Chapter 16
LORETTA
Two more days passed in tense, watchful silence.
The house felt different now.
Rafael remained distant, but not absent in the same way.
Tess lingered closer to him when she could, as if sensing the shift even without understanding it.
And I stayed in the middle of it all, waiting, observing, planning my exit like a slow burn I refused to rush.
I was leaning against the kitchen doorway one late afternoon, about to make myself a quick coffee, when my old phone—now reactivated and slipped back into use—began to ring.
The sound cut through the quiet sharply.
I answered immediately, expecting Ramiro’s voice on the other end.
Instead, a deep male voice with a thick Italian accent greeted me.
“Hey, Miss Loretta,” he said. “We’ve been trying to reach you for months. Are you alright?”
My hand tightened around the phone instantly.
My pulse followed.
“And who exactly am I speaking with?” I asked carefully.
There was a brief pause, like he was assessing me through the line.
“One of Vincenzo’s soldiers,” he replied. “He wants me to deliver a package to you as quickly as possible. When can you come collect it?”
A cold laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“Come collect it?” I repeated, sharper now. “You expect me to leave my house and meet a stranger simply because he claims to be Italian?”
My grip tightened further.
“That’s putting my life at risk—especially since your people are actively trying to establish a base here in Spain to wage war against the Spanish mafia.”
The man on the line let out a dry, unimpressed chuckle, the sound carrying a faint edge of arrogance.
“Didn’t the Spanish also come into our territory to build their own bases?” he replied smoothly. “Expelling them has proven... difficult. This isn’t personal. It’s business.”
A pause, then his tone shifted slightly—less amused, more pointed.
“Being married to Rafael Pérez doesn’t mean you owe him your loyalty. Anyway, I’ll be waiting for you at Mar de Cenizas restaurant. It’s only a ten-minute drive from where you are now.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“If I don’t see you there by 4 PM tomorrow,” he continued, “I’ll have to return the package to Vincenzo.”
My eyes narrowed instantly. “Tell Vincenzo to contact me himself.”
A soft scoff came through the line. “We soldiers cannot reach him directly—only his underboss and enforcers can. Don’t you know how this works?”
There was something irritatingly casual about his tone, like he was discussing dinner arrangements instead of mafia chains of command and implied threats.
“What are you so afraid of?” he added, almost mockingly. “Bring as many security men as you want. Walk into the restaurant, take the package, and leave. Simple. You can even bring Rafael himself if it makes you feel safer.”
My jaw clenched.
Every instinct I had screamed that nothing about this was simple.
“See you at 4 tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
The line went dead before I could respond.
For a second, I just stood there, staring at the phone like it might start speaking again on its own.
My thoughts spun fast—too fast—trying to dissect every word, every implication, every gap in what he had said.
Then—
“Who was that?”
The voice behind me was sharp enough to slice through my focus.
I startled hard, nearly dropping the phone.
Rafael stood only a few feet away.
Arms folded across his chest. Still as ever. Watching me like he had been there longer than I realized—and just waiting to see if I would lie.
I hadn’t even heard him approach.
My mouth opened, then closed again.
A delay he noticed immediately.
“It’s too early in whatever this is to start hiding things from me,” he said coolly.
His tone wasn’t raised, but it carried that quiet authority that made rooms feel smaller. “Has your brother finally reached out?”
My throat tightened.
“No,” I said quickly. Then steadied myself. “It was one of his soldiers.”
Rafael’s expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened.
“He told me to meet him at Mar de Cenizas restaurant tomorrow at 4 PM,” I continued. “To collect a package.”
A beat.
“I don’t trust him.”
Silence stretched between us.
Rafael studied me for a long moment, his eyes moving across my face like he was reading what I wasn’t saying out loud.
Then he finally spoke.
“We have shares in that restaurant,” he said evenly. “We can arrange extra layers of security. I’ll go with you to get the package.”
My stomach tightened immediately.
“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” I shot back. “What if it’s a trap?”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“It is a possibility,” he admitted calmly.
“That’s not reassuring, Rafael.”
His jaw flexed slightly, but his voice stayed controlled. “It’s manageable.”
My frustration spiked.
“I don’t trust the man who called,” I said, stepping forward now, unable to stay still. “And you—you are their ultimate target. If they know you’ll be there, they won’t hesitate to turn that restaurant into a war zone just to take you down.”
His eyes darkened faintly at that.
“I have plans to take them first,” he replied flatly. “I’ll put measures in place.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“So this isn’t about escorting me safely,” I said, voice sharpening with disbelief, “it’s about using me as bait to lure Italian soldiers into a controlled environment.”
His silence was answer enough.
My chest tightened.
“I will protect you,” Rafael said after a moment, his tone lower now.
“And if I say no?” I challenged immediately.
I stepped closer, refusing to let distance soften this conversation. “If I refuse to walk into a potential ambush—yours or theirs? I don’t want Tess to become an orphan, Rafael. And I’m sure you don’t either.”
That made something flicker in his expression.
I pushed on.
“I can wait,” I said. “My brother will contact me directly eventually. It’s only a matter of time. I believe he will.”
“Or he won’t,” Rafael countered calmly.
His voice stayed level, but there was weight behind it now. “He’s probably tried more than once these past months and failed. So what makes you think he’d get through now—when he doesn’t even know the line is open again?
A pause.
“And what if he’s angry?”
My breath caught slightly, but I refused to back down.
“If he were angry,” I said firmly, “he wouldn’t still be sending me the monthly allowances he’s been depositing.”
That landed differently.
Rafael went quiet for a second.
Then he nodded slowly, like he was filing that away rather than reacting to it.
He took one deliberate step back.
Whatever tension there was between us didn’t disappear—it just shifted, like a drawn blade being lowered but not sheathed.
“Whatever you decide, Loretta,” he said quietly. “Whatever you decide.”
His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary.
“If you choose to go, I will accompany you,” he added. “If you choose not to, that’s fine too.”
No argument. No pressure.
Then he turned and walked away.
I walked after him down the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps quick against the polished floor, echoing softly in the tense silence between us.
“Wait,” I called out, then corrected myself as he slowed. “What are you doing right now?”
Rafael stopped mid-step.
He didn’t turn immediately.
That alone already felt like a warning—like he was deciding whether this conversation was worth his patience.
Then, slowly, he faced me.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly. Not in irritation exactly, but in that controlled way he had.
“Why do you ask?” he said at last.
I lifted my chin, even though my pulse was already betraying me.
““Because I’d like to spend some time with you... if that’s alright.”
A flicker crossed his expression.
Small. Almost imperceptible. But I caught it.
Before he could answer, I rushed the words out—like speaking faster might outrun the fear of his response catching up to me.
“In your room,” I added quickly, then steadied myself. “On your bed. As long as you promise me one thing.”
A pause.
“No mention of your late wife. Not one word.”
Rafael studied me for several long seconds. Then he moved.
Two measured strides and he was in front of me.
His presence swallowed the space between us completely, tall and unyielding, that quiet danger in him suddenly sharpened into something more immediate.
Something that made my breath catch without permission.
“On my bed,” he murmured.
My heart thudded hard against my ribs, already anticipating rejection—already bracing for the moment he would refuse, turn away, and leave me standing there like I had never spoken at all.
His hand slid to the small of my back, firm and deliberate, pulling me forward until there was no space left between us.
My body pressed fully against his chest—solid, warm.
I could feel the controlled strength in him, coiled and contained like something dangerous pretending to sleep.
He leaned in.
Not kissing me yet.
Just close enough that his breath brushed my lips.
Close enough that my thoughts began to scatter.
“I have deliberately kept us in separate rooms since the day we married,” he said quietly, eyes locked on mine with unnerving intensity. “Not because I don’t want you. But because I do.”
The confession landed heavier than I expected.
My breath caught slightly.
His grip at my back tightened just a fraction.
“Because I knew what would happen the moment you were in my bed,” he continued, voice roughening further. “The restraint I’ve maintained would not survive it. And I do not trust myself around you, Loretta.”
His thumb moved once against my waist—slow, almost absent-minded, but enough to send heat crawling through me.
“Not when every inch of you calls to me like this.”
For a moment, I couldn’t find a reply. Couldn’t even decide if I wanted one.
Then, because silence suddenly felt too dangerous, a faint, defiant smirk tugged at my lips.
“Perhaps I should just go back to my own room then,” I said lightly.
I made a small attempt to twist away.
Half-hearted at best.
Testing him.