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If there's someone in this world that I should be scared of, it's him. Yet there's also an oddly contradictory side to him—one he always denies having but that shines through nonetheless at the strangest times.
"You've taken quite the detour," Cisco speaks first.
Raf's smiling features harden, his countenance changing immediately.
"I wanted some alone time with my wife," Raf replies, stating it matter-of-factly.
Despite their partnership, they don't see eye to eye—there's no way they wouldeversee eye to eye.
Raf is a completely different person than my brother or Michele. He's not the type to wage senseless wars, or play with human life. His values and integrity would never allow him to do so. And as much as it pains me to admit because I know what Michele's done to him, I don't think he's capable of killing him.
Not my Raf.
But that's exactly what I love about him. That soft core of his and the way he sees the world that, at times, is antonymous to howIsee it.
He brings the best in me.
But he brings the worst too.
I shut down that line of thinking, grounding myself in the present.
"I need to talk to Noelle," Cisco mentions, already heading towards his office.
I sneak a glance at Raf and he sighs in annoyance. Bending to kiss the top of my head, he whispers in a soft voice in my ear.
"It's up to you if you want to talk to him. I won't ever prohibit you that, nor will I push you to do it if you don't want to. I've already made some arrangements to move so we can have our own place, away from everything. Just say the word and we'll leave right this moment."
Warmth spreads through my being at his thoughtfulness and the fact that he values my opinion so much.
Isn't that what made me fall for him in the first place?
"I'll talk to him. Don't worry about it," I raise myself on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
He nods.
"I'll be upstairs packing," he tells me as I head to Cisco's office. All the while, Raf doesn't move from the landing of the stairs, watching me until I open the door and step inside.
Already my spirits are high, my husband's mere presence charging me with some ineffable type of energy—one that makes me feel like I can take on the worldandwin.
Not even the sight of my brother with his back to me, looking out the window of his study while cigarette smoke envelops me can tamper with that.
"You wanted to see me?"
I step deeper into the room, taking a seat and waiting to hear what he has to say.
He swivels, narrowing his eyes at me.
"You don't look that much worse for the wear," he mentions dryly.
Rolling my eyes at him, I simply ignore the jibe.
"Get to the point."
Coming closer, he doesn't take his eyes off me as he takes the seat opposite me.
"He hurt you?" This time, the question is serious, his tonealmostbetraying a hint of emotion.
I shrug.
