RafaelI step out onto the narrow terrace of the strip club, one hand curled around the burner phone, the other around my Zippo. I only smoke when I’m stressed, and I haven’t been this stressed in months.I light the cigarette and lean on the railing, looking out over the city stretches into the horizon - glass towers and concrete for miles around. It smells of despair and broken dreams while everyone who lives here pretends to be something they’re not. Just like me.I dial the number manually. No names saved. No records.It rings once. Twice. Then, “Whose this?” Salvatore answers. No hello. No pleasantries. Just those two simple words - like a curse or a challenge.“Andoletti.”“Ah.” He doesn’t sound surprised. Salvatore’s accent is thick, but his English is perfect. “Yes. I have been waiting for your call.”“You have a problem,” I say.Silence. He knows already, he’s just waiting for me to confirm it.“Enzo,” I go on. “He gave the signal to Sforza and Romano. They hit my house. At
RafaelOn my way home, I swing by the hospital to check in on Paulie and to give him a basket of mini muffins. It’s one of his guilty pleasures and a bizarre quirk I could never figure out. All I know is that he loves those things.There's no need for business now, although he probably knows everything already. "How's Vinnie?" he asks and tears into the basket of muffins."Fine. They discharged him this afternoon."I still for a while longer, eager to leave but aware enough to know that if I don't, Paulie will take offence. As soon as Cara shows up, I get up and say my goodbyes.Then I stop at a grocery store to stock up on some supplies for the penthouse. I buy a ridiculous amount of snacks, juices, flavoured milks, cereal, colouring books, and other things I think Betsy will like. I stroll down the other isles, loading my cart with more food than we’ll need. I stop in front of the condom rack, staring at the colourful boxes and variety of prophylactics on display. For a moment, I
RafaelI take the stairs slowly, one hand brushing the glass rail. Each step feels like I’m climbing toward the inevitable - toward the part where she looks me in the eye and tells me she can’t do this.I wouldn’t blame her. Not anymore. I wanted to lock her up in a cage. Like I locked the image of Sister Francis in my heart. I wanted to use her for my own selfish reasons. And for a while there, I thought I could do it without corrupting her.I wanted to use Madeleine like I used that fantasy of who she was. A port in my stormy seas. A place where I could pretend that I’m something I’m not. Something I so desperately wanted to be.It will never happen. None of it. I am who I am. She is who she is. Kind, sweet, and gentle. And I’m stripping that away from her, one piece at a time until there'll be nothing but a shell left.The hallway is silent. No cartoons. No giggles. Just the low hum of the city filtering through the double-glazed windows. This is my life. Me. Alone. Drifting thro
MadeleineHe holds me like I’m a piece of broken porcelain he has to glue back together. Like I’ll come apart if he lets me go.But I’ve already come undone. In that laundry room this morning while I watched the horrors of last night flash before my eyes. Last night - sometime between that moment when Rafael gave me the gun, and when I dropped it in the lake with the rest of the weapons, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the deadliest, most violent people on the planet.And yet... I think it happened even sooner than that. Perhaps it began when my father handed me a deck of cards for the first time and showed me how to shuffle it.I came to Rafael broken. He met me after I was already in pieces, held together with invisible tape and glue until somebody dropped me.And it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Rafael. Not him.It was them. When they died. My parents. They let go as they always did, and I shattered to pieces.Again.And everytime that happened, it became harder and harder to p
MadeleineRafael crushes out his cigarette and sips his drink. He brought up a glass of wine for me, but I hardly touched it. After what happened at the casino, I have a deep distrust for any kind of wine.“What time is it?” I ask.He glances at his watch. “Wow. Almost nine.”I jump up. “I missed Betsy’s bedtime. I promised her that I’d tuck her in.”“No,” he says and puts his glass down. “Your face is swollen. She’ll notice that you cried. I’ll do it. Why don’t you go take a nice, long bath and relax?”I shake my head. “I don’t… no, I don’t want to be alone.”He just nods. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”“Promise?”He leans over and kisses me. He tastes and smells like cigarettes and whiskey. I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs. “I also promise to brush my teeth.”While he is gone, I go to the bathroom. He’s right, my face is very swollen, my eyes red. I am exhausted. Mentally, I’m just done.I wash my face, brush my hair and teeth, and go back to the bedroom just as Rafael returns. Without a wo
RafaelI am drunk on pure Madeleine. Her scent. Her taste. The way she so easily opens up to me. Trusting me not to hurt her. Trusting that she can be herself with me.It’s intoxicating. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life.Moaning softly, I dip my tongue inside her, drowning in her.I’m so hard, so in need of her, that I’m afraid I’ll burst wide open. Like a fucking geyser.I didn’t lie when I told her that I haven’t had sex in a while. It’s been years.I want to rush. Every part of me wants to be inside her.But Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if life isn’t pretty fucking magnificent right where I am at the moment. Between her legs, drinking her in like a dying man who found an oasis in the desert.Slowly, I start to open her, working a finger inside her. Even that is glorious. She is glorious.It happens fast and suddenly. The orgasm that takes her is intense. She breaks open for me like a blooming flower meeting the sun.That is what I wanted. Feeling her throb around my finger.
MadeleineI wake up glowing. Like a firefly that didn’t know its light was missing and finally found it again. It's exhilirating. I finally did it. I managed to move on from Sister Francis.I ache in all the right places, and I feel alive in ways I didn’t know was possible. And rested. As if I slept for a week.I stretch and look at the place where Rafael should be, but his spot is empty. The balcony doors are wide open though, and I can smell the scent of smoke drifting in from outside.I’m embarrassed to face him. I don’t know why. It’s stupid. I’m a grown woman, but he always saw me as something… untouchable. What if he doesn't see me the same way he used to? What if he looks at me the same way he looked at the hookers in the casino?All the men in that place regarded me that way, and it didn’t bother me. They didn't matter, and I knew who I truly was. Still am. But if Rafael looks at me like that, I don’t think I’ll make it. I laid myself bare to him last night. In every sense o
Madeleine“Mommy, are you a hooker?” Betsy suddenly asks.The brush falls from my hand and lands on the cluttered vanity with a loud thump. The question stops me cold. Her voice is soft, so innocent, but she’s red in the face, and her little lips are pressed firmly together when she crosses her arms over her chest.“Whu- uh- where did you hear that nonsense? Of course not!”“School. Riana says hookers go to hell, and will burn in the magical fires.”Betsy jumps up with her toy dog in her arms, and starts to bounce on the bed. “Hell, hell, hell, hell-hell-hell,” she sings. “Mommy’s going to burn in the fire.”A wave of rage crashes over me. Blood roars through my veins, making me dizzy and short of breath. “Stop it!” I scream, much louder than I want to.“No!” She throws her dog at my head and jumps off the bed. She plants her fist in her hips and stomps her foot to the tune of, “I hate you! I hate you! No one likes me because of you. Riana says that’s why I don’t have a daddy. ”I l
MadeleineI wake up glowing. Like a firefly that didn’t know its light was missing and finally found it again. It's exhilirating. I finally did it. I managed to move on from Sister Francis.I ache in all the right places, and I feel alive in ways I didn’t know was possible. And rested. As if I slept for a week.I stretch and look at the place where Rafael should be, but his spot is empty. The balcony doors are wide open though, and I can smell the scent of smoke drifting in from outside.I’m embarrassed to face him. I don’t know why. It’s stupid. I’m a grown woman, but he always saw me as something… untouchable. What if he doesn't see me the same way he used to? What if he looks at me the same way he looked at the hookers in the casino?All the men in that place regarded me that way, and it didn’t bother me. They didn't matter, and I knew who I truly was. Still am. But if Rafael looks at me like that, I don’t think I’ll make it. I laid myself bare to him last night. In every sense o
RafaelI am drunk on pure Madeleine. Her scent. Her taste. The way she so easily opens up to me. Trusting me not to hurt her. Trusting that she can be herself with me.It’s intoxicating. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life.Moaning softly, I dip my tongue inside her, drowning in her.I’m so hard, so in need of her, that I’m afraid I’ll burst wide open. Like a fucking geyser.I didn’t lie when I told her that I haven’t had sex in a while. It’s been years.I want to rush. Every part of me wants to be inside her.But Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if life isn’t pretty fucking magnificent right where I am at the moment. Between her legs, drinking her in like a dying man who found an oasis in the desert.Slowly, I start to open her, working a finger inside her. Even that is glorious. She is glorious.It happens fast and suddenly. The orgasm that takes her is intense. She breaks open for me like a blooming flower meeting the sun.That is what I wanted. Feeling her throb around my finger.
MadeleineRafael crushes out his cigarette and sips his drink. He brought up a glass of wine for me, but I hardly touched it. After what happened at the casino, I have a deep distrust for any kind of wine.“What time is it?” I ask.He glances at his watch. “Wow. Almost nine.”I jump up. “I missed Betsy’s bedtime. I promised her that I’d tuck her in.”“No,” he says and puts his glass down. “Your face is swollen. She’ll notice that you cried. I’ll do it. Why don’t you go take a nice, long bath and relax?”I shake my head. “I don’t… no, I don’t want to be alone.”He just nods. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”“Promise?”He leans over and kisses me. He tastes and smells like cigarettes and whiskey. I wrinkle my nose, and he laughs. “I also promise to brush my teeth.”While he is gone, I go to the bathroom. He’s right, my face is very swollen, my eyes red. I am exhausted. Mentally, I’m just done.I wash my face, brush my hair and teeth, and go back to the bedroom just as Rafael returns. Without a wo
MadeleineHe holds me like I’m a piece of broken porcelain he has to glue back together. Like I’ll come apart if he lets me go.But I’ve already come undone. In that laundry room this morning while I watched the horrors of last night flash before my eyes. Last night - sometime between that moment when Rafael gave me the gun, and when I dropped it in the lake with the rest of the weapons, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the deadliest, most violent people on the planet.And yet... I think it happened even sooner than that. Perhaps it began when my father handed me a deck of cards for the first time and showed me how to shuffle it.I came to Rafael broken. He met me after I was already in pieces, held together with invisible tape and glue until somebody dropped me.And it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Rafael. Not him.It was them. When they died. My parents. They let go as they always did, and I shattered to pieces.Again.And everytime that happened, it became harder and harder to p
RafaelI take the stairs slowly, one hand brushing the glass rail. Each step feels like I’m climbing toward the inevitable - toward the part where she looks me in the eye and tells me she can’t do this.I wouldn’t blame her. Not anymore. I wanted to lock her up in a cage. Like I locked the image of Sister Francis in my heart. I wanted to use her for my own selfish reasons. And for a while there, I thought I could do it without corrupting her.I wanted to use Madeleine like I used that fantasy of who she was. A port in my stormy seas. A place where I could pretend that I’m something I’m not. Something I so desperately wanted to be.It will never happen. None of it. I am who I am. She is who she is. Kind, sweet, and gentle. And I’m stripping that away from her, one piece at a time until there'll be nothing but a shell left.The hallway is silent. No cartoons. No giggles. Just the low hum of the city filtering through the double-glazed windows. This is my life. Me. Alone. Drifting thro
RafaelOn my way home, I swing by the hospital to check in on Paulie and to give him a basket of mini muffins. It’s one of his guilty pleasures and a bizarre quirk I could never figure out. All I know is that he loves those things.There's no need for business now, although he probably knows everything already. "How's Vinnie?" he asks and tears into the basket of muffins."Fine. They discharged him this afternoon."I still for a while longer, eager to leave but aware enough to know that if I don't, Paulie will take offence. As soon as Cara shows up, I get up and say my goodbyes.Then I stop at a grocery store to stock up on some supplies for the penthouse. I buy a ridiculous amount of snacks, juices, flavoured milks, cereal, colouring books, and other things I think Betsy will like. I stroll down the other isles, loading my cart with more food than we’ll need. I stop in front of the condom rack, staring at the colourful boxes and variety of prophylactics on display. For a moment, I
RafaelI step out onto the narrow terrace of the strip club, one hand curled around the burner phone, the other around my Zippo. I only smoke when I’m stressed, and I haven’t been this stressed in months.I light the cigarette and lean on the railing, looking out over the city stretches into the horizon - glass towers and concrete for miles around. It smells of despair and broken dreams while everyone who lives here pretends to be something they’re not. Just like me.I dial the number manually. No names saved. No records.It rings once. Twice. Then, “Whose this?” Salvatore answers. No hello. No pleasantries. Just those two simple words - like a curse or a challenge.“Andoletti.”“Ah.” He doesn’t sound surprised. Salvatore’s accent is thick, but his English is perfect. “Yes. I have been waiting for your call.”“You have a problem,” I say.Silence. He knows already, he’s just waiting for me to confirm it.“Enzo,” I go on. “He gave the signal to Sforza and Romano. They hit my house. At
MadeleineI wake up when I hear a toilet flush.The room is dark, the heave shades blocking out the sun, but I can see well enough.I have no idea what time it is, but I don’t think we slept that long. I don’t feel rested. Still, I have to get up - Betsy will be awake by now, and she’s in a strange place. She'll be scared and confused.A door clicks open, and Rafael appears like a phantom next to the dresser. He’s in one of his immaculate suits, and it does all sorts of crazy things to my hormones. “It’s still early,” he says in a low, measured tone. “Go back to sleep.”The man from last night, the one who almost lost control and kissed me with so much unbridled passion, is gone. In his place is this man. Cool. Calm. And way too fucking collected.I wonder if he has an on-off switch.“Betsy’s probably looking for me,” I say.“I checked on her,” he informs me and puts on his watch. “She’s still asleep. I’m sure she’ll scream you awake when she needs you.”Even that is almost unbearably
MadeleineI can’t breathe. Not properly. Not with Rafael’s mouth on mine and his hands gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.I don’t want to disappear.I want more of this. More of him.It has always been him. From the moment he walked into that church, until this day, it’s been him.I’ve dreamed of it. A day when he’d hold me. Kiss me. Take me to his bed.It's almost surreal. I didn't think it would actually happen. Not really. Not even after he gave me the ring.But here we are.And it’s so much better than I ever could have imagined.The way he kisses me - it’s not sweet or soft. It’s hunger. Sharp, desperate, and unfiltered. He tastes like painkillers and power, and something in me unravels, turns me inside out. I press closer, rising on my toes to meet him, opening my mouth when his tongue demands it. My body heats instantly, aching in places I’ve only ever imagined being touched.Places I’ve never even touched myself.I want him to touch me like that.His hands slide