Chapter 15
LORETTA
Ireached for my bag, the familiar motion grounding me as I slung it over my shoulder.
The weight of it felt small compared to everything else pressing down on me, but it was something I could control.
I walked toward his office.
Each step slower than the last.
When I reached the doorway, I paused.
He stood with his back to me, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt now, his reflection faintly visible in the glass behind his desk.
Even without seeing his face directly, I could feel the distance in him.
It was louder than any argument.
He knew I was there.
But he didn’t turn.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
The silence between us stretched, heavy and suffocating, filled with everything we had said—and everything we hadn’t.
My chest tightened slightly.
A quiet sigh slipped past my lips before I could stop it.
Then I turned away.
And walked out.
The hallway felt colder somehow, emptier, the tension from his office still clinging to me like a second skin as I made my way downstairs.
Ramiro was waiting near the reception area, exactly where I expected him to be.
He glanced at me once but said nothing.
“We should get going,” I said, keeping my voice even despite the storm still brewing inside me.
He nodded once, falling into step beside me without question.
We moved through the building in quiet sync, the soft echo of our footsteps blending with the fading hum of the workday.
Outside, the black luxury car waited.
It gleamed under the fading sunlight, polished to perfection.
Ramiro stepped ahead to open the door for me, his movements smooth. I slid inside, the leather seats cool and supple beneath me.
For a moment, I just sat there, letting it settle.
The contrast between the chaos in my chest and the calm perfection of everything around me felt almost surreal.
Ramiro circled the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.
The door shut with a soft, solid click, sealing us inside.
He adjusted his cuffs once, then glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his gaze sharp but neutral.
“I was under the impression you and Rafael would be leaving together.”
The question caught me off guard.
My lips parted, but no immediate answer came.
What was I supposed to say? That we had just argued? That he had practically drawn a line between us and dared me to cross it?
Before I could form a response—
A voice cut through the open window.
“We’re leaving together.”
Both Ramiro and I turned at the same time.
Rafael stood just outside, framed by the golden wash of the setting sun.
The light caught against him, sharpening every line, every angle, turning him into something almost unreal for a suspended moment.
He hadn’t changed.
Still in that tailored grey suit that clung perfectly to his tall, broad frame.
Control radiated from him naturally.
His dark eyes flicked between us, assessing, decisive.
Then he made a small gesture—just two fingers.
That was all it took.
Ramiro immediately stepped out of the car without a word, closing the door behind him with quiet precision.
I watched the exchange, something tightening faintly in my chest.
The kind of loyalty Rafael commanded... it wasn’t earned lightly.
The door opened.
And then Rafael was there.
He slid into the driver’s seat with fluid, effortless grace, his movements economical and sure.
The door shut, sealing us inside together, the space instantly feeling denser.
His hands settled on the steering wheel.
The engine came to life with a low, smooth purr, barely a sound at all as the car began to move, gliding away from the building like it belonged to the road itself.
I told myself not to look at him.
I failed.
My gaze flicked to him once.
Then again.
And then lingered longer than it should have.
From this angle, his profile was... unfair.
The sharp line of his jaw was tense, clenched just enough to hint at the restraint he was holding onto.
His lips were pressed into a neutral line, but there was something there—something unreadable, something held back.
His eyes stayed fixed on the road, focused.
Every part of him looked composed and untouchable.
And yet...
So close.
Heat curled low in my stomach, unwelcome and persistent, catching me off guard.
It wasn’t just that he was attractive—it was the kind of attractiveness that felt dangerous, the kind that made rational thought falter.
I tore my gaze away, forcing myself to look forward instead, focusing on the city unfolding ahead of us.
My eyes slid back to Rafael.
Tracing. Studying.
It was impossible not to look.
I hated it.
And I didn’t.
Then—
He turned his head slightly.
At the exact moment I was already looking at him.
Our eyes met.
Time compressed into a single, charged second that stretched far longer than it should have.
His gaze locked onto mine, dark and knowing.
I snapped my head toward the window so fast it almost hurt, heat rushing to my cheeks.
God.
“I noticed you’ve been staring.”
His voice cut through the silence, low and steady.
“Still trying to process how I look?”
I shook my head quickly, my eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery, even though I wasn’t really seeing it anymore.
“I guess I’m just stunned that I can see everything again,” I said softly.
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
But it wasn’t the truth either.
“Thank you,” I said.
He had been the one to push me toward the surgery. The one who refused to let me hide in the safety of darkness when I had almost given up on the idea of ever seeing again.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to glance at him again—more carefully this time.
A faint, rare smile tugged at the corner of Rafael’s mouth.
It was so brief I almost convinced myself I had imagined it.
Just a slight shift at the corner of his lips—gone before it could fully form, before it could soften anything about him.
But I had seen it. And for some reason, that fleeting glimpse unsettled me more than his anger ever had.
Because it felt real.
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
Eventually, the gates of the estate came into view.
They opened before we even reached them.
The car glided through, tires crunching softly against the gravel as we approached the mansion.
In the fading twilight, it looked even more imposing than before.
The entire place seemed to glow.
Rafael parked smoothly.
The engine fell silent.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, without a word, he stepped out.
I followed.
The cool evening air brushed against my skin as I closed the door behind me, my heels clicking softly against the stone as I started toward the wide steps leading into the house.
I was halfway up when—
His phone rang.
The sound was sharp and jarring. It cut cleanly through the quiet.
I paused instinctively, glancing back.
Rafael had already pulled the device from his pocket.
He didn’t speak when he answered. Didn’t greet the caller.
He just listened.
His hand tightened around the phone, fingers curling slowly until his knuckles turned white.
The relaxed control he carried so effortlessly before—it vanished, replaced by something rigid.
His jaw clenched.
His entire body seemed to harden.
Whatever he was hearing...
It wasn’t good.
A flicker of unease moved through me, but I forced myself to turn back toward the house. After everything that had happened in his office, after the way he had drawn that line so clearly—
This wasn’t my place.
Not my business.
I had taken one step forward when—
“This secret marriage... has been leaked.”
His voice stopped me cold.
I froze.
For a second, I thought I had misheard.
Then my heart slammed violently against my ribs.
I turned back so quickly it almost made me dizzy. “What?”
He lowered the phone slowly, his expression carved from something dark and controlled—but the tension in him hadn’t eased.
“It’s already all over the news.”
My stomach dropped.
I took a small, hesitant step toward him, my thoughts snapping back to a week ago—to the club, to the man who had stolen my phone, Marcello.
He had seen it. Found out I was married to Rafael.
Ramiro had warned him there would be severe consequences if he ever revealed it... and yet it seemed he had done exactly that.
Rafael’s hand clenched again, veins standing out along his forearm, the controlled fury in him barely contained.
“Clearly,” he said, his voice dropping a fraction lower, “someone offered him more than fear could buy. Marcello talked... and he’ll pay for it.”
A chill slid down my spine.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady the sudden rush of thoughts crashing through my mind.
“I can speak to Vincenzo,” I said quickly, my voice quieter but urgent. “He can talk to the Italian men here—stop them from making any move against you... against us.”
A pause.
“After all, I’m Italian.”
Rafael exhaled softly, sliding his hands into his pockets in a slow, deliberate motion.
“This is bigger than your brother,” he said at last. “He doesn’t control the Italian network the way I control the Spanish. And the Italian men here aren’t loyal to him. They’re rebels. They won’t listen.”
His gaze shifted briefly toward the house. Not toward me. Toward what he was protecting.
Or what could be used against him.
“They will come for you... and Tess,” he said, pausing as his gaze fixed on mine.
“Those rebels always find a way to reach what I value most. They once managed to take Tess despite my security. That alone proved it.”
A beat of silence.
“It’s not that they’re difficult for me to handle,” he continued, voice steady but lower now. “It’s that in this state... going to war becomes more complicated.”
My brow tightened. “What state?”
His jaw flexed once.
“Grief.”
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Of course.
Zara.
Always Zara.
Something in my chest tightened—not anger this time, but something closer to exhaustion. Like even his silence still belonged to her.
Rafael turned before I could respond.