Chapter 5

Rafael returned moments later, gripping a small black bag filled with medical supplies. Blood seeped through his shirt, his movements slower now. He was losing too much of it.

But the moment he reached the car, his already frayed patience snapped.

Celia was in the driver’s seat.

His grip on the bag tightened. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she reached for the gear shift. “I will drive.”

Rafael was too weak to argue. He slid into the passenger seat, his head leaning back as he projected the GPS to his house. His voice was hoarse but firm. “Follow the location.”

Celia barely spared him a glance. “Noted.”

Then, she threw the car into reverse and slammed the gas.

The tires screeched as the car shot backward, then she spun the wheel and sped off in the opposite direction of the marked route.

Rafael’s eyes snapped open. “Where the fuck are you going to?”

Celia kept her eyes on the road, gripping the wheel tighter. “Relax. I’m not taking you to the police station.”

“Do I look like I'm scared of policemen?”

“Good,” she said flatly. “Because that’s exactly where I should take you.”

His vision blurred slightly, but his scowl remained sharp. “You will explain to them why you chose to steal my car.”

Celia huffed but kept driving. “I’m taking you to my place.”

That caught him off guard. His head lolled slightly as he turned to her. “Why?”

She shot him a glare before focusing back on the road. "Because you're bleeding all over the car, and your injuries could worsen, leading to your death, and I don’t want you to die, pay for your evil deeds first.”

Rafael let out a weak, breathy chuckle. “I have no interest in spending a night in some rundown, dirty apartment.”

Celia rolled her eyes. “It’s not dirty. Just stop talking and save your strength,

Rafael wanted to snap back, but darkness was already creeping at the edges of his vision.

Celia shoved the door open with her shoulder, struggling under Rafael’s weight as she dragged him inside. He was heavier than he looked, and by the time they made it to the couch, she was panting.

Rafael collapsed onto the cushions, looking half-dead but still managing to smirk weakly. “You disobey like it’s a full-time job.”

She rolled her eyes, brushing sweat off her forehead. “Relax and let me patch you up.”

She grabbed the medical supplies and got to work, her movements brisk and practiced. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the occasional sharp inhale from Rafael when she pressed too hard.

Once she finished bandaging his wound, Rafael’s gaze flickered to her. “Are you some kind of nurse?”

Celia snorted. “Seriously? Everyone knows how to do this. Besides, I have a younger brother who gets himself injured all the time.”

Rafael's expression darkened slightly. “Where is he?”

“Out tonight,” she replied, tossing a bloody rag aside. “If he had been home, I wouldn’t have brought you here. You’re a walking vice.”

Rafael huffed out a dry chuckle but said nothing. His eyes drifted over her face, partially swollen from earlier, her bottom lip slightly busted. As she reached for a menthol balm to soothe the ache, he noticed something else.

Her lower back.

A deep bruise bloomed across her skin, just barely visible beneath her shirt. And the way she moved, hesitating when she twisted too far, sucking in a sharp breath when she stretched, it was obvious she couldn’t reach it.

His eyes flicked back to her face.

“You’re hurt.”

Celia shrugged. “I’m dealing with it.”

Ignoring his own pain, Rafael grabbed the medical kit again. “Sit.”

She hesitated. “I can take care of myself”

“Sit. Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

Celia sighed but obeyed, settling in front of him. Rafael shifted, lowering himself to his knees as he pulled the balm from her hands.

A mafia king tending to her wounds on his knees.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

His fingers were warm and rough as they brushed against her skin. He was surprisingly gentle, spreading the balm in slow, careful motions. The air between them thickened, charged with something neither of them wanted to name.

Celia swallowed hard. Her breath hitched as Rafael’s fingers traced over her bruised skin, the touch both soothing and unsettling. Every brush of his hand left a trail of heat, and she hated the way her body reacted, how her pulse quickened, how the space between them seemed to shrink with each passing second.

Rafael wasn’t just tending to her wounds anymore.

His touch lingered.

His gaze darkened.

A slow, deliberate shift in the air sent a shiver down her spine. As his thumb gently grazed the delicate skin on the side of her neck, she felt a jolt of sensation, prompting her to draw in a sudden, sharp breath.

That was when she saw it, the flicker in his eyes, the moment something inside him snapped.

Even injured, even bruised and battered, she was stunning.

Something primal twisted in his chest.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think about why the hell this was a bad idea, he reached for her.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was raw, deep, and consuming.

His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as his lips crashed against hers, demanding, punishing. The taste of danger and blood lingered between them, but neither pulled away.

Celia froze for a split second, then snapped out of it.

Slap. Her palm connected with his face so hard it echoed in the small space.

Rafael barely reacted. His head turned slightly from the impact, but his grip on her waist only tightened. Instead of letting go, instead of backing off, he pulled her even closer, his breath warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“Try that again."