CHAPTER 15 – Rafe
Loyalty in this world is a fucking illusion.
I’ve spent years pretending. Years perfecting the art of deception.
Tonight, the mask feels thinner.
Diego isn’t just watching me. He’s hunting.
Every slow drag of his cigar, every measured sip of whiskey—it’s calculated. He knows something.
Or worse—he suspects everything.
That means I have even less time than I thought.
I roll the glass between my fingers, keeping my expression lazy, unaffected.
Because in this world, hesitation is a death sentence.
And right now, Emilia’s life depends on me playing this perfectly.
Diego lounges in his usual spot, his chair a throne built on blood and power. Smoke curls from the cigar in his hand, the dim lighting of the lounge casting shadows along his sharp, knowing features.
He’s relaxed, but I know better.
Diego doesn’t do relaxed.
"You’ve been quiet lately, Rafael," he muses, tapping ash into a crystal tray.
I roll the whiskey in my glass, keeping my expression unreadable. "Didn’t realize you needed me to entertain you."
Diego chuckles. "You always keep me entertained."
I force a smirk, but the weight of his words hangs between us.
He knows something.
Or at the very least, he suspects.
That would be fucking dangerous.
Diego takes a slow sip of whiskey, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
"You know," he continues, "most men would have taken a turn by now."
I freeze. Only for a second.
But a second is all Diego needs.
He notices everything.
I keep my voice even. "That so?"
He nods, his smirk widening. "A girl like her? Feisty, gorgeous. Even half-broken, she’s a damn prize."
My blood turns to ice.
Not because I didn’t expect this.
Because I did.
Diego doesn’t take prisoners out of kindness.
He collects.
And Emilia?
She’s a rare fucking gem in a room full of dirt.
He’ll never let her go willingly.
I force my grip on the glass to stay loose, keep my shoulders from locking up.
"You thinking about keeping her?" I ask, voice carefully bored.
Diego smirks. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether she’s more fun broken or fighting."
A slow, crawling rage coils in my gut.
Because Diego isn’t talking about killing her.
He’s talking about owning her.
Using her.
And if he lays a single fucking hand on her, I will burn this place to the ground.
Instead, I take a lazy sip of whiskey, forcing myself to look bored.
"If you’re waiting for me to beg for a turn," I say, "you’ll be waiting a long time."
Diego watches me for a long moment.
The room is silent.
Tension coils between us, thick and suffocating.
Thenhe laughs.
"Always so disciplined," he says, shaking his head. "That’s what I like about you, Rafael. You don’t let a good fuck mess with your head."
I exhale slowly. Crisis averted.
For now. But I know Diego is already circling.
And I do not have much time to plan anymore. I have to get Emilia out as fast as I can.
***
I leave the lounge an hour later, my head buzzing—not from the alcohol, but from the weight of Diego’s scrutiny.
He’s watching me.
Testing me.
And if I make one wrong move?
He won’t hesitate to kill us both.
I make my way toward the underground cells, my footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls.
Lozano—Diego’s idiot enforcer—is stationed outside Emilia’s cell.
He eyes me as I approach, his lips curling into a smirk. "Come to enjoy the view?"
My muscles tense, but I force a smirk right back.
"Just checking if she’s still breathing," I say, keeping my tone casual.
Lozano is standing with his arms crossed.
I hate men like him.
Weak men who cling to power like it’s the only thing keeping them alive.
Men who enjoy watching others suffer because it makes them feel untouchable.
"You really come down here a lot, hermano," he muses, tapping his boot against the ground. "What’s the matter? Feeling soft for the girl?"
I smile—slow, easy, the kind that makes men nervous.
Because it should.
"Just making sure you idiots aren’t getting carried away," I say, stepping closer.
Lozano’s smirk falters.
"I follow orders," he mutters.
"Yeah?" I tilt my head. "Then you won’t mind stepping aside."
For a second, I think he might push back.
Thenhe huffs out a breath, moves to the side.
"Be quick," he grumbles.
I smirk. "Of course."
Fucking coward.
I grip the edge of my jacket, keeping my hands busy so I don’t wrap them around his throat.
I push the door open. Step inside.
And the second it shuts behind me?
I exhale.
Because she’s here.
Because I still have time.
Because I haven’t lost her yet.
Emilia sits against the far wall, her legs stretched out.
She doesn’t look at me.
Not right away.
But when she does?
The fire in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
She’s tired.
Hurt.
She looks like she has been crying.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
But the second her gaze lands on me, something sharp and furious burns in her eyes.
She looks like she hasn’t slept.
Like she’s been caught between rage and exhaustion, teetering on the edge of both.
There’s a cut on her lip. Faint, but there.
And it kills me—because I don’t know if she got it from Diego’s men or from biting down on her own screams.
I crouch down in front of her, voice low. Controlled.
"Are you okay?"
Silence.
Then
She laughs.
Not soft. Not relieved.
But bitter. Angry.
"Are you seriously asking me that?" she whispers.
Her voice is sharp enough to cut.
"After everything, you want to play concerned now? You promised to get me out, didn’t you?"
I exhale slowly.
Because I get it.
Because if I were her, I would hate me too.
Her words cut deeper than they should.
Because she doesn’t trust me.
Not yet.
And I don’t know if she ever will.
But I don’t have time for her anger.
Not when Diego is already breathing down my neck.
"I’m working on it," I murmur.
She scoffs. "Work faster."
I grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine.
"You think I don’t want to get you out of here?" I whisper, my voice rough. "You think this isn’t tearing me apart?"
She breathes hard, but she doesn’t look away.
I sigh, releasing her. "You need to be patient."
Her fingers twitch.
Like she wants to claw my fucking face off.
"Patient?" she echoes. "You want me to be patient?"
Her voice rises, fire flickering behind her words.
"How patient, Rafe? Until Diego gets bored and decides I’m not worth keeping alive?"
I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"You think I don’t know that?" I murmur, my voice rough. "You think I’m not counting every second until I can get you out?"
Her breathing is sharp, uneven.
"You left me," she whispers.
And fuck.
I wish she hadn’t said that.
Because I know.
I know I left.
I know I hurt her.
I release her, exhaling hard.
"I’ll fix this," I mutter.
"How?" she snaps. "By pretending I don’t exist every time Diego looks at you?"
I hesitate.
Because I can’t promise her that.
Not yet.
And she knows it.
She closes her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly.
Then, she nods.
And I know—she’ll play along.
Because she has no choice.
Because I am her only way out.
And fuck—that terrifies me.
I reach into my jacket, pulling out a small blade.
Her eyes widen slightly.
"It’s not enough to get you out," I say, "but it’s something."
She stares at the blade as though she’s considering it.
I move closer, sliding it into her bound hands, making sure she grips it securely.
Her fingers brush mine—warm, shaking.
For a second, neither of us move.
And when she finally looks up at me—
I see something shift.
The hate is still there.
The anger.
But so is something else.
Something closer to understanding.
Like she finally sees what I can’t say.
Like she finally believes me.
I swallow hard, stepping back.
Because if I don’t?
I might not be able to leave her.
I stand, step back, forcing my mask back into place.
“Be strong for me, Emilia,” I tell her. “We’re almost there.”
I can’t let her see that I’m scared too.
And when I walk out of that room, leaving her behind, I know—
I know Diego is getting impatient.
I know Lozano is waiting for an excuse to put his hands on her.
I know I’m running out of time.
And the second I step back into the hall, forcing my mask into place—
I promise myself something.
The next time I walk through that door?
I’m not leaving without her.