CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: CONFUSION

Afterward, they lay tangled together, listening to the storm rage outside. Rafael's fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, and Natalia felt a contentment she hadn't experienced since before her death.

"Regrets?" Rafael asked quietly.

"No," she said, and realized she meant it. "You?"

"Only that it took us this long to get here."

She wanted to tell him it had taken longer than he knew. That they'd been here before, in another life, in another version of themselves. Instead, she pressed closer to his warmth and tried not to think about what would happen when morning came.

"The storm's moving off," Rafael observed, nodding toward the window where the lightning had become more distant.

"Good. I should probably get back to my room soon."

"Should you?" His arm tightened around her. "Or you could stay here. With me."

The temptation was overwhelming. To spend the entire night in his arms, to wake up beside him instead of finding another cruel note dismissing their connection.

But staying would mean crossing a line she wasn't sure she could uncross. It would mean admitting that this was more than strategy, more than careful manipulation designed to further her revenge.

It would mean admitting she was falling in love with Rafael Moretti all over again.

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

"If that's what you want."

"It's not what I want. It's what I should do."

"Since when do you care about should?" Rafael's voice carried a note of amusement. "From what I've observed, Natalie De Luca does exactly what she wants, consequences be damned."

"Is that your assessment of me?"

"It's one of the things I find most attractive about you. Your willingness to take risks, to go after what you want instead of playing it safe."

If only he knew the risks she was actually taking. If only he understood that being here with him was the most dangerous thing she'd ever done—not because he might hurt her body, but because he might heal her heart. And a healed heart was a liability she couldn't afford.

"I'm not as fearless as you think," she said softly.

"No? Then what are you afraid of?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with more meaning than he could possibly understand. What was she afraid of? Of failing in her mission? Of Isabella discovering her true identity? Of Lorenzo pulling her out of the operation?

Or was she afraid of something far simpler and more terrifying—that if she let herself love Rafael again, she might not have the strength to destroy him when the time came?

"I'm afraid of caring too much," she said finally, offering him a truth that was safer than the whole truth.

"And is that what's happening? Are you starting to care too much?"

She looked up at him, seeing her own vulnerability reflected in his storm-gray eyes. This was her chance to lie, to maintain the emotional distance that would serve her ultimate purpose.

Instead, she found herself nodding.

"Yes," she whispered. "I think I am."

Relief flooded his expression, followed immediately by something that looked like fear.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm terrified of how much I'm starting to care about you."

"Terrified?"

"Because caring about someone gives them the power to destroy you. And I've been destroyed before."

"By who?"

His expression shuttered slightly. "Someone I thought I could trust. Someone I loved more than my own life."

Alina. He was talking about Alina. About her.

"What happened?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"She betrayed me. Or at least, I thought she did. I found evidence that she was working with my enemies, feeding them information about my operations."

"Evidence can be manufactured."

"Can it?" Rafael's laugh was bitter. "I used to think that too. I spent months after her death investigating, looking for proof that the evidence was fake, that someone had set her up. But I never found anything concrete."

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right places."

"Maybe. Or maybe I was just too desperate to believe she was innocent to see the truth."

Natalia's heart clenched. Even now, two years later, part of him wanted to believe in her innocence. Part of him knew he'd made a mistake in doubting her.

"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Not believing in her?"

"Every day," he said quietly. "Even if she was guilty of everything I thought she was, she deserved better from me. She deserved the chance to explain, to defend herself. Instead, I let my anger and hurt cloud my judgment."

"And if she was innocent? If someone did set her up?"

Rafael was quiet for a long time, his fingers still moving across her skin in absent patterns.

"Then I failed her in the worst possible way," he said finally. "Then I'm responsible for her death just as much as whoever actually killed her."

The words hit Natalia like a physical blow. This was what she'd wanted to hear, wasn't it? The acknowledgment that he'd failed her, that his lack of faith had contributed to her death. She should be feeling satisfied, vindicated.

Instead, she felt like crying.

Because she could hear the genuine remorse in his voice, could see the guilt that had been eating away at him for two years. This wasn't the callous, uncaring man she'd built up in her mind. This was someone who'd made a terrible mistake and had been punishing himself for it ever since.

"You can't blame yourself for someone else's actions," she said softly.

"Can't I? If I'd trusted her, if I'd gone to her with my suspicions instead of letting them fester, she might still be alive."

"Or you both might have died."

"Maybe. But at least we would have faced it together."

The pain in his voice was so raw, so honest, that Natalia had to close her eyes against it. This was the man she'd fallen in love with before—not the cold, calculating businessman, but the one who loved fiercely and completely, even when it destroyed him.

"She loved you, you know," Natalia said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Rafael went very still. "How could you possibly know that?"

Panic flared in her chest as she realized what she'd said. "I... I just mean, from what you've told me about her. About your relationship. That kind of love doesn't just disappear because of suspicion or doubt."

"Doesn't it?"

"No. Real love survives even the worst betrayals. It might get buried under hurt and anger, but it never really dies."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"Don't we all?"

Rafael studied her face in the dim light, and for a moment, Natalia was terrified that he could see through her carefully constructed facade to the woman beneath. The woman who had loved him completely, died for that love, and been reborn into something harder and more dangerous.

"I should go," she said again, this time meaning it.

"Stay." His voice was soft but urgent. "Please, Natalie. I know it's complicated, I know there are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea, but stay. Let me hold you tonight."

The request was so simple, so honest, that it broke something inside her chest. When was the last time someone had asked to hold her? When was the last time she'd felt wanted not for what she could provide or accomplish, but simply for herself?

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay."

Relief flooded his expression as he pulled her closer, arranging the blankets around them both. Outside, the last rumbles of thunder were fading into the distance, leaving only the gentle patter of rain against the windows.

"Thank you," Rafael murmured against her hair.

"For what?"

"For staying. For taking a chance on this, whatever this is."

Natalia closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth and safety of his arms. Tomorrow, she would have to face the consequences of this choice. Tomorrow, she would have to figure out how to reconcile her feelings with her mission.

But tonight, she was exactly where she belonged, in the arms of the man she'd never stopped loving, pretending that their story might have a different ending this time.

Even though she knew better.

Even though she knew that some stories were doomed to repeat themselves, no matter how desperately the characters wanted to change the script.

* * *

Dawn came too soon, filtering through the hotel curtains with harsh reality. Natalia woke gradually, becoming aware of warmth beside her, of an arm draped across her waist, of the steady rhythm of breathing that wasn't her own.

For a moment, she let herself pretend this was normal. That she woke up beside Rafael every morning, that they were simply a couple enjoying a romantic getaway instead of two people playing a dangerous game with impossible stakes.

Then memory crashed back, and with it, the full weight of what she'd done.

She'd slept with Rafael. Not as part of some calculated seduction, but because she'd wanted to. Because despite everything—the betrayal, the death, the carefully planned revenge—she was still hopelessly in love with him.

Which meant she was compromised in exactly the way Lorenzo had feared.

Rafael stirred beside her, his arm tightening momentarily before he woke fully. When his eyes opened and focused on her face, his expression was soft with contentment.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning."

They looked at each other in the growing light, and Natalia could see the moment reality intruded on Rafael's consciousness. The contentment in his eyes gave way to uncertainty, then something that looked suspiciously like panic.

"This is..." he began, then stopped, clearly struggling for words.

Here it comes, Natalia thought. The morning-after dismissal. The careful retreat behind professional boundaries. The inevitable conclusion that this was all a mistake.

"This is going to change everything," Rafael said finally.

"Is it?"

"Isn't it?" He sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I mean, we work together. There are protocols, professional considerations..."

"There are."

"And I'm not... I'm not good at this, Natalie. Relationships. Caring about people. I have a track record of fucking things up spectacularly."

"So do I."

He looked at her with surprise. "Do you?"

"I've made my share of mistakes in love. Trusted the wrong people. Made decisions based on emotion instead of logic." She sat up as well, pulling the sheet around herself. "But I've learned something important from those mistakes."

"What's that?"

"That the only real mistake is not fighting for what matters. Everything else is just... collateral damage."

Rafael stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to decode some hidden meaning in her words.

"Are you saying I matter?" he asked quietly.

The question was so vulnerable, so uncertain, that it nearly undid her completely. This was Rafael Moretti—powerful, dangerous, a man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure—asking her if he mattered like a lost child seeking reassurance.

"Yes," she said, the word coming out rougher than she'd intended. "You matter."

Something shifted in his expression—hope, maybe, or the beginning of trust. He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I don't know how to be with someone without waiting for them to leave. Without expecting betrayal around every corner."

"Maybe we can figure it out together."

"Can we? Because I'm not sure I can survive being destroyed again. And being with me... it's dangerous, Natalie. Not just professionally, but personally. I have enemies who would use you to get to me."

"I'm not as fragile as you think."

"Aren't you?" His thumb traced across her knuckles. "Because right now, you look like the most precious thing in the world to me. And precious things... they get broken in my world."

The words sent a chill through her, because she knew he was right. She was already broken—shattered two years ago and carefully pieced back together into someone harder, more dangerous. But he didn't know that. He saw Natalie De Luca, mysterious heiress with a phoenix tattoo and secrets in her eyes.

He didn't see Alina Verma, the woman who'd died trusting him completely.

"What if I told you I was already broken?" she said softly. "What if I told you that being with you wasn't about finding something perfect, but about finding someone who understands what it's like to be damaged?"

Rafael's grip on her hand tightened. "Then I'd say you were exactly what I've been looking for without knowing it."

They sat there in the growing light, holding hands like teenagers making promises they weren't sure they could keep. Outside, Florence was waking up to a clear morning, the storm having washed the air clean.

"We should probably get ready," Rafael said eventually. "Check out, head back to Milan."

"Probably."

But neither of them moved. The real world waited outside this room—Isabella's investigation, the audit that would expose her embezzlement, the careful web of revenge that Natalia had been weaving for months. Once they walked out that door, they would have to return to their roles, their careful professional distance.

"Natalie?" Rafael's voice was hesitant.

"Yes?"

"When we get back to Milan... I know we'll have to be careful. Discreet. But I don't want to pretend this didn't happen."

"Neither do I."

"Good." He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Because I meant what I said last night. I'm not going to be able to let you go now."

The words should have filled her with joy. Instead, they felt like a blade twisting in her chest. Because in a few days, maybe a week, Rafael would discover that Isabella had been stealing from him. He would trace the evidence back to its source and realize that someone had been manipulating him all along.

And when that happened, when he looked at her with suspicion and hurt and betrayal in his eyes, she would have to choose between her mission and her heart.

She was no longer sure which one would win.

"Rafael," she began, but he silenced her with a kiss.

"Whatever you're about to say, whatever doubt you're about to voice, save it for later," he murmured against her lips. "Right now, at this moment, we're just two people who found each other in the storm. Can't that be enough?"

She wanted to tell him the truth. Wanted to explain who she really was, what she'd come here to do, why she'd been playing this elaborate game of seduction and revenge. The words crowded on her tongue, desperate to be spoken.

But when she looked into his eyes—storm-gray and vulnerable and full of something that looked dangerously like love—she found herself nodding instead.

"Yes," she whispered. "That's enough."

For now, it would have to be.

Because once they returned to Milan, once Isabella's world started crumbling and Rafael began asking the right questions, everything would change.

And Natalia wasn't sure either of them would survive it.