I nod. We move like a unit, his jacket hits the hook, my fingers find the switch by muscle memory, warm light puddles across the hardwood. In the kitchen, I set water to boil out of habit. He doesn’t sit until I do.
And he tells me everything. Without any theatrics. He tells me how Leo hacked the courthouse through a backdoor he once built for Stephano. About the man he killed to take his identity. He doesn’t linger on the moment Daddy Dearest died. He doesn’t need to.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Breathe, princess.”
I do. In for four, out for four.
“So you went to jail for me,” I say. The words taste impossible. “You walked into that place and out again like it was just… part of your day.”
“For you,” he says simply. “For me. And for every girl who never had someone to come for her.”
Relief settles heavier in my chest, like a stone at the bottom of a glass—weight, then clarity above it. I search for shock, for grief, for triumph. I find only steadiness. A door locked from the inside that no one else can open.
“I don’t feel anything,” I admit. “About him. I thought I would.”
“You don’t owe him your feelings,” Raffael says. “You don’t owe him your tears.”
Something hot pricks the backs of my eyes anyway. Not for Carlos. For the years. For the girl I was. I blink, and they don’t fall. He squeezes my fingers, his thumb draws a slow circle in my palm, grounding me.
“You shouldn’t have had to do it alone,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “You did the hardest part alone for years. This… this is what I’m for.” A breath. “And I was not alone. I had names. Doors that opened. A plan to get me in and out. I don’t take coin-flip chances anymore. Not with you waiting on the other side.”
A small, crooked smile tugs at my mouth. “You sound like a man who intends to live.”
“I do,” he says, like a vow. “I meant what I told you, I’ll use the chair to choke the rot. And if the crown ever paints a target on you, I’ll put it down. But tonight? Tonight, I used their own darkness to make more light for us.”
For us. The words slide into me like warmth.
“What about Toni?” I ask. “He won’t?—”
“He can’t,” he says. “He hired it out. He didn’t name the hand. He won’t ask who did him the favor he couldn’t do himself.”
I exhale, shaky and long. The kettle steam has fogged the window; the glass beads and runs like rain. I realize myshoulders have climbed to my ears. He notices too; his fingers press lightly where the tension bites. They fall.
“Esther,” I say, because it was in my head all day. “Maybe it’s time to let her go home.”
“If you want her to stay, she stays,” he says. “If you want quiet, I’ll make the house quiet. Your call, princess.”
Your call. The two words I’ve wanted my whole life and never got. I nod. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
I make my tea, and Raffael grabs a whiskey after pulling up his nose at my sugary concoction, and we sit quietly for a moment.
“Walk me through it again?” I ask, surprising myself. “Not the… middle. The beginning. You leaving. Tell me what you felt.”
He leans back, considering. His brows crease, and he runs a hand through his hair, "Nobody has ever asked me that." He chuckles dryly. "I don't even know what to say."
I tilt my head to the side, watching him intently as he searches for the right words. Finally, he speaks again, "Worried you would be alone with the waiting, worried something would go sideways that wasn’t mine to control. Calm, because the pieces were right. Angry for you.” He lifts one shoulder. “And then—when it was done—relieved. Like I’d put a stone down, one I didn’t know I’d been carrying since the day I met you.”
I close my eyes at that. When I open them, he’s still there, steady, patient, entirely himself.
“Come here,” I say.
He stands; I stand; we meet halfway around the table. I tuck myself under his chin and listen to his heart. It’s strong and human and not a myth. His arms come around me, and the last of the cold leaves my bones.
“Stay,” I murmur into his shirt.
“As long as you want,” he answers, as if there is any other answer now.
