Page 86 of Raziel
“You walked in,” she continued, her voice distant, like she was reliving it. “You were there for a deal with the piece of shit running it. But you saw us. You asked them why we were there.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. “And they told you. They laughed and told you. Said we were the side business. ‘Disposable.’”
“Jesus Christ…” My throat burned. The memory came back in flashes. A warehouse. Dim light. The stench of piss and bleach. Ugly, greasy laughter. Four girls slumped on mattresses. One of them—God, I could see her now—was Maya. Braids matted, lip cracked.
The dealer's smirk. The roar of my gun. Her scream when I lifted her. The way she clung to my jacket after.
“That was you?”
I'd done a lot of things in my life, but never would I treat people like cattle. I was a monster, yeah—but not that kind.
She nodded, tears welling. “You saved me before you knew me. I spent years wondering why.”
I sat up straighter, dragging a hand down my face. “I didn’t do it to be a hero. I didn’t even remember your faces. I just… I couldn’t walk out and leave you all there.”
She leaned in again, slower this time, hands on my face. “And that’s why you’ll never get rid of me. At first, I wanted you because you saved me. I worshipped you. Like you were some dark angel. But now…”
Her voice broke, just for a second.
“Now I love you because you’re you. Because you’re cold, brutal, mean… but you still had sympathy for four girls about to have their lives ruined.”
My hands trembled as I gripped her wrist and pulled her back down to me, holding her like I could anchor myself in her skin, thinking of the countless ways a life could have gone wrong, and the one thread of decency that somehow led her back to me.
Epilogue – Raziel
The doorbell chimed—a sound that still felt alien in this house. I watched from the kitchen as Maya practically skipped to answer it, her energy too bright for the quiet tension coiling in my gut.
I heard them before I saw them. My father’s low, measured tone. Serena’s light, melodic laugh. And then another voice—deeper, more relaxed—Caine’s.
They filed into the living room like a parade of my complicated history. Raffaele’s eyes scanned the space, nodding in approval at the changes Maya had made—the splash of color from her art on the walls, the lived-in comfort of it all. This was our second family dinner. The first since the renovations. Eight months since I'd been shot. It took me three of those to recover.
Serena embraced Maya like a daughter. “The house looks beautiful, darling.”
“Thank you for coming,” Maya beamed. I could see the genuine warmth in her eyes. She’d wanted this. A family.
Caine hung back, hands in his pockets, offering me an easy nod from across the room. “Brother.”
“Caine,” I nodded back. The word still felt unfamiliar on my tongue—but not unwelcome.
I moved to greet my father. He clasped my shoulder, his grip firm. “Raziel. You look well.”
“Feeling better,” I said, voice neutral.
That’s when I overheard him murmur to Maya, his tone playful, though edged with intent:
“Beautiful home. Perfect for a family. You give me a grandchild by the end of next year, I’ll put ten million in an account for you.”
Annoyance crept up my spine. He was always outdoing me.
Maya just laughed, light and unfazed. “You better keep your promise, Raffaele.”
She drifted back to my side, looping her arm through mine. Her smile never wavered, but her whisper was meant only for me.
“Fix your face. You promised to be nice. He’s trying.”
I forced the tension from my shoulders and gave a curt nod to the room.
“Drinks are on the island.”
