Chapter 2 #2
Pain lanced through me so suddenly it was almost physical.
I kept my expression composed anyway.
Years of practice had taught me how to suffer quietly.
“And after what you did tonight,” I continued carefully, “after stepping in when your brother chose cruelty, the last thing I wish is to appear ungrateful.”
My fingers folded neatly together in my lap, though the tension in them betrayed me.
“But there are matters I still need to attend to this evening.” I lifted my chin slightly. “So perhaps it would be best if you allowed me some privacy.”
The words remained gentle.
Respectful.
Yet unmistakably firm.
“I am not accustomed to having men in my apartment, Mr. Rafael,” I added quietly. “Particularly men I barely know.”
Silence settled between us.
Longer this time.
He neither moved nor spoke..
The air itself seemed to tighten around his attention.
Not casual observation anymore.
Something far more deliberate.
As though he were reassessing every word I had spoken since opening the door to him. Measuring the restraint in my voice. The precision of my composure. The careful elegance of boundaries drawn without offense.
I remained perfectly still beneath the weight of it, refusing to fidget beneath his scrutiny.
Refusing to reveal how aware I suddenly was of him.
Then, at last, the couch creaked faintly, I could hear him straightening up,
“I expect you in my office by nine tomorrow,” Rafael murmured, the command delivered with effortless authority.
“What?”
In all the months I’d worked for his company, I had never once been summoned to Rafael’s office. Not once. And for what exactly?
I had assumed this conversation would end the moment he stepped out of my apartment.
But men like Rafael did not explain themselves, and people like me did not question them.
Knowing I had no ground to argue on, I straightened slightly and answered in the calmest voice I could manage.
“Yes, sir,” I replied carefully, composed despite the unease twisting in my chest.
My pulse hadn’t settled since Bruno’s hands had been on me. My wrists still throbbed where the cuffs had bitten too tight.
I listened as Rafael moved.
Rafael’s footsteps were precise.
The sound of leather soles against cracked tile echoed through the apartment, sharp against the lingering silence.
He reached the doorway.
And then he stopped.
The quiet stretched.
One second.
Two.
Enough for my head to tilt slightly, my senses sharpening as instinct curled tight in my chest.
Something had shifted again. I could feel it—the subtle redirection of his body, the faint scrape as his shoe pivoted against the floor.
He had turned back.
“Full name, Loretta Orsini. Country of origin, Italy.”
The words rolled off his tongue with cold precision, like he was reciting details from a document already open in front of him. My CV, perhaps.
He had probably pulled it up on his phone while standing there in the middle of my wrecked living room, as though intruding into my life was not limited to the physical.
My fingers curled slightly against the armrest.
Those were safe details. Surface-level ones.
The kind anyone with access to my employment records could find within seconds.
Yet hearing them in Rafael’s voice—low, polished, disturbingly certain—made them feel far more intimate and dangerous than they should have.
My pulse kicked harder.
“We possess a rather unfortunate history together, Miss Loretta,” Rafael said smoothly.
An unfortunate history?
My brows pulled together in confusion.
How could that even be possible?
Rafael belonged to a world built on old money and political influence, Spanish to the bone, with a surname that made people lower their voices whenever it was spoken.
And me? I was just the blind Italian girl who had quietly crossed borders searching for a life that would hurt less than the last one.
Men like him did not collide with women like me. They barely noticed we existed.
So why did he speak as though our lives had crossed long before tonight?
“Do not be a second late to my office tomorrow,” Rafael said. Each word fell clean and final, like stone being set into place.
Then he turned.
This time, he didn’t stop again.
His footsteps moved away, steady and unhurried, retreating through the wreckage of my doorway.
I heard the broken wood scrape faintly as he stepped over it, the night air slipping in behind him as he crossed the threshold.
And then—
Silence.
I stayed still for a moment longer, listening.
Waiting.
Making sure he was truly gone.
Only when the last trace of him faded completely did my body betray me.
The breath I’d been holding rushed out in a shaky exhale.
My shoulders dropped.
The tension snapped.
I sank deeper into the armchair, my fingers immediately finding my wrists. The skin there was tender, bruised—still warm where the cuffs had dug in earlier.
I pressed lightly, wincing as a dull ache pulsed beneath the surface, but my mind was elsewhere, caught in a loop I couldn’t break. Rafael’s final words wouldn’t leave me alone.
They circled. Repeated. Settled deep, then rose again like something determined to be heard.
We share an “unfortunate” history.
I wished I could ask him what he meant. Demand an explanation, even.
The calm in his voice hadn’t softened the meaning. If anything, it had made it worse.
I pressed my fingers lightly against my temples, as if I could physically push the memory out.
He had said it right after reading my name.
Loretta Orsini.
And my country.
Italy.
My stomach twisted harder.
Of course I came from a mafia family in Italy.
Not just any family—one soaked in darkness so deep it had no bottom. A family that had made more enemies than anyone could count, leaving behind a history written in blood and betrayal.
A family like mine didn’t just accumulate rivals; it manufactured them.
And yet, here I was, in Spain, staring at the possibility that I might have just crossed paths with one of them. Or worse—someone connected to them.
I hoped Rafael wasn’t one of those names buried in old grudges and unfinished wars. I hoped his family had nothing to do with the world I came from, because Spain had its own shadows too. Its own invisible empires. Its own mafia that didn’t always announce itself until it was too late.
But I wasn’t naive enough to believe wealth came without darkness. Men like Rafael didn’t build empires in clean air.
They just made sure the dirt stayed out of public view.
The public version of him was easy to understand. A tech billionaire. Ruthless, yes—but in boardrooms, in negotiations, in numbers and silent power plays that didn’t leave bodies behind.
That version of Rafael, I could handle.
That version of him, I had even—
I exhaled quietly, almost bitterly.
Admired.
From a distance, of course.
Safe admiration.
The kind women allowed themselves when they knew a man was far out of reach.
His voice during company briefings—smooth, commanding. The way people listened when he spoke. The way power seemed to wrap around him like something alive.
It had been harmless.
A quiet, private thing.
A distraction.
But tonight had stripped that illusion bare.
Now—
Now curiosity burned hotter than fear, and that alone unsettled me more than anything else.
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t empty.
It was listening.
That was when I heard it.
A faint sound.
So soft most people would have missed it entirely.
A whisper of movement near the doorway.
My entire body stilled.
Every nerve sharpened at once, snapping into awareness.
My head turned toward the broken entrance, instincts rising fast and sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
Another sound.
Barely there—so faint it almost didn’t exist.
A soft scuff against tile, like the careful repositioning of a shoe or the smallest shift of weight in a silent room.
But I heard it.
My pulse spiked immediately, sharp and uncontrollable, as my body reacted before my mind could decide whether there was actually anything to fear.
The door was still hanging off its hinges—wide open, leaving my apartment exposed to the night.
Anyone could walk in. Anyone could be standing there right now, watching, waiting—
I pushed myself to my feet slowly, ignoring the way my muscles protested.
My cane found my hand automatically.
I swept it lightly across the floor as I moved forward, each step careful.
The air shifted as I got closer to the doorway.
The night breeze slipped through the broken frame, brushing against my skin.
I stopped just short of the entrance.
Listened.
There it was.
Breathing.
Quick. Shallow. Uneven.
Not an adult.
My grip tightened slightly around the cane, knuckles stiffening as I stayed completely still, letting the sound map itself in my mind before I took another step.
An adult’s breathing would have been steadier, deeper, even when afraid. This was different—too fast, too light, breaking in small, uneven patterns like it couldn’t find rhythm.
Like it was trying not to cry.
Each inhale hitched faintly, catching at the edges.
Each exhale trembled just enough to betray the fear being held back.
It wasn’t just fear.
It was terror—so thick I could almost feel it in the air between us, pressing against my skin like something cornered and waiting to break.
I softened instantly.
“Hey...” I said gently.
I made sure my voice carried no sharpness. Just quiet reassurance.
“It’s okay.”
Another breath hitched.
Closer this time.
Before I could say anything else—
Small arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
I flinched hard.
The reaction was instant, my body recoiling before my mind could catch up.
Every muscle locked, my skin crawling as something cold and familiar tried to drag me backward into memories I refused to revisit.
Touch.
I hated it.
It didn’t matter who it was. It didn’t matter why.
A few seconds—I could tolerate that. I could force myself to stay still, to breathe through it, to pretend I was somewhere else entirely.