Chapter ninety three

Chapter ninety three
Trigger Warning: The following scene contains graphic violence, blood, and physical assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Rafaello’s POV

“Rafe.”
Her voice cracked behind me. Low. Fragile. Broken in a way that felt like it could split the floor beneath me. It wrapped around my spine and yanked hard, but I didn’t turn.

If I turned, I would fold.

I took one step. Then another. Every footfall felt like dragging my own weight through wet cement, and I could feel her standing there even without looking, trembling, her breath hitching in tiny gasps that made my chest tighten.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t—”

I kept walking.

My hands clenched until my knuckles burned, flesh screaming from my own grip, the pain grounding me in a world that wanted to tear itself apart around me. My heart slammed against my ribs, pulse thundering in my ears. Each footstep echoed like a betrayal carved into the hall.

I reached the office and slammed the door shut behind me. The sound exploded through the room.

“Fuck.”

The word tore from my throat as I struck the table with my palm. Pain shot up my arm, sharp and bitter, and I welcomed it like a friend in the storm. Anything to drown out the image of her face. Anything to silence her splintering voice.

I bent forward, bracing myself on the desk. My reflection stared back from the darkened surface, eyes colder than I thought I could feel, jaw tight, hands trembling despite every attempt at control.

How the hell was I supposed to stay distant when she looked at me like that?

When she stood there unraveling, right in front of me, all I wanted was to pull her into my chest and swear I’d fix everything.

I dragged a hand through my hair, breath rough, fingernails digging into my palms. Restraint had a taste, bitter and metallic.

The coat came off first. Then the tie. I flung them aside like they were straitjackets, suffocating everything inside me.

Whiskey. I needed something to burn.

I poured a glass, amber liquid steady despite the tremor in my chest. I lifted it, swallowed hard, let it scorch its way down, tasting fire that barely touched the storm in my chest.

The door burst open.

“What the hell, man?”

Santino stormed in, shoving the door back with his leg. His eyes were wild, breath coming out sharp, fists flexing at his sides.

I froze. Half a second of terror because I thought it might be her. Then relief slammed into me. Not her.

I exhaled slowly and poured another finger of whiskey. Santino’s stare drilled into me, unrelenting.

“Why would you do something like this without telling any of us?” he demanded. “Most importantly, your right-hand man.”

“It’s done,” I said. Flat. Final.

“Done?” he snapped. “How did he do it?”

I took another sip. The burn was sharper this time. Good.

“This isn’t you,” he said. “You’re not afraid to strike. You don’t let yourself get cornered.”

I stayed silent, letting the silence press against us like smoke, heavier than any truth I could offer.

“Was this about Alora?” he pressed. “You did this just—”

“Enough.”

My finger cut through the air, pointed straight at his chest.

“I thought you at least cared that she—”

“Enough,” I growled.

I hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces raining down in every direction. Every shard a scream I didn’t let myself make.

“I would burn the entire fucking world to keep her safe,” I said, voice low, lethal. “Do not ever question that.”

Santino studied me for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. His shoulders hitched like he wanted to shout. “You need to blow off some steam.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I straightened. “Basement.”

His jaw tightened. “The men from the south route?”

“All four,” I said. “Now.”

The basement smelled like concrete, metal, and blood mixed with fear. Four men sat tied to chairs under harsh light. One had a split lip, blood already crusted along his jaw. They stiffened the second I stepped in.

Good.

I stopped in front of them, hands relaxed at my sides. Calm. Controlled. Not because I was calm, but because if I didn’t hold myself together, I’d be in pieces too. No one decides where she stands but me. That rule burned hotter than anything else in the room.

“Here’s how this works,” I said evenly. “You talk. You live. You don’t—”

I drew my gun and fired.

The shot cracked through the room, deafening. The man on the far left screamed as the bullet tore through his shoulder, spattering blood across the concrete. Not fatal. Never meant to be.

The others lost their minds—shouting, thrashing, choking on their own panic. One sobbed so hard I could hear it in my chest. Another tried to scramble back, rope cutting into his wrists.

I stepped closer, gun still warm in my hand.

“That,” I said calmly, “was mercy.”

I holstered the weapon and grabbed the nearest man by the collar, yanking him forward so hard his chair tipped. My fist connected with his face. Bone met bone. Pain bloomed across my knuckles, red, raw, alive.

Again.

Again.

Each punch was a release and a confession at once. Each crack of knuckle against flesh was her voice, her tears, the way she’d looked at me like I was the only place she could breathe. I slammed another man’s head against the chair back. Screams ricocheted off the walls, bitter and metallic.

“Names,” I said. “Routes. Who sent you.”

They broke. Words spilled like water over broken concrete. Locations. Contacts. Drop points. Desperation screamed in each syllable. My knuckles were slick, swollen, throbbing.

I paused. Expected relief. Felt none. My hands were still hot, still trembling. She was still there, behind my eyes, pleading.

I turned to leave. “Clean them up,” I said. "And make sure they don't breathe past tonight.”

The stairs creaked before I reached them.

Luka’s shadow filled the doorway just as I swung it open. He froze, shoulders locked, hands clenched at his sides.

He swallowed like he was trying to push the taste of the room back down his throat.

His eyes flicked to my hands, then away, to the walls, to the blood. Every muscle rigid, like he had been holding himself together since the first shot.

He finally swallowed again, voice rough and low.

“Boss… she’s here.”