CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: STORM WARNING

The storm hit Milan like a predator stalking its prey—slow, inevitable, and with devastating precision. Dark clouds had been gathering all afternoon, casting shadows across the city's gleaming towers and turning the sky the color of old pewter. By evening, the first drops began to fall, heavy and insistent against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti building.

Natalia stood in the conference room, watching the rain streak down the glass as she reviewed the final presentations for tomorrow's board meeting. The building was nearly empty now, most employees having fled at the first rumble of thunder. She preferred it this way—the silence gave her space to think, to plan, to remember why she was here.

The door opened behind her, and she didn't need to turn around to know it was Rafael. His presence filled the room like electricity before a lightning strike, making the air itself seem to vibrate with tension.

"You should go home," he said, his voice carrying that low, authoritative tone that made her skin prickle with recognition. "The storm's getting worse."

"I'm almost finished," she replied, keeping her back to him as she gathered her papers. "Just reviewing the quarterly projections one more time."

"Always the perfectionist."

Something in his tone made her turn. He was standing near the door, his jacket slung over one arm, his tie loosened at the collar. The casual disarray was oddly intimate, as if she were seeing him in a private moment not meant for anyone else.

"Perfectionism is what separates success from mediocrity," she said, echoing something Alina had once told him during one of their late-night conversations about architecture and dreams.

His eyes sharpened, and she realized her mistake immediately. Too familiar. Too much like something the old Alina would have said.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Someone else once told me that."

The thunder rolled overhead, long and low, and the lights flickered. For a moment, they stood in semi-darkness, the city's glow filtering through the rain-streaked windows like distorted stars.

"I should go," Natalia said, moving toward the door. But Rafael stepped sideways, not blocking her path exactly, but making it clear he wasn't ready to end this conversation.

"The parking garage will be flooded by now," he said. "The drainage system in this district is notoriously poor during heavy storms."

As if summoned by his words, lightning flashed outside, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that made the windows shake. The lights flickered again, longer this time, and when they stabilized, both of them were hyperaware of their isolation.

"I can call a car," Natalia said, pulling out her phone.

"No signal," Rafael replied, checking his own device. "The storm's interfering with the towers."

They were trapped. The realization settled between them like a third presence in the room, heavy with implications neither wanted to acknowledge.

"I suppose we wait it out then," Natalia said, settling into one of the leather chairs around the conference table. She kept her movements calm, professional, but her pulse was racing. Being alone with Rafael in a confined space felt dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his reputation.

Rafael remained standing for a moment, as if considering his options, then took the chair directly across from her. The distance was both too much and not nearly enough.

"Tell me about yourself," he said suddenly. "Before New York. Before the De Luca name."

The question caught her off guard. She'd prepared for many things, but not this direct approach to her carefully constructed backstory.

"There's not much to tell," she said, arranging her expression into something appropriately modest. "I grew up in Mumbai, studied architecture, worked for various firms before eventually making my way to America."

"Architecture," he repeated. "Interesting choice."

"I've always been fascinated by the way spaces can transform people," she said, the words flowing easier now that she was on familiar ground. "The way light and shadow, proportion and scale can evoke emotion, create atmosphere, tell stories."

Rafael leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes never leaving her face. "You sound like someone I knew once. She had similar... philosophies about space and design."

Natalia's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral. "Great minds think alike, I suppose."

"Perhaps." His voice was thoughtful, almost dreamy. "She designed this building's renovation, actually. The conference room. She said she wanted to create a space that would make people feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time."

The memory hit Natalia like a physical blow. She remembered that conversation, remembered sketching ideas on napkins at a café while Rafael watched with that same intense focus he was giving her now. She'd been so young then, so naive about the kind of power she was playing with.

"She sounds talented," Natalia managed.

"She was." Rafael's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "She was everything."

The past tense hung between them, heavy with loss and regret. Natalia found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn by the pain in his voice despite every instinct screaming at her to maintain distance.

"What happened to her?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

Rafael's expression hardened, the vulnerability disappearing behind the mask he wore so well. "She died."

The simple statement carried the weight of grief, guilt, and something else—a fury that had been burning for two years without resolution.

"I'm sorry," Natalia said, and meant it. The woman who had loved him was sorry, even if the woman who had come back for revenge wasn't ready for forgiveness.

"Are you?" Rafael's eyes seemed to bore into her soul. "Because something tells me you know more about loss than you're letting on."

The lights flickered again, longer this time, and they were plunged into darkness. Only the distant glow of street lamps and the occasional flash of lightning illuminated their faces, turning them into shadows and highlights, making the space feel both vast and intimate.

"Everyone knows loss," Natalia said into the darkness. "It's part of being human."

"Some people wear it better than others," Rafael replied. "You, for instance. You carry yourself like someone who's been broken and put back together. The question is, what broke you?"

The observation was too accurate, too close to the truth. Natalia felt exposed, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed facade to the raw grief and burning anger beneath.

"Isn't that a rather personal question for a business meeting?" she deflected.

"This stopped being a business meeting the moment we got trapped in here together." Rafael's voice was closer now, though she hadn't heard him move. "And you've been asking personal questions about my dead fiancée."

The word 'fiancée' hit her like a slap. He'd never used that term before, had always referred to Alina as his 'girlfriend' or 'the woman I was seeing.' The upgrade in status felt like salt in an open wound.

"You loved her very much," Natalia said, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice.

"I thought I did." The admission seemed to surprise him. "But love isn't enough to save someone, is it? Sometimes the people we love most are the ones who destroy us."

"Is that what she did? Destroy you?"

Rafael was quiet for so long that Natalia wondered if he'd heard her. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible over the rain.

"She betrayed me. At least, that's what I thought. But lately..." He trailed off, then seemed to gather himself. "Lately, I've been wondering if I was wrong. If maybe I failed her instead."

The vulnerability in his voice was devastating. This was the Rafael she'd fallen in love with—the one who let his guard down in moments of darkness, who showed her the broken places inside him that he hid from everyone else.

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"Because I know her," he said simply. "Knew her. And the woman I knew would never have done what they said she did. She would have died first."

*She did die first,* Natalia thought, but she couldn't say the words. Instead, she reached across the table in the darkness, her fingers finding his wrist.

"Maybe she did," she said softly. "Maybe she died protecting something she loved."

Rafael's hand turned under hers, his fingers threading through hers with devastating familiarity. His thumb traced across her knuckles, and she remembered this touch, remembered how his hands had felt on her skin, how they'd trembled when he'd first told her he loved her.

"You have soft hands," he said, his voice strange. "Like hers."

Natalia's breath caught. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"And you smell like..." He leaned closer, and she could feel his breath against her ear. "Like jasmine and rain."

It was Alina's perfume. The same one she'd worn every day for two years, the one Rafael had bought for her first birthday after they'd met. Natalia had found a bottle in her apartment in New York and hadn't been able to resist wearing it, telling herself it was just another tool in her arsenal of manipulation.

Now it felt like a betrayal of both her identities.

"Many women wear jasmine perfume," she said, but her voice was shaking.

"Not like this." Rafael's other hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Not exactly like this."

The lights flickered back on, sudden and harsh, and they sprang apart like guilty lovers. Rafael's face was flushed, his eyes dark with an emotion she didn't dare name. Natalia's heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.

"The storm's passing," she said, gesturing toward the window where the rain had lessened to a gentle patter.

"Yes," Rafael said, but he didn't move from his chair. "It is."

They sat in silence for several minutes, the weight of what had almost happened settling between them. Finally, Rafael stood and walked to the window, putting distance between them.

"You should go home," he said without turning around. "The roads will be clear soon."

"Yes," Natalia agreed, gathering her things with hands that weren't quite steady. "I should."

She made it to the door before his voice stopped her.

"Natalie."

She turned, and the look on his face made her stomach clench with longing and terror in equal measure.

"You remind me of someone I used to know," he said, echoing the words she'd dreaded hearing.

"Is that a good thing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rafael studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I don't know," he said finally. "But I intend to find out."

As Natalia left the building, she could feel his eyes on her back. She walked through the empty lobby with measured steps, her heels clicking against the marble floor, but inside she was running.

The storm had passed, but another one was brewing. And this time, she wasn't sure she would survive it.

Outside, the city sparkled with rain-washed streets and reflected lights. Milan looked beautiful after the storm, clean and renewed. But Natalia knew that some storms didn't wash things clean—they revealed what had been hidden underneath.

As she drove home through the empty streets, she caught herself touching her lips, remembering the warmth of Rafael's breath against her skin. The memory was dangerous, a crack in the armor she'd built around her heart.

She had come back for revenge. But sitting in that darkened conference room, feeling the familiar weight of his attention, the gentle touch of his hands, she'd remembered something else: how much she'd loved him. How much she'd wanted to be loved in return.

The realization terrified her more than Isabella's threats or Rafael's suspicions. Because love was the one thing she couldn't control, couldn't manipulate, couldn't use as a weapon.

Love was the one thing that could destroy her plan completely.

And as she pulled into her driveway, Natalia admitted to herself what she'd been trying to deny for weeks: she was still in love with Rafael Moretti.

The question was whether that love would save them both or destroy them completely.

The answer would determine everything.