by LP Lovell
“So, how is Una working with Nero?”
“Nikolai contracts his best assassins out, charging millions for a hit. They’re still very much owned though.”
What would that be like? To have been raised to kill? To be owned by a man who would see you as a weapon? But then, Una has his last name, so maybe there is more to it than that. A tiny fissure of resentment toward my sister surfaces. I spent years being fucked and abused, while she was trained to fight and kill. No matter what Rafael says, she was made to be strong while I was forced to be weak.
A couple of hours later and we’re climbing up a hillside surrounded by desert for as far as the eye can see. The road drops off on the left, down a sheer cliff face, and to the right is a wall of rock where the track has been cut into the side of the hill. We pull up to an iron gate that cuts between two stone pillars. This is less Fort Knox and more gated luxury. The armed guards step aside, and the gate slides back, allowing us to pass through into a courtyard. In the center of the brick driveway is a little water fountain and the front of the terracotta-roofed villa is covered in hanging baskets. Flowerbeds nestle beneath the windows, vibrant, colored flowers making the place bright and charming. It’s every bit as immaculate as the mansion, only prettier.
I slide out of the car and move towards the front of the house. The tension is palpable here, more men, more heavily armed and all on alert. “Is Lucas coming here?” I ask Rafael when he stops giving orders and follows me.
“You seem fond of the boy,” he says casually while typing away on his phone.
“I like him. He’s nice.”
He snorts. “Nice?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t know much about that.”
He laughs. “No, I wouldn’t.” When I shuffle inside the house, it’s chaotic, with men moving around and dust sheets being torn from furniture.
“I have some things to handle.” Rafe kisses my forehead. “Be good.” Then he strides away.
I drift through the house until I find myself in a quiet living room. A ceiling fan whirs lazily above my head, casting loping shadows over the tile floor and comfortable looking furniture. I walk over to the window and glance out at the scene beyond. Sprinklers arc high into the air, watering the emerald green lawns that surround the villa. Beyond the garden is a low wall, and beyond that…a sheer drop to miles and miles of desert. I can see the jagged line of rock formations on the horizon, breaking the endless blue sky.
My mind drifts to Una, and to the situation I now find myself in. Because in the blink of an eye, everything has changed. I’m no longer the girl who has no one—who is helpless. I have Una now, but only in theory. She’s still this fleeting fantasy, a dream that feels so real and yet so unattainable. And then there’s Rafael, the man who I know is so bad in so many ways, yet makes me feel protected and worthy. The man who freed me—because technically, I’m free now, aren’t I? Or perhaps Rafael just opened the cage door to let me fly into an aviary. I often wondered what I would do if I were truly granted my freedom. Travel the world? Dance in the rain? Fall in love? I never thought the man I’d fall in love with, would be my captor though. When faced with all the things I thought I would do, I find myself willing to sacrifice them all for that one thing: love. One word shouldn’t hold so much power, and yet even I, a slave, a whore—even I know that it is the very thing we all crave. I’m no different, just a broken girl seeking the rawest form of connection. Rafael soothes my fraught soul and heals my battered heart. Una is my sister, but I know, deep down, she’s not what I need now. He is.
Turning from the window, I drift through the house. I walk into a dining room and spot an open set of French doors on the far side. They give me a glimpse of a sheltered courtyard. Pots of lavender and jasmine are dotted around, their scent filtering through the air as the late afternoon sun beats down on the stone slabs.
A small fountain sits in the middle with a statue of a woman adorning the center. Water cascades over her body, painting the grey lines of her form with a green tinge. The algae crawl over the stone, eating away at her features until they’re barely recognizable. There’s something sad about it, and I have the urge to clean her off, but I don’t. Instead, I go outside and lie on the bench beside the fountain, turning my face toward the sun.
“Thought I’d find you here.” I sit up and find Lucas leaning against the doorway, his scrawny arms folded over his chest.
“You came.” A genuine smile pulls at my lips.
“Of course. I’m your bodyguard. Where you go, I go.” My smile remains at the idea of Lucas as any kind of protection. He’s just so young and innocent, and I’m pretty certain Rafael only gave him this job because he had nothing else for him to do.
“Have you been to this house before?”
“Yeah, Rafael stayed here for a bit last year.”
“Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “His inner circle sometimes comes here if he thinks we’re under threat. It’s a pain because it’s far away from the city, but it’s almost impossible to attack.”
“His inner circle?”
“Yeah, Sam, Carlos, Maria, a few of the guys.”
“And you?”
He shrugs again. “Mum would kill Carlos if anything happened to me.”
“Carlos? Wait, he’s your brother?”
He nods.
“Does your mum know who you work for?”
“She thinks Carlos is in a gang. She wanted me to be a doctor, but I’m not smart enough.” He shrugs. “In Juarez, if you want to make money, then you work for the cartel. I’m lucky my brother is so high up.”
I drop my gaze to my hands resting in my lap. “You could do better.”
“You think?”
“You’re not like them, Lucas.”
His cheeks stain pink, and he visibly fumbles over himself. “Want me to show you around?”
“Sure.” I stand up and follow him back inside the house. It’s beautiful. Not like the mansion but more exotic, with the tiled floors and the potted plants. Every window is open, allowing the warm air in. It’s fresher here, high in the hills. Lucas shows me around all the rooms before finally stopping outside a bedroom on the first floor.
“Rafael had your stuff brought to this room,” he says awkwardly, and then he almost runs away. He really is strange sometimes.
Opening the door, I step inside. There’s a huge four-poster bed in the center of the room, and white gauze curtains hang whimsically on all sides. It reminds me of something from an old fairy tale I’d read as a child, featuring castles and princesses and white knights.
Moving closer, I circle the bed, trailing my fingers over the white net curtains with a feather-light touch. My gaze drifts to the bedside table, or rather, what’s resting on it. There’s the Hemmingway book Rafael gave me when I first came to his house, and beside it is the little golden globe he keeps in his office. I place my finger on it, flicking the small shiny ball until it spins on the axis in a blur. Jabbing my finger down, it stops. New Zealand. I wonder what these places look like, if the people speak with an accent, or even the same language as me. The Master always ensured I was educated, but nothing that I could ever apply to anything real. I could tell you the square root of pi, recite poetry by heart, play Bach on the piano and have an in-depth conversation about the merits and flaws of Shakespeare. But I couldn’t tell you what New Zealand looks like. That isn’t necessary. It isn’t impressive. On a sigh, I push the little globe away and turn my attention to the book, which is resting on another one. Skimming over the title, I smile. Pride and Prejudice. Really? Predictable Rafael. Scooping up the book, I head towards the doors on the far side of the room. They open onto a stone balcony, and as I walk outside, I notice the brightly-colored mosaic tiles under my feet. The view is simply breathtaking, as though the world could go on forever and ever, chasing its own horizon. I take a seat one in one of the iron chairs that sits either side of a small table, the chill of the metal seeping through the thin material of my dress. I
don’t know how long I sit there, lost in thought, but I jump when something brushes my shoulder.
A rush of hot breath washes over my neck, and I shiver, tipping my head to the side. Rafael’s scent surrounds me, erasing everything that isn’t him from my mind.
“Avecita.” His lips brush my throat as his fingers trail down my arm so gently that my skin erupts in goosebumps. “You’re like a lizard. Always in the sun.” His voice is laced with amusement.
I turn around and meet his gaze, those dark eyes that seem so utterly cold until you really look. Not cold, just guarded, full of secrets kept close. Reaching out, I trace the tip of my finger along his jaw. “Are you scared, Rafe?”
Huge shoulders rise and fall on a heavy breath. “Of your sister? No.”
“Then why are we running?”
He touches his forehead tomine, as though he’s trying to ground himself with my presence. “I’ve never been scared of anything, little warrior, because I’ve never had anything I was scared to lose.”
“Not even your life.”
He pulls back, a small smile touching his lips. “Not even my life.”
“And now?”
Another deep breath. “And now, I don’t want to take any more from you than you’ve already lost. If your sister comes to Juarez, I can’t promise there won’t be blood on either side.”
I chew on the inside of my lip. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Una is an enemy to you. And you owe her no mercy.”
“No, I owe Angel de la Meurte nothing, and yet her sister…” His fingers dance over my cheek. “I find myself quite bound to.”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry –”
He cuts me off by grabbing my chin and slamming his lips over mine. The kiss steals my breath, taking all the little bits of me and pulling them towards him like a magnet hovering over fragmented metal. He simply holds me together like a force of nature. I couldn’t fight it if I tried. And I don’t want to.
His thumb strokes over my jaw. “Don’t apologize for this, avecita.” Another lingering brush of his lips over mine and he pulls away. I instantly miss him.
“Dress for dinner in an hour. I have to deal with some business.” I feel the blood drain from my face. “Uh, uh, uh. None of that. Do you trust me?” he asks, not for the first time.
“Yes.”
“You’ll be with me the entire time. No one will look at you. No one will touch you. It’s simply…certain formalities that must be adhered to.”
“That makes it sound almost legitimate.” I sigh, glancing out over the fading indigo skyline.
“Ah, avecita, the most depraved creatures hide amongst civil company. You should know this.” I do. All too well. And it’s why I don’t want to attend his dinner, or gathering—whatever it is. But I won’t say no to him.
“Fine. What am I supposed to wear?” I still have no idea about fashion or clothes. I’m only just getting used to wearing them all the time.
“Just cover up.”
I frown at him. “Why?”
“Because, my little warrior, it’s very poor business to cut a man’s eyes from his head at dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a sl—”
“Don’t!”
“No one is going to notice me, Rafe.” The Master always wanted me to be the shiny object on his arm at social events. He wanted me to make him the envy of other men. I learned quickly to try and become a shadow. He never allowed it of course, but it served me well when he sold me. I can be virtually invisible if I want to be.
“How desperately unaware you are, avecita.” He says nothing more, simply starts unbuttoning his shirt and then walks back inside before going into the bathroom. I hear the shower start and frown. Why is he showering in here?
On a resigned sigh, I walk into the closet and pause. On one side are dresses and racks of shoes—way more than I could ever possibly need or use—and on the other are shirts and suit jackets and racks of shiny brogues.
Rafael’s clothes are in here. I shelf that little piece of information for a second and take the first dress I find off the hangar and change into it. Glancing at my reflection in the full-length mirror it takes me a split second to recognize myself. The pastel blue dress has a wide neck that sits just below my collarbone, with sleeves that cover my arms, concealing the tattoo on my wrist. The material clings to my now curvier body, stopping just above my knees. Glancing back at the rail of dresses, I see that there are many more, just as nice. I’ve never really looked, always diving for the shorts and tanks or summer dresses.
Returning to my reflection, I twist slightly, dragging my fingers through my hair. Golden waves tumble to the curve of my waist, shinier and bouncier than they have ever been before. My skin is tanned, my eyes brighter. I can’t comprehend this girl with who I am. We’re as different as night and day. She’s the shiny exterior covering up the mess within, and I hate her for it. I hate her for looking so perfect. I hate her because I want to be her, and I never truly will be. She’s a lie.
Taking a step back, I drop onto the small, upholstered stool in the middle of the closet. The girl in the mirror stares back at me with sad eyes, and I feel guilty for dulling the sparkle she had only moments ago. A door clicks open somewhere, and then Rafael steps into the closet, hesitating when he sees me. Our eyes meet in the mirror for a second before his slip over my full-bodied reflection.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“A lie.”
“I don’t lie.”
“No. Her.” I point at the reflection. “She’s a lie.” I turn around to face him. He’s frowning at me. “Pretty, shiny…clean. Strong.”
“She’s you. She’s your new truth. How quick you are to dismiss it in favor of a lie.” His thumb drags over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “Rise from the ashes, avecita, or remain in the burned-out shell of what you once were.”
He drops his hand away, those cold, unforgiving eyes on my face. He offers no sympathy, no kind words, only this simple unyielding belief that I can be better and do better. He looks at me as though I were bulletproof. Rafael turns his back on me and for the first time, my eyes drop to the bare skin of his tattooed back. A white towel clings to his hips, and I blush at the overwhelming sight of so much muscle and ink.
Pushing to my feet, I intend to move past him but pause when I see a simple red rose on his right shoulder blade, buried amongst a sea of black ink. Something about it draws my attention. The way the red petals are so detailed that I can almost feel their velvety texture under my fingertips. Or maybe it’s the little red blood droplets clinging to the thorns and the snags in his skin as though it were his blood. Before I register the movement, my fingers land on his hot skin. He freezes, and I jerk my hand away before he whirls around to face me.
The temperature in the small closet seems to double as I’m faced with a wall of half-naked Rafael only inches away from me. He both intrigues me and makes me wholly uncomfortable.
“Getting brave, little warrior.” He smirks.
“I just… the rose. I like it.”
“Of course you do.” He used to watch me in the gardens, as I smelled the roses. “It’s for my sister, Violet.”
“Then why not a violet?”
“Because like a rose, she was beautiful but delicate, and she made me bleed when I tried to hold her too tight.” My heart stammers over itself. God, that’s beautiful and so tragic.
“I’m sorry.”
He shifts closer to me, and I force myself to stand still. I will not be scared of this man. “As heartwarming as this is, I need to get dressed.” He smiles, breaking through the thickness in the air. His hand goes to his towel, and for a second, just a second, I debate standing there and letting him drop it. I know he would. This strange warmth spreads through me, probing fingers reaching, caressing, teasing at something so foreign to me that I can’t identify it. Curiosity and possibilities flit through my mind like the flashing i
mages of an old film reel. Rafael is not some experiment though. I cannot test the boundaries of my fear and curiosity on him. I hurry from the closet, avoiding his gaze. The sound of his deep laughter rumbles behind me, and I hate myself for running away from him, but I have to know my limitations. Rafael is always both my limit and my exception.
25
Rafael
I can feel Anna’s nails digging into my arm even through my jacket. She remains close to me, her steps even and rhythmical beside mine. I lead her up to the front door of Ricardo Rosi’s house, and she takes an audible breath as the door opens in front of us. A maid beckons us inside and leads us to a formal living room. Samuel glances up from his spot on one of the couches, a charming smile on his face. Him, Carlos and some men arrived ahead of me to scout the security, as is the way with such meetings.
“Ricardo,” I say. The man across from Sam pushes to his feet and turns to face me. The woman next to him also stands but doesn’t approach. I assume that’s his latest wife. He likes them young and…buoyant. The dinner, the wives…it’s all a pretense of civil business, but we’re not civil men.
“Rafael.” He’s a big guy, almost as big as me. The suit jacket he wears doesn’t quite fit him, as though the material is desperately trying to contain all that mass and failing. He clasps a glass of brandy in front of him, his other hand shoved casually in his pocket. Murky brown eyes slip from me to Anna.
“And who is this?”
She forces herself away from me just a little. “Anna,” she says, her voice stronger and clearer than I was expecting.
“Ricardo Rosi. Pleasure.” His eyes slip over her body as he sips his drink. My fists tighten at my sides. Anna’s small hand glides over my palm, forcing me to release my clenched fingers before she threads her fingers through mine. Ricardo tracks the movement. “Is she yours, Rafael?”
“I am no one’s,” Anna snaps. He smirks and I tug her closer to my side, staring him down. She is mine.
