Silence crashes over the room. My eyes widen slightly.
Holy shit.
Rafaelle stares at the knife for one long beat before looking back at me. And suddenly he’s moving.
A startled breath leaves me as he crosses the room fast enough to make my heart leap into my throat before slamming me against the wall. A whoosh of air escapes me, although he didn’t do it hard enough to bruise. Heat engulfs me instantly as he cages me in with one arm beside my head while the other grips my waist to keep me pinned in place.
“This is getting old,” I mumble, referring to his habit of pushing me against walls.
His breathing is rougher now, dark eyes blazing with something wild and deeply inappropriate considering the situation. He’s so much bigger than me. He could break me with barely any effort. It should terrify me, but excitement licks at my spine with the realization.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I breathe, needing to say something, anything.
“You just threw a knife at me.”
“You told me to!” I exclaim defensively.
“If this is your version of foreplay, little siren. I can assure you it’s working,” his gaze drags slowly over my face, dropping lower, “All of this is doing nothing but turning me on.”
My eyes widen and I feel the evidence of his statement against my stomach, hard and prodding. A violent shiver racks through me. I expel a shaky breath when he reaches upward, his thumb gliding across my cheekbones. Desire, hot and heavy travels through me.
I’m still so fucking attracted to him. It’s embarrassing.
“You’re deluded, Rafaelle,” I whisper, the sound vibrating in the space between us.
The visceral need to close the distance between us steals the air from me but I stay put, trying to ignore his intoxicating heat. Trying to pretend it doesn’t affect me.
“What am I going to do with you, Liliana?” he asks, his forehead nearly brushes mine.
“Let me go,” I say softly.
“That’s the one thing I can’t do. At least not yet.”
He steps backwards with that admission, giving me some breathing room. I inhale some air that isn’t tainted with him as I reassess my position. A part of me can admit that there’s insane chemistry and attraction between me and Rafaelle. I felt it 18 months ago when we first met and I feel it now.
But the truth is, we’re doomed no matter what path we take. Even if I could find it in me to look past the monstrous façade, he’ll never forgive me if he finds out my secret. He may not want to hurt me now but I have a feeling that will change once he finds out the truth. Then there’s the rivalry he mentioned between him and my supposed father.
From what I can glean, once this Ignacio Navarro finds out about me, he’ll want to do whatever it takes to keep me from the Vitales.
He’ll do anything to keep me from Rafaelle.
Ultimately, I’ll have to choose. I wish I didn’t have to at all though. Because I know I’ll choose the better option for my daughter. And I really don’t think Rafaelle would be that option.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RAFAELLE
Istep back from Liliana dragging a hand through my hair as I try to collect whatever the fuck is left of my sanity around her. I’m used to my emotions being hard to control or predict. My brothers would tell you I have anger issues. But the feelings that lash through my chest anytime I’m around Liliana are deeply concerning.
I turn toward the door instead, attention catching on the knife still embedded in the wood. The blade gleams beneath the low lighting of the room. I grip the handle and yank it free smoothly, marveling at the tiny hole left behind.
It was a beautiful throw. Not accurate enough to kill me. But certainly close enough to make things interesting. I glance around the room absently while turning the knife over in my hand. This is my happy place. The general popular would find a hobby of collecting knives disturbing. I find it comfortable. It helps me feel at ease.
Especially this knife.
There’s nothing ordinary about it. Most people wouldn’t notice the details immediately. The handle is matte black, obsidian wrapped in dark leather worn smooth over years of use. It’s been molded subtly to fit the shape of my grip perfectly. Silver filigree curls faintly along the base of the guard, nearlyinvisible unless the light catches it the right way. The blade is narrow and straight, polished enough to reflect the light like liquid smoke.
It's a beautiful knife. Deadly too and balanced perfectly. It used to belong to a man who once thought he could kill me. I was seventeen when I drove his own blade into his throat.
