Novel & Cerita Rafael Solano

Thirty -Jenna- "There's a girl named Janet who makes really good sandwiches." Helmer says to trying to break the tension in here, then taking another bite out of it. I looked back to Alcander and see him taking a step closer to him while his head twitches while he keeps blinking. Each blink his eyes would change, hazel, blue, bright hazel, bright blue. He took another step closer while his breathing is harsh. "Alcander." I say while I look over to Helmer and see him looking down at the freakin sandwich, not paying attention that an Alpha might just end his life right here with no mercy.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and danger. Then, a figure. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a black tailored suit that clung to his frame like sin itself. Dark hair, swept back, sharp jawline, and eyes like storm clouds before the first strike of lightning. Rafael Montoya. Alessio felt his chest tighten. He knew who Rafael was the Montoya family’s enforcer, rumored to be more ruthless than his father, colder than death itself. He had a reputation built on blood and silent executions, on bodies dumped in rivers and men disappearing into the night.

She was the seeker of truth, the weaver of narratives. Rafael "Raf" Solis, a charismatic and quick-witted Logistics and Procurement Specialist, was the team’s fixer. In his mid-thirties, Raf could acquire anything, transport anything, and make anything disappear. He had a vast network of contacts in every corner of Wisteria’s underworld, and his loyalty was to Baron Vance, who had always treated him with respect, even when their paths diverged. He was the master of the impossible, the man who made things happen.

“Terrifying.” “You have no idea. That’s his little brother Ryder by the cooler, also former Navy, and if you catch him staring at anything through that kitchen window, it’s probably Lila. He hasn’t shut up about her in months, poor bastard just hasn’t worked up the nerve.” He tips his chin toward a tall man with dark, watchful eyes leaning against the porch rail. “Rafael Santos. NSA before this. His wife Liora’s out on tour right now, some kind of dance thing, so he’s been a little more broody than usual.” “You people collect acronyms like baseball cards.”

"She'll ask you what you're afraid of, and the only answer that passes is the honest one." Rafael was quiet for a long moment. "I'm afraid," he said, with the specific care of a man practicing honesty before an occasion that would require it, "that three hundred years of being alone has made me someone who loves incompletely. That the habit of solitude runs so deep that even now, even with you, I protect the interior self from being fully seen. Not by intention. By reflex." He paused. "I'm afraid that I will love you with everything I know how to give and it will not be sufficient because what I know how to give has limits I can't see clearly from inside myself."