"I know I didn't answer your question fully," I say, my voice still a bit shaky, "but it doesn't mean you still couldn't tell me about yourself."

Rafael doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. I watch the rich red liquid swirl in his glass, waiting with bated breath for him to finish. When he finally speaks, his words catch me off guard.

"I don't know what to say," he reveals, his usual confidence wavering for a moment.

My eyes widen in shock before I can stop myself. I quickly school my features, but not before I catch a flicker of something - vulnerability? - in Rafael's eyes.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. He's a cartel leader, a man whose reputation precedes him. He's probably never had to tell someone about himself because everyone already knows - or thinks they know - who he is. There's something profoundly sad about that, and I feel an unexpected pang of empathy.

"Why don't I go first?" I offer, my voice softening. Rafael gives me a small nod, his green eyes unreadable.

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "I was a kindergarten teacher back in Chicago before I quit and ran away to the Bahamas with Melina, but you probably already know that." I pause, watching for any reaction. "I love classical music and old movies. If I hadn't become a teacher, I would have tried to be a singer."

As I speak, I can't help but notice how mundane my life sounds compared to his. Yet there's a part of me that aches for that simplicity again.

Rafael's response is brusque, cutting through my reminiscing. "I already know all that shit about you, Francesca," he says, giving me a pointed look before taking a bite of his food. "You want me to repeat stuff you already know about me?"

I mirror his action, taking a bite of my own meal to buy myself a moment. The flavors barely register as I formulate my response.

"I only know your name and that you wish to kill Thomas," I say carefully, meeting his gaze. "I don't even know why you want to kill him."

Something flashes in Rafael's eyes - surprise, maybe? "Really?" he asks, his tone skeptical.

I nod, holding his gaze. "Yes,"

"Thomas caused the death of someone close to my heart," Rafael says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Despite his attempt to maintain his stoic facade, I catch a flicker of raw pain in his dark eyes. It's gone in an instant, but it's enough to make my own heart clench.

For a moment, an irrational thought flits through my mind: How much does this woman still mean to him? The idea that he might still harbor deep feelings for someone else ignites an unexpected spark of jealousy in my chest. I'm caught off guard by my own reaction, confused by the intensity of my emotions.

"Who was she?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, bracing myself for the answer.

"My sister."

The two words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes widen in shock, and I suddenly feel foolish for my earlier assumptions. "You had a sister?" The question tumbles out before I can stop it, laced with surprise and a hint of shame for my previous thoughts.

Rafael simply nods, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. The small gesture speaks volumes about the pain he's trying to conceal.

"How did she die?" I press gently, treading carefully on this emotional minefield.

"She killed herself." His voice is flat, devoid of emotion, but the words hang heavy in the air between us.

I feel the gasp rising in my throat and forcefully swallow it down. Something instinctive, a gut feeling born from my recent experiences with Rafael, tells me that showing too much emotion might cause him to stop talking altogether. So I school my features, biting back the apology that threatens to spill from my lips.

"How about your mom?"

Rafael's eyes flash with something... regret? I blink, unsure if I'm seeing correctly. The emotion, if it was there at all, vanishes so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

"A bullet to the heart," he says, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade.

This time, I can't hold back my gasp. It escapes my lips, a small, broken sound that seems to echo in the space between us. "Rafael," I breathe, his name a prayer on my lips as tears well up in my eyes.

The full weight of his loss crashes over me like a tidal wave. He's lost his entire family. I had guessed as much, but I never imagined the brutality of it all. The thought of asking about his father suddenly feels like treading into a minefield.

But Rafael, ever perceptive, reads the question in my eyes before I can voice it. "And before you ask about my dad," Rafael says, his voice eerily calm, "I took care of him with my own fists. I had too much hatred to use a weapon and make it quick."

He delivers this devastating revelation while casually taking another bite of his food as if he hadn't just shattered my world with the most heart-wrenching story imaginable.

A strangled gasp escapes me, louder this time. My hand flies to my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it's too late. Tears spill freely down my cheeks now, my heart constricting painfully in my chest. The sorrow I feel for Rafael is so intense it's almost physical, a crushing weight on my ribcage.

I stare at him, this enigma of a man, trying to reconcile the cold-blooded killer I know him to be with the traumatized boy he must have been. His entire family gone in the most tragic ways possible. And yet, as he recounts these horrors, his face remains an impassive mask. No pain, no hurt, not even a flicker of emotion in those green eyes. A chill runs down my spine as I wonder if he's ever truly processed any of it.

Here's a revised version with more emotional depth and vivid descriptions:

A million questions race through my mind, each one more urgent than the last. Why did his sister take her own life? How was Thomas involved in her death? Who shot his mother, and why? Was it a rival gang? And his father... what could have sparked such intense hatred that Rafael would beat him to death with his bare hands?

But I can't bring myself to ask any of them. The weight of what he's already shared is overwhelming, leaving me breathless. My heart aches for the man before me, for the boy he once was who endured so much loss and pain.

Before I realize what I'm doing, my body moves of its own accord. I push my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and walk to Rafael. Without hesitation, I lower myself onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close. I can feel the eyes of other diners on us, but I don't care. Let them stare. All that matters is letting Rafael know that I feel his pain, even if he can't – or won't – acknowledge it himself.

Rafael stiffens against me, his hands frozen at his sides. The tension in his body is palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Slowly, I pull back, meeting his confused gaze. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. His expression remains bewildered, so I hug him again, tighter this time. He needs this, even if he doesn't know it.

"Little rebel," Rafael says, his hand moving to stroke my hair. The gentleness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the tension I still feel in his body.

"Hmm?" I murmur into his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" His voice is soft as he gently pulls me back, positioning my face in front of his. His dark eyes search mine, filled with a mixture of confusion and something else I can't quite place.

Tears well up in my eyes again as I speak. "I know you've cut off your emotions, that their deaths don't bring you the pain they should. But I want to hug and comfort that inner child within you, the one you don't know exists. I want to let them know it's okay. I'm here for them."

"Is that so?" he asks, his tone more intrigued than angry, which catches me off guard.

I nod, my heart pounding. "Yes."

"You never cease to amaze me, little rebel," he says, running his fingers through my hair once more before suddenly gripping it tight, bordering on painful. "I could have your fucking head for this bold act of yours, but you still did it."

I swallow hard, realizing the rage I'd been expecting has finally arrived. "Yes, I did," I admit, leaving unsaid my desperate desire to remind him of his humanity.

"Don't fucking do it again," he growls, pushing me off his lap and releasing my hair. I nod silently and return to my seat, my legs shaky beneath me.

We finish our meal in tense silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between us. As we leave, I realize Mr. Zhan never showed up, though I'm too emotionally drained to dwell on it.

In the car, I rest my head against the cool window, closing my eyes in an attempt to quiet my racing thoughts. The emotional whirlwind of the lunch has left me exhausted and more confused than ever about the complex man beside me. As the car glides through the city streets, I can't help but wonder what consequences my bold act might bring and whether I've made any progress in cracking Rafael's hardened exterior.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​