006

The second Rafael’s hand closed around the handle of his bedroom door, he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

He stepped inside and slammed it shut behind him, the sound echoing in the cold, empty room. The heavy lock clicked into place beneath his fingers, not that it made much difference. The walls of this house didn’t keep anything out. Not memories. Not ghosts. And certainly not the mess he’d made of tonight.

The room was exactly as he’d left it. Perfect. Immaculate. Impersonal.

And he hated it.

He shrugged off his jacket and threw it across a chair, tugging his tie loose, the knot stubborn like everything else about this night. He poured a glass of scotch with a hand that wasn’t as steady as it should’ve been, the liquid catching in the low light.

He didn’t bother with ice.

Didn’t bother sitting either.

Instead, Rafael stood by the window, staring out at the Montoya estate grounds as though the dark shapes of trees and stone walls could offer him something useful. The moon hung low over the orchard. The same one he could see from here as a boy. The same one that had watched when the police pulled his mother’s body out from beneath the old sycamore.

The taste of scotch burned down his throat, sharp and clean. But it didn’t dull a goddamn thing.

Rafael closed his eyes.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. Not tonight. Not like this.

But the second Alessio had looked at him during that dinner, those dark eyes a little too knowing, a little too defiant,  Rafael had felt something inside him snap.

And then it was all heat and teeth and hands against skin. Desperation masquerading as power. His name torn from Alessio’s throat like a confession neither of them would ever admit to.

A mistake.

An unforgivable, impossible mistake.

And yet here he was, reliving it, chasing the memory like some idiot drunk on the one thing he shouldn’t want.

Rafael downed the rest of his drink in a single swallow and refilled it immediately.

The room felt too small. The walls pressing in. He paced, restless, his footsteps soundless on the polished floor. He should’ve stayed at the table. Should’ve kept his mask on, smiled when expected, congratulated his sister like a good son.

But when his father announced that wedding date…

Two months.

Two months until Alessio De Luca would officially become his brother inlaw.

Two months until Rafael would have to stand in front of a church full of witnesses and pretend he didn’t know what Alessio tasted like. Pretend he didn’t remember the heat of his mouth or the bruises he’d left on his skin.

Rafael cursed under his breath and set the glass down harder than necessary. The sound of it against the wood cracked the stillness of the room.

He couldn’t do this.

Not for two months. Not for one.

The scotch wasn’t helping. He crossed to the window again, pushing it open. Cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant scent of the coming rain. Somewhere out there, the estate’s guards were making their rounds. Past the orchard, the Montoya mausoleum stood silent under the moon.

And somewhere inside this house, Alessio was sleeping.

Or pretending to.

Rafael’s hand gripped the windowsill.

He knew it was reckless before he even moved. Knew this was the kind of thing that started wars, that got people killed. But logic had left him hours ago. It was just him and this restless, ugly thing in his chest that refused to quiet.

He crossed to the door, unlocked it, and stepped into the dim corridor.

The hallway stretched ahead, lit only by the soft glow of wall sconces every few yards. The house was quiet now. The staff gone to bed. The only sounds were the faint creak of old wood and the distant hum of cicadas outside the windows.

Rafael moved on instinct, muscle memory guiding him through halls he knew better than his own thoughts.

He told himself he wasn’t going to do it.

Told himself it was just a walk.

But somehow, his feet carried him down the north wing, past the long stretch of family portraits, each ancestor’s face a reminder of what was expected, what duty meant.

The closer he got, the heavier the air felt.

He stopped outside the guest room door. Alessio’s room.

The number on the brass plaque gleamed faintly in the low light.

Rafael stood there, every muscle in his body wound tight. He could still hear Alessio’s voice from earlier, low and rough in the hallway:

“I wasn’t going to let you fall apart in front of them. I know what this is.”

You don’t know shit.

He almost laughed at himself. At the fucking irony of standing outside this door like some pathetic schoolboy, waiting for a sign.

His hand lifted, hovered just inches from the handle.

If he turned it , if he stepped inside  there’d be no undoing it. Not this time.

He could finish what they started. Bury himself so deep inside that mouth, inside that want, that for a few hours, he wouldn’t have to think about betrayal and bloodlines and wedding vows.

He could forget.

But the thing about monsters was they followed you, even after the lights went out.

And Rafael already knew,  no matter how hard he tried to kill this thing between them, it wouldn’t stay buried.

His eyes caught his reflection in the mirror mounted across the corridor.

The man looking back at him wasn’t the heir of a crime empire. Wasn’t a soldier. Wasn’t even a Montoya.

He was just a man about to destroy himself for someone he was supposed to hate.

Rafael let his hand drop.

He turned, walking away without looking back.

He didn’t stop until he was back in his room, locking the door behind him like it could keep out the thing clawing at his chest.

He downed another drink, but it didn’t taste like anything.

And in the silence that followed, with only the sound of the rain beginning to fall against the window, Rafael told himself it didn’t matter.

Told himself he didn’t care.

It was a lie.

But it was the only one that let him sleep.

If he ever did.