Page 40 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
I nod, and he pulls me against his chest, his massive frame surrounding me like a fortress. In his arms, Craig’s threats feel less immediate. Less overwhelming.
“He won’t take this from you,” Raphael murmurs against the top of my head. “I won’t let him.”
The quiet certainty in his voice is more comforting than any dramatic declaration would be. Whatever Craig thinks he’s playing at, I’m starting to believe he picked the wrong opponent. At least, I can only hope so.
Chapter 13
Hat in Hand
Raphael
The rage burns in mychest like molten metal, a white-hot fury that makes my vision blur at the edges. For the past three hours after Frankie told me about her cousin’s visit, I’ve been pacing through my house like a caged bull, my hooves leaving gouges in the hardwood floors.
Every instinct I have roars for violence. The minotaur in me wants to hunt Craig Baker down, corner him somewhere private, and show him exactly what happens to men who threaten what’s mine. I can picture it perfectly: my horns lowered, his pale face going white with terror as he realizes he’s miscalculated badly. The satisfying crack of bone, the way he’d crumple, the knowledge that he’d never threaten Frankie again.
But that’s exactly what he expects. What he’s counting on.
I force myself to stop pacing and lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the granite edge hard enough that myknuckles ache. Frankie is upstairs, trying to rest after the morning’s confrontation, though I can hear her moving around restlessly. The scent of her distress still clings to her clothes, and it makes the beast in me snarl with protective fury.
Craig Baker made one critical error in his little performance today. He assumed that I’d let anger override strategy, that I’d give him exactly the ammunition he needs to paint me as a violent brute who’s corrupted sweet Frankie Baker.
He doesn’t understand that I survived in corporate boardrooms not by charging at every threat, but by being smarter than my opponents. More patient. More ruthless in ways that matter.
I pull out my phone and dial my financial advisor.
“David,” I say when he answers. “I need you to prepare a cashier’s check for forty-three thousand dollars, made out to First National Bank of Santa Barbara. It’s to satisfy a foreclosure notice for Francesca Baker.”
“Of course, Mr. Tauros. Should I have it delivered to your usual—”
“No. I want it prepared today and delivered to my home within two hours. And David? I also need you to contact the bank directly and find out the exact process for satisfying the foreclosure on the Baker Family Apiaries property. I want to make sure everything is handled properly.”
There’s a brief pause. “Certainly, sir. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now.”
After I hang up, I stand in the kitchen for a long moment, listening to Frankie’s movements upstairs. The familiar sounds of her presence anchor me, remind me what really matters here. Not just her property, though I know how much it means to her. Not just our arrangement, though it’s become something neither of us expected.
I’m fighting for the right to protect her. For the chance to build something real together, something that isn’t built on desperation.
When the courier arrives, I take the cashier’s check upstairs to find Frankie sitting on the edge of our bed, staring out the window toward her apiaries. She looks small and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Frankie.”
She turns, and I see the worry lines around her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. “Did you reach your contact?”
“Not yet. But I have something for you first.”
I hand her the cashier’s check, watching her face as she reads the amount. Her eyes widen, then narrow with confusion.
“Raphael, what is this?”
“The payoff for your foreclosure. Take this to the bank tomorrow and your farm will be yours, free and clear.”
She stares at the check like it might disappear if she blinks. “I don’t understand. This isn’t… We had an arrangement. Three months, then you’d help with the financial problems.”
“The arrangement stands if you want it to,” I say carefully. “But your farm will be secure, regardless. Craig can’t use the foreclosure as leverage anymore, and you’re not trapped here by financial desperation.”
Her hands are trembling slightly as she holds the check. “You’re giving me an out.”
