Chapter 2 - The Men Searching My Bedroom Asked About Raphael, but One of Them Was Wearing a Ring I Had Seen on the Hand of a Man Raphael TrustedThe phone stopped ringing.
The kitchen became completely silent.
The armed man stared at me.
“Move.”
I didn't.
“You don't understand.”
He smiled.
“I understand perfectly.”
He took one step forward.
Then another.
I heard the hidden compartment behind me creak.
Raphael was moving.
I panicked.
“He isn't here.”
The man's eyes narrowed.
“You're protecting him.”
“I don't even know what you're talking about.”
He glanced toward the stairs.
“Search it.”
Two men moved.
I grabbed a tray.
Not a weapon.
Just something heavy.
“Wait.”
They looked at me.
I forced a nervous smile.
“Mrs. Bell keeps cleaning supplies under there.”
The leader stared.
Then laughed.
“You think I'm stupid?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He reached for the panel.
Before he could open it, a massive crash came from upstairs.
Someone shouted.
Gunfire followed.
The men turned.
I took the opportunity.
I kicked the kitchen table into the leader.
He fell.
The other men raised their guns.
The hidden door opened.
Raphael emerged.
He moved with terrifying speed.
One strike.
Another.
The third man ran.
Raphael caught him.
I stood frozen.
The man looked at Raphael.
“You should have stayed dead.”
Raphael replied:
“Tell your employer I'm not finished.”
He knocked the gun from the man's hand.
I stared.
He wasn't drunk anymore.
Not even slightly.
The fear in his eyes had transformed into something colder.
Control.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“You were barely standing five minutes ago.”
“I was drunk.”
“You're sober now?”
“Adrenaline.”
I stared.
“That's terrifying.”
He almost smiled.
Then he looked at the captured man.
“Who sent you?”
Silence.
Raphael crouched.
“I'll ask once.”
The man laughed.
“You already know.”
“Victor.”
The man's smile disappeared.
I looked at Raphael.
“Who is Victor?”
“Someone who should have been dead.”
The man whispered:
“Your men know.”
Then he looked at me.
“Ask your employer why his own people want him buried.”
He bit down.
Raphael grabbed his jaw.
Too late.
The man's body went limp.
My stomach turned.
“What did he do?”
“Poison capsule.”
I stared at Raphael.
“You knew they'd do that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why bring him here?”
“To confirm something.”
“What?”
Raphael looked at the ring on the dead man's finger.
A black stone surrounded by silver.
I had seen that ring.
Once.
On the hand of Thomas Vale.
Raphael's most trusted adviser.
I remembered him shaking Raphael's hand during a business dinner.
The same ring.
Raphael saw my face.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Mr. Vale wears one.”
He didn't answer.
His expression became grim.
“Then he's the reason I came here.”
“For me?”
“No.”
He looked at the hidden door.
“For you.”
I couldn't understand.
“Why would Thomas care about me?”
Raphael walked to the table.
He took off his wet coat.
“Because Thomas has been watching you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Watching me?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“One hundred seven nights.”
I stared.
The number.
The same number he'd whispered earlier.
“You counted?”
“Every night.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't decide whether telling you would put you in danger.”
“And now?”
“Now you're already in danger.”
I felt cold.
“How do you know?”
He pulled a photograph from his pocket.
It showed me leaving my apartment.
Another showed me at the hospital with Micah.
Another showed Micah entering the clinic.
My hands shook.
“Where did you get these?”
“My security team.”
“Why were they photographing us?”
“They weren't.”
He pointed to the bottom of the photograph.
A tiny symbol.
A triangle.
“Thomas took these.”
I looked at Raphael.
“What does he want?”
“Leverage.”
“Over you?”
“Yes.”
“I'm not important enough.”
He stared at me.
“That's where you're wrong.”
Then he said something that completely changed the way I saw him.
“You are the only person in my life who has never asked me for anything.”
I didn't know how to respond.
“That's why you're dangerous to them.”
“Because?”
“Because you're the only person I trust who doesn't need me.”
Before I could answer, footsteps echoed again.
But this time they were heavier.
More numerous.
Raphael looked toward the kitchen door.
“Thomas is here.”
I whispered:
“What do we do?”
He stepped closer.
“We let him think I'm still drunk.”
I stared.
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“Why?”
“Because I want to hear what he says when he thinks I'm helpless.”
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