2012 Raphael Novels & Stories

When he inspects my work and ticks it as ‘good’ instead of ‘excellent,’ it strikes a fire in me. I strip the whole lot off. Darkness falls, the nights evening meal in full delicious swing when the packhouse doors fly open, and I see Raphael weaving through the low-level streets towards me. He’s dressed in a creamy white shirt, opened enough to reveal a dark, rugged chest, and thick navy work trousers, tools clattering about his hip as he runs. “Shit! Stop! Cassandra, come down-” “Cass,” I corrected. High above him on the roof, I gestured for him to climb the ladder. “Now, you can’t say that’s not excellent work!”

she said quickly, stepping forward to grab it from his hand, but Raphael pulled back slightly, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Relax, babe,” he said, chuckling. “I just saw this on the floor. What’s the rush?” He glanced at the cover, tilting his head as he read the title. Then, with an amused smile, he looked up at her. “Huh,” he said, still smiling. “Three discs? That’s… new.” Elena felt her stomach twist. “Raphael, seriously, give it back. It’s not what you think.” He flipped the case open. “Oh, come on. I’m not judging.” He squinted at one of the labels. “Here’s one I haven’t seen before.”

This guy is a lost cause. 【This is the definition of a powerless rage-fest.】 Raphael stood alone in the cavernous, dark mansion, his breathing ragged. His eyes fell on a photograph on the floor, a footprint on it. It was a picture of him and Cecilia when they first got together. He had been on top of the world then, thinking he had everything. “Cecilia…” he whispered, his knuckles white. “I’m not giving up on you. Never.”

Daniel called. Raphael went to the second floor window and saw the motorcycle roaring away. His hand curled into a fist and he smashed the wall next to him. “Get the cars!” X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

I don't want to get my hopes up - or drive all the way out to Marietta's - for nothing. "Just a couple of beers. But I was right next to him for a second at the bar and heard him talk. I'd know that voice anywhere." And he would. A couple of years ago, Raphael was the face of an ad campaign for a designer's new luxury cologne - he appeared in both the campaign's print ads and television commercials, and in the latter, he delivered the cologne's now-famous tagline: "A life of desire. The scent of lust." And let me tell you - those words melted a thousand panties. Raphael's voice is deep, almost gravelly, and I swear, it vibrates right through you. Even my brother - who's never met a pair of b

"You came back with more than you entered with." He walked away. Selene stared after him. The tiny warmth beneath her ribs pulsed once. She whispered so softly that even she barely heard it. "I know." That afternoon, Raphael returned to the archive. He had brought no guards. No advisers. No one he trusted enough to explain what he had experienced. The room seemed colder than it had the night before. He unlocked the cabinet containing the oldest records. One manuscript in particular drew his attention. It had no title. Only a symbol stamped into its leather cover.

"I have chosen Raphael as my successor, and nothing can change that." "But why, sir?" a young female reporter asked. "Why make a potential murderer your successor?" "Nothing about that incident was confirmed, young miss," Gramps replied. "Okay, what about the fact that he's a rapist?" the reporter shot at Gramps. Gramps's eyes widened. "What!" he exclaimed. "Yes, sir. Some proofs say that your favorite grandson, Raphael Lorenzo, raped a girl that was barely ten years old while he was fifteen. If my brain works correctly, that's approximately twenty years ago. What do you have to say about that?"

At the time he had no idea what made his son appeared more agreeable, but whatever it was, he was glad it happened. But like all good things it must came to an end, after a whole month together, it was time for him to go back to Paris. The day before their departure Raphael had met Clara in the art room for the last time, this time she had just finished another painting, it was a painting of the wild deer, she was so fascinated by it she had to make a portrait. Yet unlike the usual happy chattering the air felt a bit gloomy that night. Raphael was sitting on the chair beside Clara like usual. The whole time she tried not to look at his face, she had no idea why, she just did not want to.

What the heck! I must have still made a sound despite my effort to conceal it, and it didn't escape Raphael. the swift shift in the air and the sudden hungry look in Raphael's icy blue eyes resonated deep within me... They pierced into my soul, touching me from the inside out Raphael was dangerous, and forbidden, so why the hell did I want him so much?

Maurizio had the widest smile and couldn't be more proud of his upbringing. Raphael felt his chest tighten. This was the moment—the perfect confluence of memory, love, and renewal. He glanced at Ines, who stood quietly, her eyes shining in the glow of the photograph. This was an uncomfortable area for her but she was holding tight. As the evening ebbed, guests drifted toward the final section—Shadows. Here Raffaele last works hung: stark images of winter branches against pale skies, stones buried in snow, the hush of endings. Raphael had chosen this place deliberately. It was not only closure for Raffaele but a threshold for himself.