back, eyes fierce, unshaken. “But you have to trust me, Emilia.”
My throat tightens. I want to trust him, but the scars of his betrayal burn deep. I need to get out, to clear my head, but his gaze—intense, determined—holds me. He’s all I have now, and if I want to survive, I might not have a choice.
A distant crash echoes below, and Rafe stiffens, the softness in his eyes replaced by cold steel. “Stay here,” he orders, pulling on his pants, the mafia world clawing us back.
“Rafe—” I start, but his sharp look silences me. “What’s happening?”
“Viktor’s men,” he says, voice grim. “They’re here.”
I scramble for my clothes, defiance flaring. “I’m coming with you.”
His jaw clenches, but my resolve stops him. “Fucking impossible,” he mutters, a faint smile breaking through. “Stay close. My rules.”
I nod, the fire we’ve ignited binding us as we brace for the blood and chaos ahead.