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Chapter Nineteen

Rafael

“Fuck it,” I growl, flinging my blanket off and bolting out of bed.

I wander to the kitchen through the pitch-black hallway, flipping on a small light. When I pull open the fridge, I immediately regret it.

The dinner Lux cooked for me hours earlier sits untouched. I stare at the salmon fillets, cursing their existence. I curse my existence as well while I’m at it. I slam the door shut, deciding on alcohol instead.

Alcohol has never helped my insomnia problems, but maybe it’ll help the overthinking. I pour myself a double bourbon, toss in a couple of ice cubes, and slide onto a stool. Drumming my fingers on the countertop, I force myself not to think about Lux.

Of course, as soon as I start thinking about not thinking about Lux, I think about her. Goddamn it.

The range of emotions that played across her face when I ended it will haunt me forever. They play in my mind as if it’s a movie in a small-town one-screen cinema—over and over. The hurt, the shock, the confusion, and then the anger.

What did I expect, throwing her out, breaking her heart, just when she started to feel secure in this “relationship”?

I didn’t expect to fall so head over heels in love with her, that’s for sure.

Maybe she murdered my father, but my gut instinct tells me she didn’t. Getting to know her, experiencing how she lives in the world, showed me that she’s innocent. Which leads me to another train of thought—who killed my father?

I think back to the day he died. We met for breakfast at his house, discussed business, and planned out some of our more legal mergers and trades.

He seemed fine—in a great mood, actually. Then he met his closest associates for lunch at Rocky’s, drank his coffee, and died.

Running through a quick list of every man present that day, I can’t bring myself to point a finger at any of them. Most of them had grown up with him and dedicated their life to him when he rose to power. Except for Vince, of course, he joined the family a few years ago.

Vince. I picture his solemn face, the cold eyes, his eerie calmness. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it. My father quickly chose him as his right-hand man. Wherever Dominic went, Vince went.

He trusted him with his life.

I gulp the bourbon down, feeling it burn a fiery path down my throat and coat my insides. Intending to pour myself another, I get up, but I just grab the entire bottle instead. I drink straight from it, not caring if I get wasted anymore.

The penthouse feels cold without Lux. I stare out the windows, the city sparkling below me, and wonder where she is.

An idea creeps into my head and I hop off the stool, tucking the bottle under my arm. I wander down to my small home office, veering past the desk, and stop at the second door.

The alarm beeps as I glide my hand over it and I punch in the numbers. It slides open and I slip inside, settling into a leather armchair. A wall of screens welcomes me. I quickly scroll through the options on the tablet, finding Lux’s apartment.

My heart beats faster, hoping for a glimpse of her face. Just a quick peek, and I’ll go to sleep, that’s all I need. I sound like an addict, but I don’t care. The desire to see her consumes my entire being.

The secret security cameras focus, and I lean forward, scanning the different screens. Her apartment is pitch-black and empty. The water seems to have been drained but it’s completely destroyed otherwise. Of course, she wouldn’t go back there.

I shake my head, scolding myself for my obsession with this woman, and take a hefty swig of bourbon.

Feeling stupid and pathetic, I hoist myself out of the chair and collapse back into bed. The alcohol did manage to make my eyelids heavier, so I close them and pray for sleep.

***

“I didn’t do it, Rafael,” she cries, tears streaming down her face. She’s on her knees, her wrists and ankles bound. Blood streaks her golden hair, dripping down her bare shoulders.

She’s naked. Why is she naked and bleeding? I walk toward her, but a shadowy figure steps forward, blocking my path.

“I didn’t kill him,” she wails, “I didn’t even know him.”

I try to scream her name but nothing comes out. The dark figure is moving toward her now, a gun swinging in his hand.

“Please,” she begs, screwing her eyes shut. “Please, no.”

The figure puts the gun against her forehead, stroking her hair gently. The trigger cocks.

“NO,” I howl.

I bolt upright. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes. Panting and gasping for breath, I grapple with the twisted bedsheets, trying to break free.

Weak sunlight filters in through my half-drawn blinds and I hang my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes. That was one fucked up dream.

I take a deep breath and untangle myself from my bed. Last night’s bourbon swirls on my breath and I heave myself into the shower.

After I’ve cleaned up, I feel more alert and more in control of myself. I throw on my gym clothes and head to the roof. Hopping on the treadmill, the dream hits me like an acid flashback.

I see her face in agony, the gun to her head. I grab my phone, almost crushing it with the force of my grip, and tap Enzo’s name.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” he grumbles, stifling a yawn.

“Luckily, I pay you to work twenty-four hours a day,” I retort. He chuckles but doesn’t fight back. I can hear shuffling and drawers opening in the background.

“Let me make a coffee first,” he teases. “Then I’ll have a good comeback to that.”

“Enzo, I need you to do something for me.”

“I figured. What’s up?”

“The waitress,” I say, my voice low, trying to cover my embarrassment. “I need you to watch her.”

“I thought you were watching her,” he laughs. I swear, if he was beside me right now, he’d be winking and shooting me finger guns.

“Shut up,” I snap. “She’s no longer in my…care. I need you to find out where she’s staying and what she’s doing for money.”

“Mhm,” he grunts. A cacophony of beeps blare through the speaker, and he swears. “Stupid fucking espresso maker. Okay, okay, keep tabs on her…anything else?”

“Make sure she’s safe,” I say, hanging up right away. My face burns, knowing Enzo’s probably figured out that this is more than business. I boost the speed and incline on the treadmill and put myself through hell for the next hour.

Sweating out my demons helps a little, and by the time I hop in the shower, I feel refreshed. Not exactly fresh—but less like a dog that’s been kicked into the mud. I nearly have a stroke when Enzo’s name flashes on my phone screen.

Tripping over my wet towel, I scramble to grab it. Answers. He has answers.

“Yeah?” I pant, embarrassingly breathless.

“You good, boss?”

There’s a hint of humor in his voice. I immediately want to punch him, but I need him too much to piss him off.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” I say, trying to even out my voice. “What did you find?”

“You’re going to want to sit for this one,” he says, chuckling lightly.

“Enzo, I don’t have time for this shit. Where is she?”

“Mancini’s safe house on the edge of town.”

I fall silent, staring at myself in the mirror. My face pales and the phone slips out of my hand.

“Told you you’d want to sit down,” Enzo’s voice floats from my phone on the floor. “Boss? Hello?”

Mancini’s safe house.

This can’t be good.