Rafael lingered.
Close enough that my awareness of him refused to settle.
“I’ve received repeated reports of your visits.”
His voice came from slightly to my right now—closer than before, but not directly in front of me. He had moved, but not far.
“Yes,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “You asked me to report the morning after... the incident. I came as instructed.”
“Well, I had to return to Italy,” he said lightly, with the careless ease of a man discussing nothing of consequence.
Yet the mere mention of my home country made my stomach tighten. “There were certain matters requiring my attention... and, naturally, I wished to confirm what I already suspected about you.”
The words landed with brutal precision.
A cold wave crashed through me, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs for half a second.
My fingers tightened around my cane, the wood pressing sharply into my palms, grounding me in the present.
In this room.
Withhim.
“Surely,” he said at last, his voice smooth with old-world restraint, “you are aware of the centuries-old hostility between my family—the Spanish line—and yours, the Italians.”
My sightless eyes widened before I could conceal the reaction.
A faint pause followed, measured and deliberate.
“Considering you have managed to secure a position within my company,” he continued calmly, “even if only as an intern, it was necessary that I keep you under careful observation.” His tone never sharpened, yet every word carried quiet authority. “Had your father still been alive, I might have assumed you were sent by him. Failing that... perhaps your brother.”
My throat tightened.
“I am well aware of how eager the Italian families are to see me buried.” A soft exhale left him, almost amused. “And a blind woman, I imagine, would attract very little suspicion.”
The accusation was so absurd I nearly laughed.
“Mr. Rafael, I—”
“You will be leaving your current department,” he interrupted smoothly.
“Effective immediately,” he said, with the casual indifference of a man rearranging a dinner reservation rather than a human life, “you will serve as my personal assistant.”
For a moment—
I forgot how to breathe.
The words didn’t make sense.
Personal assistant?
To him?
“With all due respect, the only department in which I can perform my duties efficiently is Accessibility Services. It is the one environment specifically adapted to the way I work.
I tightened my hold on my cane slightly—not from fear, but to anchor myself against the weight of the conversation.
“And no,” I said more firmly, “I do not appreciate being spoken to as though I am some planted informant.” My chin lifted a fraction. “I serve no family interests, no syndicate, no mafia. You are free to doubt my word if you wish, but it remains the truth.”
