Page 20 of Rafi

“It was him, Tayana. I saw him myself. Facial recognition confirmed it.”

The murmur in my brain becomes a full blown explosion as I consider the implications of what Rafi’s telling me. I don’t know any reason why he would lie about something like this; if he says he saw Igor, it means he saw him and he’s here in the city.

And it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.

The Gatti familyare notorious criminals. Mafia. Deeply entrenched in the seedy underbelly of the underworld.

So why the hell would they need my help to track down a missing girl? And who—who—even led him to me?

“How did you find me here, Rafi?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“I have my ways,” he replies, his tone annoyingly calm.

I scoff, an unladylike sound that echoes in the quiet room. “If you’re so resourceful, the same way you found me should be the same way you find your missing girl.”

His dark eyes narrow slightly, but his expression remains composed. “This is me trying to find her.”

God, he’s handsome. It’s infuriating. Even with the bruises shadowing his cheekbone and the faint trickle of dried blood near his temple, he has the kind of face that artists would beg to immortalize on canvas. His brown hair, trimmed short and neat, and those deep, almost soulful eyes create an illusion of innocence and virtue. But I’m no fool. The bloody knuckles, raw and bruised, tell a different story—one of violence and chaos.

He catches me staring again and shoots me a smirk as a deep, crimson blush washes over my face.

“I’d think with your background, you’d have no issue tracking down a human trafficking ring,” I snap, my voice laced with anger and a bitterness I can’t suppress. “You do run in the same circles as those monsters, do you not?” My words are swift and biting, meant to inflict maximum damage. I don’t want these butterflies that swirl in the pit of my stomach anytime I’m around him. I don’t want these all consuming feelings that wrap around me like a warm blanket. I don’t want him. I can’t.

I push myself up from my chair, hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly my knuckles turn white. The message is clear: this conversation is over.

But Rafi doesn’t budge. Instead, he takes a measured step closer to the desk, his eyes dropping briefly to my tense hands before meeting my gaze again.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, his voice low, almost gentle.

The question lands on me like a sledgehammer, and I lift my chin defiantly, refusing to let him see the cracks forming beneath the surface. My face betrays me, though. I feel the heat rising, the telltale flush spreading across my cheeks. He’ll know I’m not as fearless as I’d like him to believe.

“I’m not afraid of anything,”I lie, but my steady voice lacks conviction.

A flicker of something crosses his face—pity? No, it’s worse. Understanding.

“What is it exactly that you do here, Tayana?” he asks, leaning slightly closer. “You would have people believe that you’re in the textiles business, but I don’t see a sewing machine in sight.”

The meaning behind his words lingers, thinly veiled by the underlying threat. He knows my secret, and the bastard is not above exposing my work if it means getting what he wants.

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “You know nothing. And you’d do well to mind your own business.”

“I’m making you my business,” he counters, his voice soft but firm.

I’m silent for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. Every instinct tells me to shove him out the door and lock it behind him. But something in his voice… in his eyes… keeps me rooted in place. So I give him my truth.

“I don’t know where my uncle is, and I’d prefer it if you keep me out of this.”

He exhales, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Give me something –anything- and I’ll get out of your hair.

He whispers the promise, and it floats on the air between us. I don’t know that I want him out of my hair. Out of my life, or out of my orbit. It’s complicated. But nor can I have this matter festering, giving Igor a window into my life, threatening everything I’ve worked so hard for. I want my uncle as far away from me as possible.

“Why is this girl so important to you?” I ask him. It can’t just be that she’s a family friend. He seems too invested.

“She’s the only sibling my sister-in-law has left. She lost one half of a twin - it would destroy her to lose the other.”

I hate that I’m even considering it. But most of all, I hate the gnawing feeling in my gut that tells me walking away from this might cost me more than I’m willing to admit. I square my shoulders, determination hardening my features. I’ve spent too long building this life to let it fall apart now. If my past is coming for me, I’ll face it head-on. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people who depend on me, even if it means confronting the ghosts I’ve tried so hard to leave behind.

13

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