CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: PLAYING WITH FIRE

The morning air in Florence was crisp with the promise of autumn, but Natalia barely noticed as she stepped out of the car at the Palazzo Medici. The business meeting had been scheduled weeks ago—a negotiation with a consortium of Florentine investors about a new luxury hotel project—but the timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Or more torturous.

Rafael stood near the palazzo's entrance, speaking in rapid Italian with their local contact. He looked impeccably professional in his charcoal suit, every inch the successful businessman. When he glanced over and saw her approaching, his expression didn't change, but she caught the slight tightening around his eyes.

Three days had passed since he'd left that devastating note in her kitchen. Three days of careful professional courtesy whenever their paths crossed at the office. Three days of pretending that nothing had happened between them, that she hadn't fallen asleep in his arms while he whispered promises about keeping her safe.

Three days of watching him treat her like a polite stranger.

"Ms. De Luca," he said as she joined the group, his tone perfectly neutral. "I trust the drive was comfortable?"

"Perfectly, thank you." She matched his formal tone, though something twisted painfully in her chest at the deliberate distance. "Shall we proceed?"

The meeting itself was a masterclass in controlled tension. They sat across from each other at the conference table, presenting a united front to their potential partners while carefully avoiding direct eye contact. When Rafael outlined the financial projections, Natalia provided supporting architectural details with seamless professionalism. To anyone watching, they appeared to be nothing more than effective colleagues collaborating on a lucrative project.

But underneath the polished veneer, electricity crackled between them like a live wire. Every time Rafael's hand brushed against hers as they reached for documents, every time their voices overlapped as they explained complex details, Natalia felt her carefully maintained composure threaten to crack.

By the time the meeting concluded four hours later, both of them looked like they were holding their breath.

"Excellent presentation," Signore Benedetti, their primary contact, said as they shook hands. "We'll have an answer for you within the week."

"We look forward to hearing from you," Rafael replied smoothly. "Ms. De Luca and I appreciate your consideration."

As they walked back to their respective cars, Natalia found herself hoping Rafael would say something—anything—that might break through the professional facade they'd been maintaining. Instead, he simply nodded curtly.

"Safe travels back to Milan," he said, his tone as impersonal as if he were addressing a client he'd never met before.

"You as well."

She was halfway to her car when his voice stopped her.

"Actually, Natalie."

She turned, heart leaping at the slight crack in his professional armor.

"The weather reports are predicting severe storms tonight. It might be safer to stay over and drive back tomorrow morning."

For a moment, she thought she heard genuine concern in his voice. Then she saw the carefully blank expression on his face and realized this was just practical business advice, nothing more.

"I can handle a little rain," she said coolly.

"It's not just rain. There are tornado warnings."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about travel safety."

Something flickered in his eyes—frustration, maybe, or hurt. But his voice remained level. "Of course. I wasn't suggesting otherwise."

"Good. Then we understand each other."

She got in her car and drove away, watching Rafael's figure disappear in her rearview mirror. Only when she was safely out of sight did she pull over and call the hotel she'd already booked for the night.

Because despite her defiant words, she wasn't stupid. And despite everything that had happened between them, she wasn't ready to risk her life just to prove a point about her independence.

* * *

The Hotel Brunelleschi was exactly the kind of place she'd expected Rafael to choose—elegant, discreet, catering to wealthy business travelers who valued privacy above ostentation. Her suite was on the seventh floor, all warm woods and rich fabrics with a view of the Duomo's iconic dome.

She'd specifically requested a room away from Rafael's, needing the distance to maintain her equilibrium. The desk clerk had assured her that Signore Moretti was staying in the tower wing while her suite was in the main building. Plenty of space between them.

Which was why she was surprised to discover, when she stepped off the elevator with her overnight bag, that Rafael's room was directly across the hall from hers.

He was standing in his doorway, having apparently just arrived himself. When he saw her, his expression shifted through several emotions too quickly for her to track.

"Natalie." His voice was carefully neutral. "I thought you were driving back to Milan."

"I changed my mind. The weather reports were... concerning." She couldn't quite bring herself to admit he'd been right, but she didn't need to. His slight smile told her he understood.

"Good. That's... good."

They stood there for a moment, separated by perhaps ten feet of hallway that might as well have been an ocean. The silence stretched between them, filled with everything they weren't saying.

"Well," Natalia said finally, sliding her key card into the lock. "Good night, Rafael."

"Good night."

She escaped into her room and leaned against the closed door, heart hammering. This was a complication she didn't need. Being in such close proximity to Rafael, away from the office and all its professional constraints, was dangerous. She was already struggling to maintain the emotional distance necessary for her plan to succeed. Having him literally across the hall was going to make everything exponentially more difficult.

She unpacked her few belongings and tried to settle in for the evening, but restlessness plagued her. She ordered room service, barely touched the food, then spent an hour on her laptop reviewing files for the next week's projects. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Rafael.

By ten o'clock, the storm had arrived in earnest. Rain lashed against her windows, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Natalia tried to ignore it, focusing on her work, but with each flash of lightning, her anxiety mounted.

She was stronger than this. She'd survived being murdered, for God's sake. She could handle a little thunder.

But as the storm intensified, so did the memories. The sound of rain against glass. Isabella's hands holding her under the water. The taste of copper and chlorine and death.

When the first real crack of thunder shook the building, Natalia jumped so violently that her laptop slid off her lap and hit the floor. She stared at it for a moment, hands trembling, then got up to pace the room.

This was ridiculous. She was Natalia De Luca now, not the frightened girl who had died in that bathtub. She was stronger, smarter, more in control. She would not let an irrational fear undermine everything she'd worked for.

Another flash of lightning lit up her room, followed immediately by thunder so loud it seemed to come from inside her chest. This time, she couldn't stop the small cry that escaped her throat.

Before she could think better of it, she was at her door, yanking it open. The hallway was empty, dimly lit by sconces that cast long shadows. Rafael's door was closed, no light visible underneath.

He was probably asleep, she told herself. She should go back to her room, pour herself a drink, and wait out the storm like a rational adult.

Instead, she found herself knocking on his door.

He answered faster than she'd expected, as if he'd been awake, perhaps even waiting. He'd changed out of his suit into dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that made his eyes look like storm clouds. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a guarded expression on his face.

"Natalie. Is everything alright?"

"I..." She stopped, realizing how foolish this was going to sound. "The storm. It's quite severe."

"Yes, it is."

"I was wondering if..." Another crash of thunder made her flinch visibly. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. This is stupid. I shouldn't have—"

"Come in," he said quietly, stepping aside.

She hesitated for a moment, knowing that crossing this threshold would complicate everything. Then lightning flashed again, and she practically fled into his room.

Rafael's suite was larger than hers, with a sitting area separate from the bedroom. A bottle of whiskey sat open on the coffee table beside an abandoned book, suggesting he hadn't been sleeping after all.

"Drink?" he offered.

"Please."

He poured two glasses, handing her one with careful fingers that didn't quite brush against hers. She took a large sip, welcoming the burn that distracted from her racing heart.

"Better?"

"Getting there." She settled onto the couch, as far from him as the furniture would allow. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I know this is... inappropriate."

"Is it?"

"We're colleagues. We're supposed to be maintaining professional boundaries."

"Are we?" Rafael sat down across from her, his own whiskey cradled in his hands. "Because I have to say, Natalie, the professional boundaries feel pretty thin right now."

"They have to be maintained. You made that clear in your note."

Something flickered across his face. "My note."

"The one where you called the other night a mistake. Again." She couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. "You have a habit of that, don't you? Dismissing things that matter as mistakes?"

"Things that matter?" His voice was very quiet. "Is that what the other night was to you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think..." He set down his glass and leaned forward, his eyes searching her face. "I think I wrote that note because I was scared. Because the other night didn't feel like a mistake at all. It felt like the first real thing that's happened to me in years."

Thunder crashed overhead, so loud and sudden that Natalia gasped, her whole body jerking with remembered terror. The whiskey glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor.

"Shit," she breathed, staring at the broken glass and amber liquid spreading across the wood. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey." Rafael was beside her instantly, his hands gentle on her shoulders. "It's okay. It's just a glass."

But it wasn't okay. The storm, the memories, the way Rafael was looking at her with such tender concern—it was all too much. She could feel herself fracturing like the glass at her feet, all her carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of emotion she'd been suppressing for days.

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?"

"Pretend. Pretend that I don't feel anything. Pretend that the other night meant nothing. Pretend that I'm not—" She stopped herself before she could say the word 'falling,' but Rafael heard it anyway.

"Natalie." Her name was barely a breath on his lips.

Lightning illuminated the room in stark white, and in that moment of clarity, Natalia saw everything with perfect understanding. The careful distance Rafael had been maintaining wasn't cruelty—it was self-preservation. Just like hers.

They were both terrified of what was happening between them. Both fighting against feelings that threatened to consume everything else.

"I should go," she said, but made no move to leave.

"Should you?"

"If I stay..."

"What happens if you stay?"

She looked up at him, seeing her own longing reflected in his stormy eyes. "I stop pretending."

"And if I asked you to stay? If I told you that I've been going insane these past three days, trying to convince myself that what I felt with you wasn't real?"

"Is it real?"

"More real than anything I've felt in years." His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs tracing across her cheekbones. "I lied in that note. The other night wasn't a mistake. The only mistake was letting you wake up alone."

"Rafael..."

"Tell me to leave you alone, and I will. Tell me you want me to maintain professional distance, and I'll respect that. But don't ask me to pretend I don't want you, because I can't do it anymore."

Outside, the storm raged with increasing fury, but Natalia barely heard it. All her attention was focused on the man in front of her, on the raw honesty in his voice, on the way his hands trembled slightly against her skin.

This was the moment of truth. She could walk away, maintain the careful balance necessary for her revenge plot, keep her heart safely locked away where it couldn't be broken again.

Or she could stop running from the one thing that had always been stronger than her need for justice.

"I don't want professional distance," she whispered.

Relief flooded his expression, followed immediately by something much more dangerous.

"Thank God," he said, and kissed her.

This kiss was different from all the others. Not desperate or questioning or careful, but sure. Like he was claiming something that had always belonged to him. Natalia kissed him back with equal certainty, her hands fisting in his sweater as she pulled him closer.

When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.

"Are you sure about this?" Rafael asked, his forehead pressed against hers.

"No," she said honestly. "But I'm tired of being careful. I'm tired of protecting myself from something that might not hurt me."

"It might, though. I might."

"Then we'll deal with that when it happens."

He studied her face for a long moment, as if memorizing every detail. Then he stood, extending his hand to her.

"Come to bed with me, Natalie."

She took his hand without hesitation.