FRANKIE

I sit beside Rafael in the plush leather seat as Leo navigates the car through midday traffic. We're on our way to meet one of the couples from last night's dinner party, and I can hardly believe it. It's as if nothing happened, as if last night's events—their intensity, his actions—just vanished without consequence.

Another cramp tears through my lower abdomen, making me wince and press my hand against it. Karma's got a sick sense of humor – after faking illness yesterday, today I'm actually doubled over in pain. I consider telling Rafael, but after yesterday's performance, I doubt he'd believe me.

My eyes drift to him as he focuses on his phone, his fingers moving rapidly across the screen. The moment in my bedroom still feels like something from an alternate reality. Rafael – the man who rules through fear and power – actually apologized. The words 'I'm sorry' came from those lips that usually only issue commands or threats. As much as I wanted to hold onto my anger about being forced to dress like a call girl in front of my sister and Thomas, I couldn't. Not when I knew how much it must have cost someone like him – a man who probably learned to kill before he learned to apologize – to say those words. He's still got miles to go, but I can see him trying, and that means something.

"Francesca, is everything okay?" His deep voice cuts through my thoughts. I blink to find his green eyes fixed on where my arm is wrapped protectively around my middle; his brow furrowed with concern.

"Yes, just a little cramps," I lie, trying to straighten up, but another wave of pain makes me curl inward. No amount of acting could fake this kind of discomfort.

"You're having cramps. Why didn't you tell me?" Before I can protest, his arm is around me, pulling me against his warm side.

"I didn't think it would hurt this much," I admit through gritted teeth. And I really didn't – it's like my body's making up for yesterday's deception with a vengeance.

"Leo, get us to the nearest pharmacy. Julio, call and res—" I grab his arm, cutting him off mid-command.

"No need. I'm fine." The words come out strained. Julio's earlier briefing about today's lunch plays in my head – how crucial these people are to Rafael's business interests. I've already cost him one deal; I can't be responsible for another failure. The guilt from that weighs almost as heavy as the pain.

"No, you're not. Fuck!" The raw concern in his voice makes me stare at him in shock. Most men I've known would roll their eyes at period cramps, dismissing them as feminine dramatics. But here's Rafael, feared crime lord, looking at me like my pain is physically hurting him. Something warm unfurls in my chest that has nothing to do with cramps.

"Alright, fine, let's go home," I concede, watching as relief washes over his face. That's when it hits me – he's actually waiting for my agreement instead of barking orders. He's letting me make the choice. The realization nearly takes my breath away: the man who once treated me like property is now treating me like a person. So much has changed, and I'm not sure either of us fully understands what that means.

Leo takes us to the nearest pharmacy, and I watch in amazement as Rafael carefully selects ibuprofen, taking into account my preference to avoid other medications that might mess with my hormones. But what really catches me off guard is watching him load his arms with bags of sweets. The sight of him standing there, sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos that tell stories of violence, while clutching armfuls of candy makes a smile tug at my lips. The walking embodiment of danger is buying chocolate and gummy bears. It's almost too adorable to process.

"I didn't know which you like, so I got a lot," he explains when I question the quantity, his usual commanding tone softened with something like uncertainty. I can only smile in response, touched by the gesture.

The drive home is quick, and once we arrive, Rafael refuses to let me walk. Before I can protest, he's scooped me up like I weigh nothing, carrying me upstairs to his room. The gentleness with which he places me on his bed feels surreal – this is the same man who, hours ago, mutilated someone without hesitation. He carefully removes my shoes and tucks the plush covers around me with a tenderness that makes my chest tight.

"How do you know how to treat a lady so gently on her period when you have no gentle bone in you?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.

"My sister," he says simply but then surprises me by continuing. "She used to get bad cramps, and this always helped." His hand slips under the covers, and suddenly, his warm palm is making gentle circular motions on my lower abdomen. The smile I'd been trying to contain breaks free across my face. I can't help but marvel at the contradiction – this stone-cold killer whose hands have ended lives is now using those same hands to soothe my pain, sending butterflies dancing through my stomach.

"Thank you," I murmur, the words feeling inadequate.

"Do you need anything else?" he asks, withdrawing his hand. The loss of his touch is immediate and disappointing.

"Nothing, for now; thank you, Rafael." I watch as he almost flinches at my gratitude, rising to his feet like my words burn. It hits me that he probably rarely hears genuine thanks – that softness might feel as foreign to him as his gentleness does to me.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead that makes my heart skip. "If you need anything, just let the guard at the door know, and he will get it for you."

I nod, watching him turn to leave. Just as he reaches the door, I remember something we forgot at the store. "Rafael?"

"Yes, little rebel?" He spins around, and the pet name sounds different now – less possessive, more affectionate.

"I don't know if it's possible, but could you send someone to the store to get me a hot water bottle?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll send one of the guys." He nods and continues his exit.

I burrow deeper into his covers, inhaling his intoxicating scent – a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely him. I let it wash over me, using it as an anchor against the waves of pain flowing through my body. The fact that I find comfort in his scent, in his bed, should probably worry me more than it does.

***

My eyes peel open hours later from my nap, awareness returning to the gentle sensation of fingers stroking through my hair. I don't need to look to know it's Rafael – by now, my body recognizes his touch, his scent as familiar as my own.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his deep voice soft in the quiet room as his fingers continue their soothing motion.

"A little better," I reply, finally opening my eyes to meet his gaze. The afternoon light filtering through the windows casts shadows across his face, softening his usually hard features.

"Are you hungry? I'll ask one of the guys to get you something. Just tell me what." His words trigger a thought I've had before – how he always relies on 'the guys,' his complete lack of female staff in the house.

Before I can stop myself, the question I once asked Pedro slips out: "Is there a reason you don't have any female staff in the house?"

His hand freezes mid-stroke, and the sudden stillness tells me I've stumbled onto something dark. My teeth catch my bottom lip as regret floods through me. Things have been so good between us lately, and my curiosity might have just shattered that peace.

I'm about to tell him to forget I asked when his voice breaks the tension. "There is." The words fall like stones in still water, and he offers nothing more.

"Can I know why?" Under normal circumstances, I'd let it drop, but something in his expression – not closed off, just haunted – makes me press further.

"Are you sure you can handle the reason why?" His question makes my brows furrow. What could be so terrible that he'd warn me first?

"Yes," I answer, though uncertainty coils in my stomach.

"I'll tell you a story." He shifts to rest against my legs, careful not to put any pressure on them. His voice takes on a distant quality, as though he's seeing something far away. "There was a beautiful woman who couldn't find a job. When a friend told her that the most dangerous man in the city was looking for a maid he could trust—someone who wouldn't reveal what went on inside his house—she didn't hesitate to take it. It was a chance to feed her family, and she didn't care what the man did as long as she earned money." His jaw tightens. "But if only she'd asked why the pay was so high."

The room seems to grow colder as he continues. "It was so high because a maid in that mansion was the same as the mansion's slut. She was raped multiple times by different men, and even though she wanted to leave, she couldn't. She was stuck there forever." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "If I have female staff, I have to protect them from my men who sometimes are monsters. So to prevent that, I don't hire women at all."

Tears burn behind my eyes as I stare at him, seeing the pain etched in the hard lines of his face. This wasn't just a cautionary tale – the way his hands have clenched into fists, the darkness in his eyes... this woman meant something to him. The story feels personal, wrapped in old wounds that haven't fully healed.

I part my lips to speak, to ask who she was to him when a knock interrupts. "Capo, you're needed," Julio's voice calls through the door. Rafael springs to his feet like he's been burned like he's grateful for the escape. His hasty retreat only confirms my suspicions – he knew that woman, knew her well enough that telling her story still haunts him.

As I watch him stride from the room, a new question echoes in my mind: what was she to Rafael that her fate impacted him so deeply? The answer, I suspect, might explain more about him than any other story could.

RAFAEL

My hand rests on the back of Frankie's waist as we walk into La Rosa, one of the city's most exclusive restaurants. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over cream-colored walls adorned with Renaissance art, while intimate booth seating creates pockets of privacy throughout the space. The smell of fresh herbs and garlic mingles with expensive perfume and wine. It's been three days, and she isn't having cramps anymore. I still can't believe her that day – Julio briefed her on how important it was to impress the Crawfords, but I never expected her to put herself aside and try to come while in pain. I didn't think I meant shit to her, but I guess I was wrong, and that's cracking my stone heart open, creating fucking space for her whether I want it or not.

After exchanging greetings with Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, I pull out Frankie's chair. The Crawfords are among the richest people in the US, and partnering with them would elevate my business significantly. They're vacationing in Mexico – perfect timing since I need liquid cash. Diego's death has made warehouse access a nightmare, and with new enemies emerging, I need alternate funding sources. I've got to be prepared.

"Rafael told us you were sick. I hope you're feeling better," Jason Crawford says, taking his seat across from me. His black hair with gray streaks and tailored Tom Ford suit speak of old money, while the sharp intelligence in his steel-Carmel eyes reminds me why he's dominated his industry for decades.

"Much better, thanks to Rafael taking care of me so well," Frankie replies, turning to give me that heart-stopping smile of hers.

"Aww, aren't they cute?" Eleanor Crawford coos, looking at her husband with an expression I've seen Frankie give me. A crease forms between my brows – that can't be right, but I push the thought aside to focus on business. Eleanor's designer dress and perfectly styled blonde hair can't hide the genuine warmth in her bright green eyes, unusual in our circles.

"I know, dear. How long have you guys been together?" Jason asks.

"A few months," I reply smoothly. Frankie and I had kept our cover story simple – fewer lies to remember.

"And you're already so deeply in love with one another!" Eleanor exclaims, causing Frankie to choke on her water.

"Are you okay?" I ask quickly, patting her back. She nods, flashing everyone a reassuring smile.

"I wouldn't say we're in love yet," Frankie says with a soft chuckle.

"Trust me, dear, even if you aren't quite there yet, it's clear where this is heading. Just look at the way you two gaze at each other," Eleanor gushes, beaming at us both.

Frankie manages a forced smile while I just nod, continuing to trace patterns on her back. I don't even know when I started, but I can't bring myself to stop touching her soft skin through the silk of her dress. Jason and Eleanor can't see my hand from their angle, hidden by the table's careful positioning.

We order our food, and the conversation flows from business to politics to life in general. Then Eleanor practically begs Frankie to sing after learning she can. Frankie resists at first but finally gives in—and now I'm watching the most beautiful woman I've ever known hit notes that make my chest tight. She looks like a fucking angel when she sings, and I know it's that same voice that pulls me back when nightmares try to drag me under.

I never thought anything could work against those demons, but she does, and it's shit like this that makes it impossible to imagine that fucker taking her away. It wasn't in my plans, but he'll have to kill me before he gets Frankie. She isn't just my pet anymore – she's more. How or what, I don't fucking know, but Francesca Davis is mine, and nobody's taking her away from me. I snap back to reality as someone calls my name.

"Mr. Rafael Gomez," I turn to see a man dressed in a cop uniform, his badge glinting under the restaurant's soft lighting. His hands are already fidgeting with his handcuffs.

"Yes," I reply, ice in my voice as I wonder what the fuck he's doing here, interrupting my lunch with potential business partners.

"You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Caroline Heathens. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the cop says in Spanish as he approaches, reaching for me. One look from me, and he flinches, taking half a step back.

"Are you fucking mad? Do you even know who I am?" I glare at him, already imagining the moment I'll blow his brains out for his audacity.

"Yes, he does, Mr. Gomez." Another voice cuts through the tension. The cop parts like water to reveal someone who makes my brows furrow in confusion.

"What the fuck is going on Federico?" I demand, my mind racing to understand why the main cop in my pocket would be here to arrest me. Movement catches my eye - Frankie walking toward us, concern written across her face. I shake my head at her, silently willing her to stay back.

"Just doing my job, Rafael. Cuff him, Marco," Federico commands, and the fool of a cop actually rushes forward to try to restrain me.

"Fucking try to touch me again, and I'll make sure you never use your hands again in your pathetic life," I growl, each word a promise of violence. Marco cowers back to a safe distance, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Rafael, resisting isn't going to help. If I need to get ten other cops here to make it happen, I will," Federico warns.

A dark chuckle escapes my lips. "It seems you have all lost your fucking minds," I bark, my voice making everyone around me jump. Several other diners are staring now, their forks frozen halfway to their mouths.

"Is everything alright, Rafael? Why are these cops here?" Jason asks in English, speaking for the first time since this shitshow started. Thank fuck they don't understand Spanish.

"Yes, they are just here to follow up on a case and require my presence at the station immediately," I lie through gritted teeth, realizing I've backed myself into a corner with that statement. Now I have to go with these fuckers.

"Oh, is there anything we can help with?" Eleanor's concerned voice carries across the table.

"Not much," I reply, rising to my feet with controlled rage. "Just make sure my angel gets home safe." I start walking toward the exit, the cops trailing behind me like lost puppies. I catch Luca's eye across the room and signal him to stay put. His priority needs to be getting Frankie home safely.

The real question hammering in my head isn't about Caroline Heathens - it's about what made Federico turn on me. Probably the same person who killed Diego, and when I find out who, there won't be enough left of them to fill a coffee cup.