Rafael's Table Novels & Stories

Rafael closes his eyes in frustration, and Eva gets up and wears her clothes. Rafael looks at him but can't say anything. Eva starts to leave from there, but turns towards him, saying, "Don't ever show me your face again; I would never like to be with a loser," and walks away from there. Rafael becomes enraged and strikes the glass table in front of him, causing the table to crack and his hand to get bloodied.

Rafael’s fingers brushed my thigh beneath the table. I turned my head. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was still talking to his older cousin about a steel acquisition in Rotterdam, his deep voice low and flat, like multibillion-euro deals were the kind of thing people discussed while choosing dessert. But his thumb moved against my thigh again, applying a soft press. Then, when the conversation shifted to summer in Lake Como and who had bought new property in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, Rafael leaned slightly toward me and brushed a kiss against my cheekbone.

I regret leaving my gun at home, but Rafael always carries his - even when we’re just sitting in the living room talking, he has his gun with him. My husband slides in next to Sforza and takes the seat opposite him. I have no idea what Rafael has planned, but every nerve is on fire. I can barely breathe, let alone think. No one says a word while we wait for the waitress to place our menus in front of us. The food all looks like it originates from the sixties, and so do the menus with their faded pictures and sticky plastic coverings. “What would you like to drink?” I notice Rafael’s right arm, the one closest to Matteo, twitching slightly. No one else sees it, but it’s almost unmistakable. “

Rafe said as he started the train with my table on a trolley cart. Mas brought up the rear. The trestles for the table were stacked on top. He had a big smile on his face. "We need many babies in this family, sorella. Don't let our youngest brother tell you otherwise." He leaned over, pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I asked, my voice still a little breathless from the sudden exit. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he led me to an empty table that looked like it had been reserved just for us. “You didn’t have to defend me like that. Penny’s right, anyway,” I said softly as I sat down, my eyes lowering to the table. It was set with several bottles of alcohol and neatly arranged snacks. Rafael grabbed a beer and looked straight at me. “She’s not right. And I had to say something. So immature,” he muttered before taking a swig.

Taylor smirked. “Then let’s play something I can play.” Taylor thought for a moment before saying, “Dice, then. It’s easy. If you’ve got hands, you’re qualified. You at least know how to compare totals, right?” I nodded. “That works. Let’s start.” Then, I walked straight to the card table and sat down on the side against the wall. “Oh, Maisie, you’re challenging Taylor at dice? You’ve already lost. Taylor’s the queen of dice. Even the pros can’t beat her.”

he muttered before dropping it back on the table. Rafael stood among his loyal men, a glass of alcohol in his left hand and a stick of burning cigarette in his left hand. He was dressed in a black leather jacket on top of a white shirt and a black combat joggers. There were four other men in the room who all stood, waiting for him to speak on.

I left him there and moved towards the dining room, wafting in the smell of freshly made espresso and eggs. Rafael sat at the long wooden table, a newspaper in front of him and a mug in the other hand. Across from him, Rosalia was cutting up some fruit with care, the very picture of morning ease. What caught my attention, though, was the way she leaned forward across the table, forkful of what she was having held up to Rafael's mouth. "Try this," she said, her voice light. "It's good." Rafael barely glanced up from his paper. "I'm eating."

He had just shaken my already shattered peace. I pulled his jacket over my shoulders to cover my chest. It was oddly comforting. Rafael asked the waiter to take us to a table and ordered an espresso for both of us. “I guess I should stay for a bit,” he said as he sat down. He leaned on the seat’s cushion and stared at me. “You, Miss, are rather clumsy.” “I know, so please don’t say it.” I’d just get back to the business. I gave him his phone. “Here.” I placed it on the table. He picked it up right away to punch in his passcode.

It was the kind of restaurant that prided itself on consistency rather than novelty. Hunter scanned the area quickly before stepping out first, his gaze flicking over the entrance and the street. “I will be inside,” he said quietly. “But I will give you space.” “Thank you,” Adrea replied. Rafael was already there. She spotted him immediately through the window, seated at a corner table near the glass. He had not changed from earlier, still in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his jacket draped over the back of the chair beside him. A cup of untouched coffee sat in front of him.