Rafael's breath hitched as Mr. Guández, the tortured man, hesitated. The moment stretched endlessly, the oppressive silence of the room broken only by the man's ragged breathing. Marco's cold, unyielding gaze remained fixed on him, waiting for an answer like a predator eyeing its prey.
"I... I don't know about any spies in your home," Mr. Guández finally stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "Please, believe me... I only handled the finances."
Marco studied him for a long, excruciating moment. The tension in the room grew unbearable, suffocating. Rafael could almost hear his own heartbeat in the silence. Then, Marco slowly nodded, though the dangerous glint in his eyes hadn't dimmed, like a storm that had yet to pass.
"We'll see about that," Marco said, his voice as cold and cutting as steel. He turned to his men, his command sharp and unforgiving. "Take him back, I'll have more questions for him later."
Mr. Guández was roughly dragged away, his whimpers echoing down the dark corridors. Marco's gaze shifted to Rafael, who had remained silent throughout, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Rafael, follow me," Marco ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Rafael hesitated for the briefest of moments before forcing his legs to move, following Marco out of the room. His mind was a chaotic whirlwind, his thoughts darting from one fear to another.
How close had he come to being exposed? His secret, his true mission; it felt as if it were teetering on the edge of discovery, like a knife poised above his throat.
The dimly lit corridors blurred together as Rafael walked, each step heavier than the last. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. He hadn't even noticed when they reached the car until Marco's voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Rafael," Marco called, his voice cutting through the fog in Rafael's mind. Startled, Rafael looked up, his eyes meeting Marco's gaze. The car door was already open, Marco's hand still on the handle.
"Are you okay?" Marco asked, his tone softer than Rafael had expected, tinged with unexpected concern.
"Yes... I..." Rafael tried to respond, but his voice faltered. His body betrayed him, the words dying in his throat.
Are you okay? He scoffed inwardly. How could he be? He had just left a room where a man had been tortured, a room filled with instruments of unimaginable pain.
How was he supposed to feel okay when he was no different from the man who had just been dragged away? The danger was real, palpable, pressing in on him from all sides.
Is he insane? Rafael cursed silently, stealing glances at Marco, who was now seated across from him in the car, seemingly engrossed in his phone.
The casual way Marco could switch from inflicting terror to this; the normalcy unsettled him. How could anyone be so detached?
But what Rafael hadn't expected was that Marco was monitoring him, watching every small movement, every fleeting glance. As Rafael's eyes flicked toward Marco again, Marco looked up from his phone, his stern gaze softening slightly.
"Is something wrong? Why do you keep looking at me?" Marco asked, his voice direct, laced with a curiosity that made Rafael's heart skip a beat.
Rafael hadn't anticipated Marco would be so perceptive, so attuned to his every move. He felt cornered, unsure how to respond.
Marco's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze becoming more probing. "Are you bothered by what happened inside?"
The question twisted something deep inside Rafael, tightening the knot of anxiety in his gut. He couldn't keep his worries bottled up anymore; the pressure was too much.
"Are you going to keep your promise?" Rafael blurted out before he could stop himself.
Marco's eyebrows arched in confusion. "My promise? Did I ever promise you anything?"
"Not me…" Rafael's voice dropped to a murmur as he clarified, "The man in the room."
Marco's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes; amusement, perhaps, or was it disdain? "Oh… you mean Mr. Guández? I'm not sure. It depends on my mood."
Rafael's heart sank at the nonchalant response. Of course, he should have known better. The mafia world was built on deceit, on broken promises. Why had he even asked?
Desperate to change the subject, Rafael asked, "Why did you bring me here?" The question came out sharper than he intended, his nerves frayed.
Marco leaned back, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Why wouldn't I bring my partner for the course of a year to my hideout? Isn't it the right thing to do?"
Rafael's mind screeched to a halt. Partner?When had he signed up to be Marco's partner? He had agreed to help with his insomnia, not… this. Yet the word hung in the air, laden with implications Rafael wasn't sure he was ready to face.
The car ride continued in strained silence, Rafael's thoughts spiraling as he tried to make sense of everything. Marco's world was dangerous, unpredictable, and now he was entangled in it more deeply than he had ever intended.
Then the car stopped, halting his thoughts as they reached their destination. Rafael heard Marco's voice as he gave orders, his tone authoritative as he stepped out of the car.
"Come with me to my office. I need you to do something," Marco instructed Patrick, who had also exited the car, his steps brisk and purposeful.
"Yes, sir," Patrick responded obediently, and they both walked on into the mansion, their footsteps echoing against the marble floor.
Rafael was left alone, standing outside like a cat drenched in the rain, replaying Marco's last words in his mind.
"Let's eat dinner by 8 p.m."
It was a constant reminder that he was there to stay, that his life had irrevocably changed.
As he was about to take a step forward, his phone beeped in his pocket, and he brought it out to check the message before going inside.
[You have one unread message from Antonio…IG]
He checked the message, and his heart, which was barely hanging on to his mind, dropped further down.
He clicked on the message, his toes getting impatient as he read it.
[Come to my base tomorrow. I'll send you the address in the morning.]
Now, what? He was worried as he read the message. He had to make sure that he worked discreetly to pay off the debts and keep the orphanage under the care of the second mafia lord. Any wrong move from him could mean the downfall of the orphanage.
He had to remind himself every day about that.
His fingers worked freely on the keys as he sent a message.
[Okay. I'll be expecting your next message.]