I stare at Rafael as he tends to the cut on my lip with a gentleness I never imagined he possessed. Since leaving Carla's house, he hasn't left my side for a moment - carrying me to the car, then into the house once we arrived. The way he barked orders at Pedro to call the doctor minutes ago caught me off guard; you'd think I was dying from the urgency in his voice. I'd be lying if I said it didn't stir something deep inside me. This human side of him, the one I somehow manage to draw out without even trying, fascinates me.

"How did you know to come?" I ask as he picks up a warm towel to wipe my cheeks. Earlier, I'd insisted the doctor treat Carla first - something Rafael strongly opposed until I refused to let anyone touch me unless they helped her first. That forced his hand, though his displeasure was evident. Now, he's taken it upon himself to tend my wounds while waiting for the doctor to properly examine me.

"Julio," he responds with that single word, gesturing for me to lift my shirt so he can check what I'm sure is a nasty bruise forming on my stomach.

"Carla's house is about fifteen minutes away from here. How fast did you drive?" I ask, suddenly realizing he must have shattered every speed limit to arrive when he did.

"As fast as I needed to be," he growls. I glance down at my stomach, and a pained hiss escapes my lips as he presses the warm towel against the bruising. "The fucker is lucky he's dead," he snarls, his gentle ministrations a stark contrast to the fury in his voice.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as he moves to clean the bullet graze on my arm.

Rafael pauses, his eyes locking with mine. "For what?" he asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

"For getting him killed. I know he's the main reason you wanted me to get close to Carla, and now he's dead." Even without knowing all the details, that much was easy to piece together.

"It's not your fault," he says, returning his attention to the wound on my arm. "We don't even know why the house was shot at, though I have an idea. Still, there's nothing to apologize for." I hiss as he cleans the graze - he probably should wait for the doctor, but I wouldn't dare suggest it.

"What's the idea you have?" I ask, curious to understand more of the chaos surrounding us.

"The person he's working for saw an opportunity and didn't care about the lives it might cost, including Diego's."

"What opportunity?"

"An opportunity to take you and Julio's lives," he says quietly, and I freeze. The hidden implications in his words hit me like a physical blow.

"But..." I stammer, my mind reeling from the implication that someone would think I hold significance in Rafael's life.

"They don't know that," he says, his voice measured. "They probably think you mean something since I haven't fucked another pussy since you came along."

"Do I?" The question slips past my lips before I can stop it, my traitorous heart speaking without permission. I don't even know why it wants to know if I do or not.

Rafael's hands pause in their gentle ministrations, his eyes slowly lifting to meet mine. "You mean as much as you should, Francesca," he says carefully, each word deliberate. "Nothing less, nothing more."

"And what does that mean?" I press, forgetting that asking for more from Rafael could be a death wish. But at this moment, I don't care. I need to know because somewhere along the way, something fundamental has shifted - I no longer want Thomas to kill him. The realization hits me like a physical blow.

Rafael surprises me by rising to his feet, his sudden movement making my heart stutter. "I'm going to get the doctor to finish," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead before walking away. I sit there stunned, watching his retreating back. Did he really just avoid my question? The gesture itself - that gentle kiss - sends my thoughts spinning. Does his deflection mean I actually mean something?

I sigh heavily, running my hands through my hair in frustration. Do I even want to mean something to him? "Fuck!" I pull at my hair harder as if the physical pain might clear my confused thoughts. I don't know. I don't fucking know - or do I? Maybe I do know, and that's what terrifies me most. The possibility that I've developed real feelings for a man I'm supposed to hate. How did everything become so complicated?

***

I stare at Carla lying motionless in the hospital bed, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound in the sterile room. That rhythmic tone is the sole reassurance that my new friend is still alive, and watching her like this brings back memories that make my chest ache. I can't help but think of what Mel went through when I was in a coma. If my heart is breaking for Carla, someone I barely know, how much worse must it have been for my sister? The thought of Mel's pain, her hours of uncertainty, makes my throat tight.

I wish I could tell her I'm okay now, but that's impossible. With Carla here and Diego dead, Rafael sees no reason for me to have a phone anymore and has taken it back. A wave of regret washes over me - I should have sent Mel even a brief message letting her know I was fine when I had the chance. But it's too late now, and that knowledge sits heavy in my stomach.

Rising from the chair beside her bed, I head for the door. I've been here longer than I planned, and I should get back before Rafael decides to lock me away at home entirely. It took endless assurances and pleading just to convince him to let me visit Carla today. His constant worry about my health and safety would almost make me believe he genuinely cares, that I really do mean something to him like his enemies seem to think. Almost.

Speaking of enemies, Rafael has been working himself to exhaustion trying to identify who's targeting him now that it's clear it isn't Thomas. I can feel the strain in him every time we're together, especially when we fuck. His touches are rougher, more desperate - and while I don't mind the intensity, there's something else stirring inside me. Sometimes, I catch myself wanting to ease the tension I see knotted in his muscles and press soft kisses to the worried crease between his brows. The urge to comfort him, to offer tenderness where there should only be calculation, terrifies me. Maybe I am going crazy, letting these feelings develop when I know better. Or perhaps I'm already there, because these thoughts are becoming harder to ignore with each passing day.

I step out of the car as Luca pulls into the driveway. The ride back was quiet as usual, giving me much-needed time to sort through my tangled thoughts before facing the man who occupies most of them.

The sound of voices draws me toward the living room. I'm hungry; Pedro should be in the kitchen preparing dinner by now. It's strange how familiar I've become with the routines of this house and how easily I've slipped into this life.

As I approach, I spot Caroline by the doorway, peering inside. A smile tugs at my lips when I realize she's trying to watch whatever movie they have playing on the TV.

"You know they won't mind if you join them, right?" I say softly, breaking the silence. She jumps, spinning around to face me, the color draining from her face. Looking at her startled expression, I wonder if I should have announced my presence more carefully.

"Hi, Frankie," she manages, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"How are you doing, dear?" I keep my voice gentle, maintaining a reassuring smile to convey that she's safe here, as unlikely as that might seem.

"I'm good. You?" Her hands drop to her sides, fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt. Despite being with us for several days, she still hasn't fully settled in.

"I'm good, dear. How was your day?" I place my hands gently on her shoulders, trying to guide her into the living room, but she shakes her head. Taking the hint, I change course toward my room instead.

"Good. I wanted to speak to you about something."

"Is everything okay?" I pause, turning to face her fully.

"Everything is fine. I just wanted to thank you. You don't know me, but you helped me, and I really appreciate it. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness, but I'm truly grateful."

A soft smile crosses my face. "You're welcome, dear." I start moving toward my room again, but she stops me.

She touches her nose nervously, clearly struggling with something more. I wait patiently.

"There's something important I need to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"What I'm about to say might make you hate me or change your mind about me, but I need you to understand I didn't have a choice." Her voice cracks, tears welling in her eyes. My brows furrow in concern. What could possibly be this serious?

"You didn't have a choice in what?"

"I was se.."

"Frankie!" A voice cuts through Caroline's words. I turn to see Julio approaching.

"Go get ready. You leave in thirty minutes," he says abruptly—a crease forms between my brows.

"Where am I going?"

"To Sicily," he replies, and my eyes widen in shock. Did I hear that right? Why am I going back to Sicily? Is something wrong?

"You probably have a lot of questions, but unfortunately, I can't answer them. Just go pack your things. Rafael won't hesitate to take you to the airport without them if you aren't ready in thirty minutes." Julio turns to leave, but I grab his arm, halting him.

"What's going on?" I ask, dread creeping into my bones. Caroline's unfinished confession fades from my mind as my own worries take over.

Julio opens his mouth to speak, but another voice cuts through the air - one that makes my skin crawl.

"Don't be so worried to return to Sicily, sister-in-law." That disgusting voice fills the hallway. I turn from Julio to face him, and all my worry transforms instantly into white-hot rage. If looks could kill, he'd be dead from the daggers shooting from my eyes. I hate him. God, I hate him so much I wonder if I despise him or my father more.

"That's no way to greet your brother-in-law. We're family—you should be happy to see me," he says, spreading his arms wide as if expecting a hug. Instead, I lift mine and land a stinging slap across his face.

"That's little compared to the coma you fucking put me in," I spit out, my body vibrating with fury.

He cracks his jaw, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. He might not be physically ugly, but his soul is rotten to the core, making him the most repulsive person I've ever known.

I barely have time to blink before James lunges forward to strike me, but Julio intercepts, stopping his hand mid-swing. The tension in the hallway crackles like electricity.

"Forget what he might have said a few minutes ago. He will rip your hand off your body if it gets another inch closer to her, so I advise you to get the fuck out," Julio says firmly. Though he doesn't name Rafael directly, it's obvious who he means, and my traitorous heart swells at the implication. Even with James being his partner, Rafael would destroy him for laying a hand on me.

James's jaw clenches, but he heeds Julio's warning and lowers his hand. Turning to face me, he plasters a fake smile across his despicable face. "See you in Sicily, Frankie." He walks away, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to rip off my heel and hurl it at his head. I've never felt hatred this intense for anyone before.

Julio's voice pulls me from my violent fantasies. "You have twenty-five minutes left, Frankie. Go get ready."

I nod, then turn to Caroline, who's been witnessing this whole exchange. "Why don't we continue our conversation when I get back?"

She nods silently, and I pull her into a hug, which she accepts. "Alright, see you when I get back, dear."

We separate, and I rush to my room to pack, my mind racing with questions. Why is that fucker James here? Why are we going to Sicily? Even as we climb into the car heading to the airport, I'm still completely in the dark. The only thing I know for certain is that whatever awaits us in Sicily, it can't be good if James is involved.