Rafael's Table Novels & Stories

I was done. I made it as far as the breakfast table. The key card was sitting right in the middle of the polished wood, plain white plastic with a black stripe. Raffaele was already there, dressed in a dark shirt and slacks, coffee cup in his hand like he had slept eight perfect hours and had never once been rattled in his life. He did not stand up. He did not block the door. He simply sat across from me and looked at me with that quiet, absolutely certain expression that made my stomach twist.

“We can have one made, sir.” Rafael snorted. “Told you you’d like it.” I dropped into one of the seats, wide enough to fit two of me, and leaned back as Rafael took the seat across from me. In front of us, a glass table sat perfectly set with snacks, refreshments, and a damn fruit platter shaped like a swan. “What is this?” I asked. Rafael raised a glass the stewardess handed him. “Your recovery flight.” I exhaled, glancing out the tiny oval window beside me.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his curls tied up into a messy half-bun, a stethoscope hanging around his neck as if it was jewelry, his usual triple-shot iced espresso in his hand. Alexa blinked at him. "Don't you knock?" Raf gave her a smile that could slice diamonds. "Not when I'm summoned for 'idiot big brother trying to play hero again.'" He walked in, his eyes flicking between us. Kill me. Now. Rafael tossed the coffee on the nearby surface and whipped out his tablet. "Vitals first. I'll throw shade later." Alexa moved instinctively to the side, brushing down the newly buttoned shirt as if she was embarrassed. I was more focused on the way Raf's expression morphed from playfu

Leandro said, his voice taking on a tone of pride that made my heart swell. Rafael gave me a knowing nod, then looked back at Leandro. "The usual table? And the usual menu?" Leandro nodded. "My father’s favorite, please." Rafael flashed a quick sign with his fingers—a gesture from the old world and disappeared into the kitchen with a wink. Leandro led me to a small corner table tucked away in an alcove. It felt private, shielded from the rest of the world. The candlelight danced on the red-checkered tablecloth.

“You were a mistake the moment your mother opened her legs to that Riccardi dog.” Rafael didn’t react. Not with his face. But his eyes burned with anger. He stepped in closer, chest to chest with the man who hated him more than anyone else alive. “And yet I’m the one standing,” he said. “The one leading. While you are nothing more than an old man who doesn't know his time has passed. All these men?” Rafael asked as he spread his arms wide signaling the men at the table. “They don't fear you. They don't care about you. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

He pressed the foot on the brakes and tilted his head to look at her. "Yes. I don't think anymore that such types of guys exist," Lilith said and smiled back. The signal light changed again. Rafaello pressed on the accelerator and soon they reached the restaurant. Getting in, Rafaello enquired about the table. They were taken to the VIP table that was booked for them. They both sat around the table. "We will order in a while. Please bring water for us," Rafaello told the waiter. "I heard you are a pediatrician. It must be tough to work with kids," Rafaello deduced.

Rafaele replied. "I will talk to Rain, just stop arguing with your mom, there is only so much she can do." Jax told Rafaele, trying to calm him down. Rafaele stood up from the table, "Where are you going?" Luna Rosa asked. "I lost my appetite." Rafaele replied and stormed off. They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Rina attempted to wash the dishes but Jax shooed her away, telling her to go rest that she had done enough.

* Rafaels was already there, sleeves rolled up on his black button-down, paint stains on his jeans like he’d been working on something personal. Mid-thirties, intense dark eyes, messy hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He had this way of looking at your work, and at you, that made it feel like he was peeling back layers whether you wanted him to or not. “You’re late,” he said, not looking up from the canvas he was studying under the track lights. “Had to finish the last sketch.” Isabella set her portfolio down and started pulling out the big charcoal drawings. Nudes. Her own body mostly, from different angles in the mirror at her apartment. Raw stuff.

I felt it in the slight shift beside me, barely visible, the kind of thing you only caught if you had been studying this man for weeks. Rafael sat two seats away and smiled across the table. "I don't believe we've met." "Mia," I said. "Rafael." The smile widened slowly. "A genuine pleasure." Dante picked up his wine without a word. The dinner moved through its courses and Rafael was charming in the specific way of men who had practiced it until it became completely effortless. He told stories that made the table laugh. He asked questions that made people feel interesting. He was genuinely good at it and I watched him work the room and thought about how different his kind of power was from Da

Amelia’s POV Rafael slid into the chair across from me as though it was the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation and he didn’t even bother glancing around the cafe. He folded his hands on the table, his tailored jacket catching the light, and smiled. “Amelia.” He said my name like it was a toast, warm and unhurried. “You look better than the last time I saw you.” I stiffened. “Last time you saw me, all you wanted to do is get me out of the way.”