FRANKIE

My hands grip the marble counter, knuckles white as I force myself to stand upright. Every movement sends shockwaves of pain through my body, reminders of Rafael's savage punishment. The bathroom's harsh lighting exposes everything – the angry marks where his belt bit into my neck, the shadows under my eyes from a night of fitful sleep.

My reflection stares back, and I trace the tender spots on my skin. This wasn't like his other punishments. This was different – raw and primal, fueled by something darker than just anger. Something in him had snapped when I dared to suggest he cared when I challenged his control. The memory of last night makes me shudder, my body still aching from his brutality.

I shift my weight, wincing as fresh waves of discomfort wash over me. He meant to break me, to remind me of my place in his world. But even now, facing the evidence of his fury in my reflection, I can't bring myself to regret my words. He needed to hear them, even if the truth had triggered something dangerous in him.

What confuses me most is how he came to me in the middle of the night, carefully turning me over to gently apply ointment on my ass. For a man so intent on proving he doesn't care, he's surprisingly terrible at it. My thoughts scatter as the bathroom door crashes open, and my heart nearly stops. Rafael stands there; his powerful frame cloaked in crimson, the stark white of the bathroom tiles making the blood on him look even darker. In an instant, all my confusion about him vanishes, replaced by a cold, gut-wrenching fear for his safety.

"Oh my God! What happened?" I scramble toward him, my towel slipping away in my panic. The cool air hits my skin, but modesty is the least of my concerns. The metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils as I draw closer. "Are you alright?"

Rafael's green eyes study me with an unreadable expression, his jaw tense. "I thought you weren't speaking to me." His voice carries a hint of hurt, referencing my silent treatment since our argument last night.

"How bad is it?" I ask, ignoring his statement. My hands hover over his blood-stained workout clothes, afraid to touch and possibly cause pain. The thought of losing him makes my stomach twist into knots.

"It's not mine. You can quit pretending to care." He brushes past me toward the shower, his movements fluid and unhindered, confirming his words. The relief that floods through me is quickly replaced by irritation at his dismissive tone.

"Pretending?" The word comes out sharp as he strips off his blood-stained workout gear, revealing unmarked skin underneath. I wonder if he killed someone as his version of exercise.

"What else would you call what you just did right now?"

"It's called genuine concern," I snap. "I actually care about your well-being. I don't fucking understand you anymore." I grab my towel from the floor and turn toward the door, but I'm stopped by his body pressing into my back, his chest warm and sticky with blood against my skin.

"I told you never to raise your voice at me again," Rafael growls, pinning me to the door. "Or do you need another reminder of what happens if you do?" My anger reignites, his familiar threats stoking the fire that's been smoldering between us. He always deflects when things get real, using punishment to keep me in line.

"Damn you, Rafael." The words escape through gritted teeth, my hands balling into fists against the door.

He spins me around, and instead of his usual threatening glare, a knowing smirk plays on his lips, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Do know want..." His fingers work at my towel, letting it pool at our feet. "I'm not going to punish you the way that thrills you." His hands, surprisingly gentle, settle on my waist as his dark eyes lock with mine. "This time, I'm going to fuck you slow and normal."

My breath catches in my throat. In all our time together, we've never done anything resembling gentle or normal. The prospect of such intimacy with Rafael, without our usual power dynamics, feels more terrifying than any punishment he's ever threatened.

"Yes, Frankie, it's going to be your worst nightmare because I know you love the punishments." His hand trails up my body, leaving a trail of heat until he cups my face. Time seems to freeze as his eyes lock with mine, intense and searching. The sharp angles of his jaw and those mesmerizing green eyes hold me captive, making my breath catch.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I whisper the tension in the room thick enough to cut.

"Because I suddenly wonder what you taste like." His words send a shiver down my spine.

"What I taste like?" Confusion colors my voice. Rafael had tasted every inch of me before, but something about his tone feels different.

"Yeah," he breathes, his gaze fixed on my lips with an intensity that makes my heart race. Understanding dawns on me – this isn't about sex. This is something we've never done, something more intimate.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between us, I close the distance, leaning in because, God help me, I want to know what he tastes like, too.

Our lips meet a clash between the most dangerous man I've ever known and the one person who makes me feel something I never thought possible. Rafael doesn't hesitate; his hand slides into my hair, pulling me deeper as he opens his mouth to mine our tongues, dancing in a passionate battle for dominance. The taste of whiskey and cigarettes should repulse me, but instead, it's intoxicating. I want to drown in his essence until it's all I know.

My arms wind around his neck as I press closer, kissing him until my lungs burn for air. When we finally break apart, we're both panting, staring at each other with matching expressions of wonder and shock. The connection feels raw, real, and terrifying.

"Get out!" Rafael's voice cracks like a whip as he drops his hands and steps back, leaving me cold. Blood has transferred from his chest to mine, marking me like a twisted painting.

Before I can ask what's wrong, before I can process the profound connection I felt in that kiss, he shoves me through the door. I land hard on my backside, stunned and humiliated. Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing my own stupidity for thinking this could be different. For thinking he could be different.

I pull myself up from the floor with as much dignity as I can muster, wrapping the nearest sheet around my blood-stained body. As I stumble out in search of another bathroom, I try to convince myself I can wash away not just the blood but the memory of his lips on mine and the crushing weight of rejection.

***

The intricate patterns on my bedroom ceiling blur as I lie there, lost in thoughts about where my life is headed. The fight with Rafael earlier felt different from all the others. I can't believe we actually fought like that—given our situation, no less. And then that kiss... the best kiss I've ever had in my life, and of course, he had to ruin it.

I sigh heavily and roll off the silk sheets, heading for the door. Maybe mindless television can drown out the chaos in my head.

As I reach for the handle, I find Caroline poised to knock, her delicate features drawn with worry. We'd only returned to Mexico last night, Rafael practically racing us out of Sicily like demons were on his heels.

"Hello dear," I offer her a gentle smile, trying to mask my own turmoil.

"Hi, Frankie." She withdraws her hand, tucking it nervously against her flowered sundress.

"What can I do for you?" I step aside, welcoming her into my room. The television can wait.

"So I wanted to ask something." She fidgets with the back of her neck, her anxiety palpable in the air.

"Sure, go ahead." I perch on the edge of my bed, patting the space beside me. Instead of joining me, she drops to her knees, the sudden movement making my heart lurch.

"Please don't let him send me back. Please don't." Her voice cracks with desperation.

"Caroline, what's going on?" I quickly pull her up, guiding her to sit beside me on the plush duvet. Tears glisten on her cheeks, catching the afternoon light.

"You and Mr. Rafael are fighting. I know it's only a matter of time before he decides to send me back." Her hands tremble in her lap.

"Oh dear." The weight of her words hits me. The tension between Rafael and me at breakfast must have been more obvious than I thought.

"Don't worry, that will never happen. And besides," I add carefully, "if you could remember where you're from in the States, I could help you get back home." The mystery of her selective amnesia nags at me - everything else intact except her origins.

"Thank you so much. Thank you." Her gratitude feels genuine, but she skillfully dodges my comment about her past. I let it slide, sensing now isn't the time.

A knock interrupts us, and I call out permission. Miguel appears in the doorway, a designer shopping bag dangling from his fingers, his face lighting up at the sight of us.

"Today must be my lucky day because why else would the loves of my life be chilling together?" His playful words fill the room as he saunters in, his easy charm bringing a much-needed lightness to the heavy atmosphere.

I shake my head at his dramatics while Caroline's cheeks flush red – as they always do when he declares his love for her. Instead of explaining why he's here, Miguel just stands there staring at Caroline. I have to snap my fingers to get his attention back. "Is that for me?" I point to the bag.

"Yeah, Uncle Rafa asked me to give you this. Says be ready in an hour." He hands it over.

"Why?" I peek inside to find a beautiful gown.

"Don't know."

"Tell him I'm sick and can't go anywhere." I shove the bag back at him.

"You're sick?" Worry floods his face.

"No, but you're going to tell your uncle Rafa exactly that - I'm sick and can't go out." He thinks he can hurt my feelings and everything would be fine. Fuck you, Rafael. This is my chance to get back you, even if it's a little, and I won't hesitate.

"Are you sure you want me to tell him that?" Miguel asks like he's watching me sign my death warrant. But I know Rafael – the worst he'll do is punish me with orgasms. And I'll fucking love it.

"Yes," *cough cough* "I'm sick." I rub my temples for dramatic effect.

"Okayyy." He heads for the door.

I catch Caroline watching him leave, her eyes following his every move. "Go with him – we're done talking," I encourage, but she shakes her head. "Trust me, he doesn't bite." I try pushing her to her feet, but she won't budge.

"He might hurt me. They always do." Her words crack my heart in two.

I stand and wrap my arms around her. She stiffens before slowly melting into the embrace. "Not all of them are monsters," I tell her, thinking of the man I expected to be my nightmare who became my daydream instead. "Some are angels wearing devil's skin."

I feel her studying my face and give her an encouraging smile. "You can take things as slow as you need."

"Thank you, Frankie. I don't know what I did to deserve meeting someone like you."

"Nothing, dear." I give her a quick peck and walk her to the door. I'm turning back toward my bed when the door suddenly bursts open with enough force to rattle the crystal vase on my dresser.

"You're sick!" The thunderous roar behind me makes me freeze mid-step, Rafael's voice filling my bedroom with his commanding presence. The air itself seems to change when he's angry, becoming charged with tension.

"Hi Rafa," I fake a cough and turn around. Only then do I take in the full sight of him - his tall frame blocking the doorway, designer suit perfectly pressed despite the late hour, radiating the kind of authority that makes CEOs nervous.

His eyebrow arches in disbelief. "What the fuck did you just call me?" The sunlight streaming through my floor-to-ceiling windows catches the amber flecks in his green eyes, making them gleam with warning.

"Rafa," I reply, taking my seat on the edge of the bed. The nickname rolls off my tongue like sweet poison.

"Ha, it seems you're getting bolder by the day," he says, a sly smirk taking up his face. The expression transforms his features from merely handsome to devastating, and I feel my heart skip despite myself.

"Me? Never," I fake innocence, batting my eyelashes at him while my heart races with the thrill of defiance.

His jaw tightens, patience clearly wearing thin. "I don't fucking have time for this. Get dressed."

"I'm sick. I can barely move my hands," I say, faking weakness, letting my wrists go limp for dramatic effect. In my head, I silently vow: By the time I am done frustrating your life, you will learn to stop hurting my damn feelings, Rafael.

Rafael closes his eyes, rubbing his palm across his face, his platinum watch catching the light. "If you don't get fucking dressed in the next minute, you gonna really fucking hate me," he threatens, his eyes showing no hint of him not meaning his words, but I just don't want to back down like that. The tension crackles between us like electricity.

"Okay, but at least help me get dressed," I say, channeling innocence I definitely don't possess.

"Sure, what the fuck do you need?" he says, surprising me. The words stick in my throat - I was joking, I want to blurt, then realize why the hell would I say that. He wants to help me get dressed. The almighty Rafael feared cartel don, is going to help me dress like I'm some kind of princess.

"First, let's get me out of these," I say, lifting my hands up so he can take off my t-shirt. The soft cotton clings to my skin as he moves towards me, his cologne - expensive and woodsy - filling my senses. The second his warm callous hands touch my waist, I realize I have fucked up spectacularly.

Rafael, the devil he is, slowly pulls the shirt up my body, burning my skin with his rough touch in the process. I look at him and notice an evil glint in his eyes, that familiar predatory gleam that makes my stomach flip. I can't believe I lost even at trying to frustrate the damn man.

He does the same tortuous move as he takes off my jeans, his hands leaving their imprint on my skin like brands. I roll my eyes inwardly at his behavior, even as goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.

I rise to my feet, the cool air raising goosebumps on my exposed skin. I meet his eyes and see they are filled with lust, and my smile comes back. Even if he wanted to fuck me right now, he couldn't - I was on my period. I think I still won this round, even if my racing heart suggests otherwise.

Rafael helps me put on the beautiful midnight blue silk dress he picked out for tonight, the material whispering against my skin with every movement. While I do my makeup at my vanity, he sits on my bed, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. The sexual tension in the room is so high it could suffocate someone, the air thick with unspoken challenges and desires.

We leave right after I'm done, the hallway lights casting long shadows as we walk to his waiting car. On the way over to the dinner party, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, I find out it's a party hosted by one of Rafael's business associates, and he's hoping to catch Mr. Xiao Zhan there, which explains why I am coming along.