Page 12 of Raphael (Belles & Mobsters 5)

Either way, I knew the impending research and investigation into the Tijuana Cartel and their human trafficking would bring trouble to my door. And I still did it.

For Anya. For any woman that found herself a victim of the cruel men like my father and Lombardo Santos. The old man I believed to be Gabriel’s father.

Believedwas the key word here.

God, I didn’t know which was worse. Gabriel being my father’s son or Lombardo Santos’ son. Aurora ran into Raphael Santos in New Orleans. She said Gabriel looked just like him, and I didn’t object. Frankly, it felt like a relief - except that if the Santos family knew about Gabriel, I feared what they’d do.

The old man was dead, but the son that took over wasn’t. All my research showed that Raphael Santos didn’t handle business like his father. Yes, he was a criminal, but he seemed to stick to some kind of code.

At least it appeared that way. I just wished I’d been able to locate a single picture of him. There was nothing on the web. The man moved like a ghost in the dark.

Or maybe like the devil, I snickered to myself.

Diablo.

An awareness tickled in the back of my mind at that word. A distant memory. But before I could hone in on it, it dissipated.

I shook my head. No need to stress over non-existent crap. I’d worry about the Santos family and Gabriel’s paternity if it ever came to that. But there was one thing I knew for certain. I wouldn’t air our dirty laundry.

Nobody knew about Father’s abuse.Nobody.And I’d keep it that way so when Gabriel learned about his birth mother, there was nothing tainting her memory.

So as fucked up as it was, after what we had witnessed in Miami that night eight years ago and the timing of Anya’s pregnancy, I had never disputed the fact that Anya’s baby was indeed the result of that horrid night. The truth was that Anya didn’t know. She confessed right before she went into labor that Father continued raping her long after she led me to believe he’d stopped.

My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands and I welcomed the pain. It was nothing compared to what my sister endured.

“Don’t think about that,” I rasped in the dark of the night, my voice shaky. Gabriel was my son. Nobody else’s, just mine. He was innocent in all of this, and I’d kill before I let anyone destroy his innocence.

Catching my breath, I attempted to ease my wild heartbeats as I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom. I hated dreams. I hated secrets. Most of all, I hated nightmares. They always came. My best friends, Aurora and Willow, thought it was brought on by that night on our spring break in Miami.

It wasn’t.

My nightmares started a long time ago. Before I ever met my best friends. Before I even learned to write.

Father’s emotional and mental abuse was bad. He taunted. Purposely scared us. I was spared his disgusting physical abuse. My sister wasn’t. He called her ‘his little whore’ and Mother let him. He slapped her and kicked her. Mother let him. When he was particularly agitated or mad, he’d kick me too. But never as bad as Anya. He hated her the most; so I loved her even more.

Because she needed me the most.

I hadn’t seen my parents since Gabriel, my son, was born. Truthfully, he was my nephew, my sister’s son. With her death, I took him as mine and the promise I made to my sister would be kept at all costs.

Gabriel was mine. My son. My family. My everything. And I’d protect him with my life.

My blood ran cold each time I thought about it. Anya’s pain. Her shame. Her fear that ultimately died with her last breath. Her life was a nightmare. But she finally found her peace. The one I couldn’t give her.

The secret squeezed my throat, threatening to suffocate me. Nobody knew. Fucking nobody, and somehow after all these years, the secret became larger than life. Until I had no way of digging myself out of this dark hole.

Shame and disgust filled me. It was a sinkhole I didn’t know how to get out of. I swallowed the big lump in my throat. I hated thinking or dreaming about it. It felt like reliving it over and over again. Like haunting ghosts that refused to be laid to rest.

I had to see my son, to assure myself he was safe. Gabriel slept in the room next to mine, so I got out of bed and kept my steps silent as I headed for his room. My feet padded against the hardwood, the cool of the floor soothing.

I didn’t worry about running into anyone. Aurora was still not back, closing out her case in New Orleans. She’d solved it, but she still struggled with the outcome of her revelations. Her brothers would ensure she came out on top. Willow worked on a new production in California, leaving Gabriel and me alone in the Ashford penthouse that we’d lived in since he was born.

I opened the door and snuck into the dark bedroom, careful not to step on the toys. Unlike me, Gabriel wasn’t scared to sleep in the dark. My hand shook like a leaf as I pushed my son’s dark curls out of his face and tears stung my eyes.

God, it was bad when you hoped that he was actually the old Santos’ son rather than your father’s. I still remembered how Lombardo Santos looked and I’d say Gabriel resembled him more than my father, so maybe there was hope. I let out a heavy high.

Why didn’t I say something? I thought it had all stopped, but I was so fucking wrong. It was wishful thinking. Anya had kept hiding the ugliness behind her carefree smiles and reckless decisions. It was all there, plain as day, and I fucking missed it.

Still guilt clawed its way into my soul and refused to let go.

---