CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: UNSPOKEN

The next three days passed in a carefully choreographed dance of avoidance. Natalia arrived at the office early and left late, timing her movements to minimize contact with Rafael. When they did encounter each other in meetings or hallways, their interactions were painfully professional—a stark contrast to the charged intimacy they'd shared in the darkened conference room.

Rafael, for his part, seemed equally committed to maintaining distance. Gone were the private strategy sessions and casual conversations that had become routine. Instead, he communicated through assistants and email, his messages clipped and formal. But Natalia caught him watching her sometimes, his blue eyes holding questions she couldn't afford to answer.

It was Isabella who broke the stalemate.

"I've taken the liberty of restructuring the G & O project timeline," she announced during Thursday's department meeting, sliding a revised schedule across the conference table. "Given the complexity of the international components, I felt it was important to have more experienced oversight."

Natalia studied the document, her expression carefully neutral even as fury burned in her chest. Isabella had systematically removed her from every key decision point, relegating her to administrative tasks that could be handled by any junior associate.

"This is quite a significant revision," Natalia said, her voice calm despite the storm building inside her. "May I ask what prompted such sweeping changes?"

Isabella's smile was sharp as a blade. "Risk management. The client has expressed concerns about continuity, and I felt it was important to ensure that our most senior team members are handling the critical elements."

"I see." Natalia opened her laptop and pulled up a spreadsheet. "Would you like to review the risk assessment I prepared last week? Because according to my analysis, the probability of project failure actually increases when you remove specialized expertise from key decision points."

She stood and moved to the whiteboard, her movements fluid and confident. "For instance, the client relations component—which you've reassigned to the general accounts team—has specific cultural and linguistic requirements that our standard team isn't equipped to handle."

"I'm sure they can adapt," Isabella replied, but there was tension in her voice now.

"Can they?" Natalia turned to face the room. "Mr. Chen, you've worked with our Shanghai office before. How long did it take to resolve the miscommunication issue on the Langston project?"

David Chen, the head of international operations, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Three weeks," he admitted. "And it cost us about two hundred thousand in delays."

"Exactly." Natalia returned to the whiteboard, sketching out a flow chart. "The G & O project has four separate cultural components, each with their own unique requirements. Removing specialized oversight doesn't reduce risk—it exponentially increases it."

She pulled up another document on her laptop, projecting it onto the screen. "I've run the numbers. Isabella's revised timeline has a sixty-seven percent chance of significant delays and a forty-three percent chance of client dissatisfaction serious enough to impact future business."

The room fell silent. Isabella's face had gone pale, but her voice remained steady. "Those projections seem rather pessimistic."

"They're realistic," Natalia replied. "Based on historical data from twelve similar projects over the past three years. Would you like me to walk through the methodology?"

"That won't be necessary." The new voice belonged to Rafael, who had entered the room without anyone noticing. He looked tired, Natalia observed, with shadows under his eyes that suggested he'd been sleeping as poorly as she had.

"Mr. Moretti," Isabella said, her relief evident. "I was just explaining the updated project structure to the team."

"I heard." Rafael moved to the head of the table, his gaze moving between Isabella and Natalia. "I also heard Ms. De Luca's analysis. Which version of the timeline do you recommend we present to the client?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Isabella's mouth opened and closed like a fish, while Natalia felt a familiar surge of competitive satisfaction.

"I recommend we present options," Natalia said smoothly. "The conservative approach that prioritizes familiar processes, and the optimized approach that maximizes both efficiency and client satisfaction. Let them choose based on their priorities."

Rafael nodded slowly. "Prepare both presentations. We'll review them tomorrow morning."

As the meeting broke up, Natalia caught Isabella's eye across the table. The other woman's expression was carefully neutral, but her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

"Well played," Isabella murmured as they filed out of the conference room. "But this isn't over."

"I never thought it was," Natalia replied pleasantly. "I'm looking forward to the next round."

* * *

That evening, Natalia found herself at the gym in the basement of her apartment building. It was past ten o'clock, and the facility was empty except for the soft hum of air conditioning and the distant sound of traffic from the street above. She'd been coming here every night since the storm, pushing her body to exhaustion in hopes of quieting her mind.

She was halfway through her routine on the heavy bag when she heard the door open. She didn't need to turn around to know it was Rafael—her body recognized his presence with the same instinctive awareness a prey animal might have for a predator.

"You're here late," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

"So are you." She continued her combination, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing and the satisfying thud of her gloves against the leather.

"I live in the building," he said, moving closer. "Penthouse."

Of course he did. Natalia felt a moment of panic, realizing that he'd been just floors above her every night for the past month. The proximity felt both thrilling and terrifying.

"I didn't realize," she said, stepping back from the bag. "I can find somewhere else to work out if this is inconvenient."

"It's not inconvenient." Rafael shrugged out of his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. "I actually came down here looking for you."

"Looking for me?"

"Matteo mentioned that you'd been working late every night this week. I wanted to make sure everything was all right."

The concern in his voice was genuine, and it made something twist painfully in Natalia's chest. This was the Rafael she remembered—the one who worried about her wellbeing, who noticed when she was stressed or tired.

"I'm fine," she said, but even she could hear the brittleness in her voice.

"Are you?" He moved closer, and she caught the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something else—exhaustion, maybe, or the same restless energy that had been driving her to the gym every night.

"You look tired," he continued. "And you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been avoiding you," she lied. "I've been busy."

"We both have." Rafael picked up a pair of training gloves from the equipment rack. "Want to spar?"

The question caught her off guard. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? You clearly know how to handle yourself." He gestured toward the heavy bag. "And I could use the exercise."

Before she could object, he'd pulled on the gloves and was wrapping his hands. The movements were practiced, efficient—he'd done this many times before.

"I don't want to hurt you," Natalia said, but there was something in her voice that suggested she might want to do exactly that.

"You won't," Rafael replied with a confidence that made her want to prove him wrong.

They circled each other in the center of the mat, both clearly experienced but testing the other's style. Rafael was bigger and stronger, but Natalia was faster and more flexible. When he threw the first punch—a gentle jab that was obviously meant to test her reactions—she slipped it easily and countered with a hook that stopped just short of his ribs.

"Not bad," he said, his eyes lighting up with something that might have been respect.

"I'm full of surprises," she replied, and this time when he came at her, she didn't hold back.

The sparring match quickly escalated from gentle testing to something more intense. Rafael's technique was solid but somewhat predictable—clearly self-taught or learned from bodyguards rather than formal training. Natalia, on the other hand, moved with the fluid precision of someone who'd spent years learning to fight.

They danced around each other, trading combinations and testing defenses. Rafael's reach advantage was offset by Natalia's speed, and what began as a simple workout became something more personal. Each strike carried weight beyond the physical—frustration, attraction, and a dozen unspoken challenges.

"Where did you learn to fight like this?" Rafael asked during a brief pause, his breathing slightly labored.

"New York can be a dangerous place," Natalia replied, though the truth was that Lorenzo had insisted on combat training as part of her preparation for revenge. "You pick up skills."

"This isn't self-defense," Rafael said, circling her again. "This is... something else."

He was right, of course. The way she moved, the precision of her strikes, the tactical awareness she displayed—it was military or law enforcement training, not something learned in a casual self-defense class.

"Maybe I'm full of surprises," she said, launching into a combination that forced him to backpedal.

"Maybe you are."

The intensity ratcheted up another notch. What had started as sparring was becoming something more primal, more dangerous. They were both breathing hard now, their movements becoming more aggressive, more personal.

Rafael caught her wrist during a particularly ambitious combination, using his size advantage to pull her off balance. She twisted in his grip, but instead of breaking free, she found herself pressed against his chest, both of them breathing hard from exertion and something else entirely.

"Yield," he said, his voice rough.

"Never," she replied, but her voice was breathless.

They stood like that for a moment, frozen in a tableau of barely controlled violence and attraction. Rafael's arm was around her waist, holding her against him, while her hands were pressed against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering beneath her palms, could see the pulse jumping in his throat.

"This is dangerous," he said, but he didn't let go of her.

"I know," she whispered back, and neither of them moved.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with possibility and threat. Then Rafael's phone buzzed against his hip, shattering the spell. They sprang apart as if burned, both of them flushed and breathing hard.

"I should go," Natalia said, backing toward the door.

"Natalie—"

But she was already gone, leaving Rafael alone in the empty gym with the scent of her perfume and the memory of how perfectly she'd fit against him.

* * *

In her apartment, Natalia stood under a cold shower until her skin was numb and her breathing had returned to normal. But she couldn't wash away the memory of Rafael's hands on her body, or the way he'd looked at her in that moment before his phone had interrupted them.

This was exactly what she'd been afraid of. The physical attraction between them was undeniable, but it was more than that. In the gym, fighting with him, she'd felt alive in a way she hadn't since her death. The competition, the challenge, the way he'd pushed her to be better—it reminded her of why she'd fallen in love with him in the first place.

But she couldn't afford to fall in love with him again. Not when Isabella was watching for any sign of weakness, not when her revenge was so close to fruition.

As she dried her hair and prepared for bed, Natalia caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips slightly swollen from breathing hard. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly kissed, even though nothing had happened.

*Yet,* a treacherous voice in her head whispered. *Nothing has happened yet.*

She turned away from the mirror and climbed into bed, but sleep eluded her. Instead, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of their encounter in the gym. The way he'd moved, the way he'd looked at her, the way her body had responded to his touch even through their sparring gear.

Three floors above her, Rafael was having similar thoughts. He stood at his bedroom window, looking out at the city lights, trying to process what had just happened. The woman he'd sparred with wasn't Natalie De Luca, the polished professional he'd been working with for the past month. She was someone else entirely—someone dangerous, skilled, and utterly captivating.

Someone who reminded him more and more of Alina with each passing day.

He touched the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of Alina's engagement ring against his chest. The ring he'd never been able to bring himself to remove, even after two years of grief and guilt.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered to the empty room, not sure if he was addressing the ghost of his dead fiancée or the very real woman sleeping three floors below.

The answer, he suspected, was both. And that terrified him more than anything else.