Page 11 of Rafi

I shake my head, stifling the urge to groan. Another face in the sea of faces. “Sorry,” I say, glancing back toward the bar, gesturing to the bartender. I wave him over and order her a vodka tonic.

“She’s gone,” Cassie says suddenly, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

I turn to her, frowning. “What?”

“Tayana,” she clarifies, sipping her drink. “I saw you watching her. You’re not exactly subtle.”

I stiffen, choosing to play dumb. “Sorry, who?”

“Don’t insult me,” she says, tilting her head, her blue eyes gleaming. “I’ve seen you in here three times this week. And every time, your eyes see nothing else but my best friend. Why?”

I chuckle under my breath, but the sound is dry. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

She arches a brow. “Any guy who keeps rejecting girls but whose eyes follow one particular girl around all night is hung up on something. Namely, said girl.”

She takes another sip and regards me over the rim of her glass, daring me to argue with her. When I don’t say anything, she continues – she talks so much, I think maybe I can get what I want from her if Tayana is a bust.

“At first,” she continues, her tone light but probing, “I thought you might be gay.”

I choke on my whiskey, coughing once as I set the glass down. She laughs, unapologetic. “I mean, no judgment if you are. It’s just—you’re so quick to send girls on their merry way. But then I saw you watching Tayana, and, well, it clicked.”

“Is there a point to this?” I ask, wiping the corner of my mouth. She really needs to stop talking.

Her lips curl in a knowing smile. “How do you know her?”

I lean back, studying Cassie for the first time. She’s bold, confident, and talks just enough to make me think she might know more than she’s letting on. That could be useful—or dangerous.

“I don’t,” I say evenly, keeping my tone flat.

Cassie doesn’t believe me for a second. “Really? Because the way you look at her says otherwise.”

She takes another sip, her gaze steady over the rim of her glass. The music pounds around us, but she waits, unbothered by my silence.

“Let me guess,” she presses, her eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s an ex? Or maybe something more complicated. The way you keep looking at her, it’s like you’re trying to figure her out. Like she’s a puzzle you can’t solve.”

I roll the glass between my palms, the whiskey sloshing quietly inside. “You’ve got quite the imagination, Cassie. You should write novels.”

She grins, unfazed. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

Her words hang in the air between us, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. My eyes drift around the club, where there isn’t a sign of Tayana in sight. That familiar ache tugs at my chest, equal parts frustration and longing.

Cassie follows my probing gaze, her smile softening into something almost pitying. “Careful, Rafi,” she says, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Chasing after someone like her? That never ends well.”

She’s probably right. But the thing about people like me is that we never learn.

8

TAYANA

I’ve been up since dawn, but the coffee in my cup has gone cold, forgotten in the rush of responsibilities as I go through more paperwork. When I started this organization, I didn’t give much thought to anything past the help I’d be generating for those that needed it most. But the sheer magnitude of the record keeping that goes into managing a rapidly growing non-profit organization is not something I had anticipated. I’ll have to start looking for an assistant, preferably one who’s willing to give of their time freely, if I’m to stay on top of things.

I realize I’m not on my A-game today as my mind wanders. Instead of concentrating on the tasks before me, my mind is back at Obsidian, replaying the encounters with Rafi Gatti. For some reason, my mind keeps wandering to the image of him in the club. I saw the way women flocked to him, like bees drawn to honey. He had that kind of presence—dangerous, magnetic. And yet, when his eyes had locked onto mine, it was as if the rest of the room disappeared, leaving only he and I in its orbit. I had felt a strange pull, a whisper of something unnameable, and it infuriated me.

I’d shut him down, of course. After our brief exchange, I’d slipped away into the crowd, using the club’s chaos to my advantage. When Cassie had begged for an introduction, I had dismissed her, irritated even more by my friend’s infatuation with him. I’d left the club without looking back, careful to ensure my human wall in the form of my bodyguards was up, determined to put the entire encounter out of my mind as I slipped away into the night.

Now, here I was, days later, still thinking about him. I shake my head, irritated at myself. Rafi Gatti is trouble—I don’t need to know him to be sure of that. Men like him don’t walk into clubs like Obsidian without an agenda. And men like him, from the same criminal world as my father, always have blood on their hands.

The thought of my father brings a familiar bitterness to my chest. Anton Aslanov has always been clear about what he expects of me: loyalty, obedience, submission to the Bratva’s will. I spent my childhood suffocating under his control, my every move monitored, my every decision second-guessed. When he’d finally tired of me and tossed me away like a ragdoll, it felt like coming up for air after drowning for years.

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