CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: DANGEROUS GROUNDS

The storm had been building all day, dark clouds gathering over Milan like a bruise spreading across the sky. By evening, the first drops of rain were spattering against the windows of the De Luca penthouse, and Natalia found herself pacing restlessly from room to room, unable to settle.

It had been three days since her confrontation with Rafael in the conference room. Three days of carefully orchestrated encounters and strategic positioning. Three days of watching Isabella scramble to contain the damage from the Venetian project debacle while pretending she wasn't increasingly desperate.

And three days of Rafael avoiding her entirely.

He'd been in Rome on business, according to his assistant. An unexpected trip that had come up suddenly and would keep him away for the rest of the week. But Natalia knew better. He was running from what had happened between them, from the admission that kissing her had felt like coming home.

The thought should have filled her with satisfaction. Instead, it left her feeling hollow, like she'd won a battle but lost something more important in the process.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Lorenzo: *Made contact with our Roman friend. Package will be delivered tomorrow night. Are you ready?*

She stared at the message for a long moment before typing back: *Ready.*

The package was evidence—carefully manufactured, expertly forged documents that would appear to show Isabella skimming money from Rafael's legitimate businesses. Not enough to destroy her immediately, but enough to plant seeds of doubt. Enough to make Rafael start asking the right questions.

It was exactly the kind of strategic move she should be celebrating. Instead, she felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that once she took the next step, there would be no going back.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the building. Natalia flinched, her hands clenching involuntarily. She'd never liked storms, even before—

She cut the thought off before it could finish. Before was over. Before was a different person, a different life. She was Natalia now, and Natalia didn't have time for old fears and childhood phobias.

But as another flash lit up the sky, she found herself thinking about the night she'd died. It had been storming then too, rain pounding against the windows of the villa while Isabella held her under the water. She'd tried to scream, but her lungs had been full of bathwater and she'd—

Stop.

She poured herself a glass of wine and tried to focus on the present. On the plan. On the satisfaction she would feel when Isabella finally paid for what she'd done.

Her doorbell rang at exactly nine o'clock. Natalia checked the security monitor, expecting to see Lorenzo with the package. Instead, Rafael stood in the hallway, his dark hair damp from the rain, his expression unreadable.

Her heart lurched, caught between joy and terror. He was supposed to be in Rome. He was supposed to be avoiding her.

She buzzed him up without saying a word.

By the time he reached her door, she'd managed to compose herself. She opened it wearing the mask of polite surprise, as if his unexpected appearance was merely an interesting development rather than the complete disruption of everything she'd been trying to accomplish.

"Rafael. I thought you were in Rome."

"I was. I came back early." He stood in her doorway, not quite crossing the threshold. Water dripped from his coat onto her marble floor. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"You know what."

Another flash of lightning illuminated his face, and she saw something she hadn't expected in his eyes—uncertainty. Maybe even fear.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "You're dripping on my floor."

He entered slowly, like he was walking into a trap. Maybe he was.

She took his coat, hanging it carefully in the closet while trying to ignore the way his familiar scent filled her entryway. When she turned back, he was standing in her living room, staring out at the storm.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Whiskey, if you have it."

She did, of course. The same brand he'd always preferred. She poured two glasses and handed him one, their fingers brushing as he took it. The contact sent electricity up her arm, sharper than the lightning outside.

"So," she said, settling onto the couch. "What did you want to talk about?"

Rafael remained standing, his back to her as he watched the rain streak down the windows.

"I've been thinking about what you said. About me being a coward."

"Have you?"

"You were right." He turned to face her, and the raw honesty in his expression nearly undid her. "I am a coward. I have been for a long time."

"Why?"

"Because it's easier than facing the truth." He took a sip of whiskey, grimacing slightly. "The truth is that I want you. More than I've wanted anything in years. More than is smart or safe or professional."

Natalia's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her voice level. "And that scares you."

"Terrifies me," he admitted. "Because wanting someone that much gives them power over you. The power to destroy you."

"Is that what you think I want to do? Destroy you?"

"I don't know." He moved closer, setting his glass on her coffee table. "That's what scares me most. I can't figure out your angle, Natalie. I can't see the game you're playing."

"Maybe there isn't one."

"There's always a game. In our world, there's always an agenda." He sat down beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "So tell me what yours is."

This was it. The moment where she could tell him the truth, could reveal who she really was and what she'd come here to do. The moment where she could choose honesty over revenge, love over justice.

Instead, she leaned closer, her hand coming up to rest against his chest.

"Maybe my agenda is the same as yours," she said softly. "Maybe I want you too."

His breath caught. "Natalie..."

"You said kissing me felt like coming home. Do you want to know what it felt like to me?"

"Tell me."

"Like waking up from a nightmare. Like remembering something I'd forgotten I'd lost."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Kissing him had felt like both those things. But it had also felt like betrayal, like giving in to the very feelings she'd spent two years learning to weaponize.

Rafael's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing across her cheekbone with devastating tenderness.

"This is a mistake," he said, but he didn't pull away.

"Probably."

"I'm not good for you. I'm not good for anyone."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Thunder crashed overhead, so loud it seemed to shake the building. Natalia flinched involuntarily, her body pressing closer to Rafael's as if seeking shelter.

"You don't like storms," he observed, his arm coming around her automatically.

"No." The admission slipped out before she could stop it. "I never have."

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe, or just sympathy. "You're safe here. The building is solid. Built to withstand anything."

"I know that. Logically. But logic doesn't always help with fear, does it?"

"No. It doesn't."

They sat together in the semi-darkness, listening to the rain pound against the windows. Natalia should have pulled away, should have maintained the distance necessary for her plan to work. But Rafael's arms felt like sanctuary, and she'd forgotten what it was like to feel truly safe.

"Tell me about Rome," she said, mostly to fill the silence.

"Boring meetings with boring people about boring contracts." His fingers were tracing absent patterns on her arm. "I spent most of it thinking about you."

"What about me?"

"Everything. The way you saved Marcus's project. The way you looked at me in the conference room when I was being an ass. The way you taste when I kiss you."

Her breath hitched. "Rafael..."

"I know I have no right to want you the way I do. I know I'm asking you to be with someone who might never be able to give you what you deserve."

"What makes you think you know what I deserve?"

"Because you're..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "You're light in darkness. You're hope where there shouldn't be any. And I'm the kind of man who destroys beautiful things."

"Maybe I'm stronger than you think."

"Are you?" His eyes searched her face. "Because I need you to be sure, Natalie. If we do this, if we cross this line, I won't be able to let you go. And I won't be able to guarantee I won't hurt you."

The honesty in his voice nearly broke her heart. This was Rafael without his masks, without his walls. This was the man she'd fallen in love with before, vulnerable and damaged and trying so hard to be better than he believed himself to be.

"You won't hurt me," she said, the lie burning her throat.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I won't let you."

Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by thunder. This time, Natalia didn't just flinch—she gasped, her whole body going rigid with remembered terror. Suddenly she wasn't in her penthouse anymore; she was in the villa, water filling her lungs while Isabella's hands held her down and thunder crashed overhead—

"Hey." Rafael's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Hey, you're okay. You're with me. You're safe."

She blinked, realizing she was shaking. Rafael had pulled her fully into his arms, one hand stroking her hair while he murmured reassurances against her temple.

"I'm sorry," she managed. "I don't know what—"

"Shh. Don't apologize. Just breathe."

She did, letting his scent and warmth anchor her to the present. Gradually, her heart rate slowed and the phantom taste of bathwater faded from her mouth.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"I used to know someone else who was afraid of storms," he said quietly. "She would curl up in the smallest room she could find and wait for them to pass. Said something about the noise making her feel like the world was ending."

Natalia went very still. He was talking about Alina. About her.

"What happened to her?" she asked carefully.

"She died." The words were flat, emotionless. "Two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I." His arms tightened around her. "Every day."

They sat together in the darkness, holding each other while the storm raged outside. Natalia knew she should say something, should ask questions or offer comfort or move the conversation back to safer ground. But she couldn't seem to make herself speak.

Because hearing Rafael talk about Alina's death—about her death—was like being stabbed with a blade made of memory. The pain was immediate and devastating, and she realized with crystal clarity that some wounds never healed. They just learned to hide better.

"I should go," Rafael said eventually, but he made no move to release her.

"Should you?"

"If I stay, I'm going to kiss you again. And if I kiss you again..."

"What?"

"I'm not going to stop."

The words hung between them, charged with promise and threat. Natalia looked up at him, seeing her own desire reflected in his eyes.

This wasn't part of the plan. This was dangerous, reckless, potentially catastrophic. If she slept with Rafael now, before she'd fully established her position, before she'd gathered enough evidence against Isabella, she could lose everything.

But as lightning flashed outside and thunder shook the building, all she could think about was how much she'd missed being held by him. How much she'd missed the way he looked at her like she was the answer to every question he'd never known how to ask.

"Then don't stop," she whispered.

His control snapped like a wire pulled too tight. He kissed her with desperate hunger, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. This wasn't the careful, questioning kiss from the gala. This was need made manifest, two years of longing compressed into a single point of contact.

Natalia kissed him back with equal desperation, her fingers clutching at his shirt as if he might disappear at any moment. She could taste whiskey on his tongue, could feel the slight tremor in his hands as they skimmed down her sides.

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

"Last chance," he said against her lips. "Tell me to leave, and I will."

"Don't you dare," she said, and kissed him again.

This time, he lifted her from the couch, carrying her toward the bedroom while lightning continued to flash outside. Natalia wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his throat, his jaw, anywhere she could reach.

He set her down beside the bed, his hands framing her face as he looked at her with something approaching reverence.

"You're beautiful," he said simply. "So fucking beautiful."

She started to respond, but the words died in her throat as another crash of thunder shook the building. Her body went rigid again, and she found herself transported back to that night—the sound of rain against windows, the taste of copper pennies in her mouth, Isabella's voice saying "This is what happens to women who don't know their place."

"Natalie?" Rafael's voice was concerned. "What's wrong?"

She blinked, realizing she'd gone completely still in his arms. The storm, the memories, the crushing weight of what she was doing—it was all too much.

"I... I can't." The words came out broken. "I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I can't."

"Hey, it's okay." His hands were gentle as he stroked her hair. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"It's not that. It's the storm. It's bringing back memories I'd rather not relive."

"Bad memories?"

"The worst." She pulled back to look at him, seeing understanding in his eyes. "I know it's stupid, being afraid of something that can't actually hurt me..."

"It's not stupid. Fear is just our brain's way of trying to protect us from something that hurt us before."

She wanted to tell him then. Wanted to explain that the storm was bringing back memories of her death, that the fear was of drowning again, of being held under water while thunder crashed overhead. But the words wouldn't come.

"Will you..." She stopped, embarrassed by what she was about to ask.

"What?"

"Will you just hold me? Until the storm passes?"

"Of course."

He pulled back the covers and they lay down together, fully clothed. Rafael wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. Strong and steady and alive.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For not pushing. For understanding."

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you."

But you will, she thought. When you find out who I really am, when you discover why I'm really here, you'll hurt me worse than Isabella ever could.

The storm raged for another hour before finally moving on, leaving only the gentle patter of rain against the windows. Rafael held her through all of it, his fingers stroking her hair, his voice murmuring soft reassurances whenever the thunder got too loud.

Gradually, Natalia felt herself relax. The terror faded, replaced by a sense of safety she hadn't felt in two years. She was warm and protected and, for the first time since her rebirth, not alone.

It was dangerous. It was exactly the opposite of what she should be feeling. But she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Better?" Rafael asked as the last rumble of thunder faded into the distance.

"Yes. Much better." She tilted her head back to look at him. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me for taking care of you."

The words were simple, but they hit her like a physical blow. Taking care of her. When was the last time someone had wanted to do that? When was the last time she'd let them?

Before she could stop herself, she was kissing him again. Not with the desperate hunger of before, but with something deeper. Something that felt dangerously close to love.

He kissed her back just as tenderly, his hands gentle as they traced the line of her spine. When they broke apart this time, there was no desperation, no urgency. Just two people finding comfort in each other's arms while the world quieted around them.

"I should probably go," Rafael said softly, but he made no move to leave.

"Should you?"

"If I stay much longer, I'm going to fall asleep holding you. And in the morning..."

"What happens in the morning?"

"In the morning, I'm going to want to stay forever."

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Natalia knew she should encourage him to leave, should maintain the professional distance that would serve her plan better in the long run. But she was tired of being strong, tired of playing chess when all she wanted was to be held.

"Then stay," she whispered. "Just for tonight."