Chapter 43
He stood under the glow of a single lamp, tall, broad-shouldered, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of a tailored charcoal coat. The light brushed his face, sharp jawline, faint smirk, eyes the same icy blue as Lorenzo’s but brighter, more reckless.
For a heartbeat, I thought it was Lorenzo.
Then he smiled, and the charm in it was too easy, too dangerous to be mistaken.
“You must be Isla,” he said.
The way he said my name made my skin prickle. His voice was smooth, slightly playful, but there was something else beneath it, calculation.
“Who are you?” I asked, my tone sharper than I meant.
He tilted his head, stepping closer until I could see the faint scar along his jawline, the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Just someone who’s been dying to meet the girl who managed to make Lorenzo lose his mind.”
I froze.
“I think there’s a mistake—”
“No mistake,” he interrupted, smiling wider.
He laughed softly, stepping back as if to give me space, but his gaze never left mine.
“What do you want from me?” I asked quietly.
Nico shrugged, eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Nothing. Just a chat. You’ve caused quite a ripple in our little world, you know.”
“I didn’t cause anything,” I said defensively.
“Oh, you did,” he murmured, circling slightly as he spoke.
\---
The car pulled up outside my apartment. The city was half-asleep, the air cool and damp. My hands were still trembling when I reached for the door handle.
I didn’t expect to see anyone waiting.
But there he was.
Raymond stood by the front steps, his white shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, rain darkening the fabric against his skin. His hair was messy, his jaw tense. The streetlight behind him cast a faint gold outline over his figure, and for a moment, I just stared.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He looked up, and for the first time tonight, his eyes softened. “From now on, we’ll live together.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you stay on your own,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “Not while that Lorenzo guy is out there. I don’t care what people say.”
His voice carried that mix of exhaustion and fierce protectiveness that made my heart ache. I opened my mouth, but the words tangled in my throat.
“What about work?” I managed to ask. “You know he owns that place now.”
Raymond exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll think of something before then.”
His certainty, his calm, was like a fragile anchor in a world that kept shifting under me. I looked down, my fingers gripping the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles turned white.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly.
“Maybe not,” he admitted, “but I’m done pretending everything’s fine. He’s dangerous, Isla. You said it yourself.”
I nodded slowly, because he was right.
But danger didn’t always come with warnings. Sometimes it came wrapped in warmth and devotion and eyes that made you forget to breathe.
Raymond’s voice softened. “You look pale. Did something happen again while I was gone?”
I hesitated.
Those guy words echoed in my mind, When Lorenzo says he’s protecting you, he’s not.
“I just… ran into someone,” I said carefully.
“Who?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He watched me for a long time, as if weighing whether to push further. Then, quietly, “You’re hiding something.”
My eyes met his. “No, I am not.”
He looked away, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. “Touché.”
For a moment, the silence between us felt almost peaceful. Then thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, low and far away, like the sound of something approaching.
“Come inside,” I said finally. “It’s cold.”
Raymond followed me up the steps. When we reached the door, he hesitated, his voice barely audible.
“Do you still trust me?”
The question caught me off guard.
I turned the key slowly, the lock clicking open. “Yes.”
I'm happy his not angry at me anymore.
\---
Inside, the apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the old heater and the soft drip of rain against the windowpane. I set my bag down, kicked off my shoes, and turned to find Raymond still standing near the door, hands shoved into his pockets, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“You should get some rest,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said simply.
“You can’t just…”
“I can,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t have to be alone, Isla. Not tonight.”
Something about his tone, low, steady, full of quiet defiance, broke through the noise in my head. For the first time since leaving the hospital, I felt my shoulders ease, just a little.
I nodded, too tired to argue.
“Fine. Couch or floor?”
He smiled faintly. “Couch is fine. But only if you promise to lock every door and window.”
I managed a weak laugh. “Deal.”
I walked to the window, pulling the curtains shut. The street outside was empty now, only the reflection of raindrops on the glass. Still, the feeling of being watched lingered, a faint prickling along my skin.
As I turned away, something on the table caught my eye.
A small white envelope.
I didn’t remember leaving it there.
My pulse quickened. The paper was damp at the corners, as if it had been dropped in the rain. My name was written on the front, in neat, unfamiliar handwriting.
“Isla?” Raymond asked from behind me. “What’s that?”
I didn’t answer. My fingers trembled as I tore the seal open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
No signature. Just seven words.
> You should’ve listened when he warned you.
The sound of my own heartbeat filled the silence.
The paper slipped from my fingers.
Outside, another car engine purred briefly in the dark, then faded away.
—-
The weekend crept in quietly, gray skies, distant thunder, the kind of chill that seeps through closed windows.
I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.
Lorenzo.
Bleeding.
Breathing.
Looking at me like I was both his salvation and his undoing.
I wrapped my hands tighter around the mug of tea, staring at the rising steam. The bitter scent of chamomile mixed with rain. Raymond was still asleep on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging off the edge. He looked peaceful, something I hadn’t seen in days.
I should’ve felt safe.
But safety felt like an illusion now.
The note still lay on the table, folded neatly beside my phone. You should’ve listened when he warned you.
I didn’t know who wrote it. That guy from last night? Lorenzo? Someone else entirely?
I pressed my fingers to my temples. The more I tried to piece it together, the more it slipped away, like trying to catch smoke.
\---
By noon, Raymond stirred awake, running a hand through his hair.
“You haven’t moved,” he said sleepily, voice rough. “You even forgot to eat.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” I murmured.
He sat up, squinting at the light filtering through the curtains. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”
I froze.
“Who?”
“Come on, Isla.” He gave a humorless laugh. “You’ve been somewhere else all morning. Don’t tell me you’re still worrying about that bastard.”
The word bastard cut through me sharper than it should’ve.
“I’m not…” I started, but he raised a brow. I sighed, setting the mug down. “He was shot, Raymond. I can’t just erase that.”
“He’s a criminal,” Raymond said flatly. “People like him don’t deserve your concern.”
“He’s still human,” I said before I could stop myself.
Raymond’s expression hardened. “And what about you? When are you going to start caring about yourself?”
The silence that followed was heavy, too heavy.
Rain began to fall again, soft but steady, tapping against the glass like quiet accusations.
“I’m just… trying to understand,” I said finally. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Raymond muttered, standing up. “You’re trying to understand a man who doesn’t have a conscience.”