“And if there’s a legitimate fire issue?” Her voice jumps an octave. “What then? I live with a crispy Cavallo on my conscience?”
“There won’t be a fire.” Raffael shifts to the island counter, setting the glass down with deliberate finality. “And he won’t set off the sprinklers.”
“That’s a bold assumption given Eliseo’s commitment to moral ambiguity,” she argues. “I can assure you his incarceration hasn’t miraculously granted him sound judgment.”
“I know my brother.” Raffael moves to the fridge and retrieves a bottle of juice. “He’s well aware he’s not escaping punishment, and smart enough to understand messing with his current situation would mean a far less favorable alternative.”
Quinn’s arms fall to her sides, her thumbs flicking over her fingers in that familiar restless rhythm. “So I’m just meant to play along with his game of chicken?”
“If you like, you can inform him there are contingencies in place, organized by me, and orchestrated by our cousins. If he dares to follow through with his threat he’ll go to prison for what he’s done, just under the guise of something that doesn’t involve Isla or the family.”
Raffael would frame Eliseo for another crime?
I push to my feet.“Is that true?”
Raffael meets my gaze, his mouth curving in a sad smile of resignation. “It’s a worst-case scenario that will hopefully never eventuate.” He unscrews the juice lid and casually pours a glass.“Michelo has communicated to our brother where I stand on the matter.”
“Interesting…” Quinn’s thumbs flick faster at her sides. “But are we sure me throwing that info in his face is a good idea? Because, I’m not gonna lie, the thought of provoking Eliseo after the crap he’s put me through is deeply appealing. It’s just that this entire situation could be deescalated by you simply visiting him, like he’s asked, continuously, for weeks.”
Raffael’s jaw ticks as he raises his tumbler and takes a drink, glaring at her over the rim.
“Okay.Fine.” She huffs a sharp sigh and holds up her hands in surrender. “I guess we’re sticking with punitive conditioning.”
I want to say something. Anything. But the whole conversation feels too raw. Too revealing.
“I’m going to leave you both to your slow burn.” Quinn backtracks toward the entry with a wink deployed a beat too fast to feel genuine.
She’s hurt. I should’ve told her about my progress with Raffael.
I’ll have to make it up to her.
“Make good choices.” She pivots to the door, pulls it wide, and disappears into the hall, the latch clicking shut behind her to leave an unsettling void in her wake.
The apartment falls quiet.
My insides churn.
Raffael’s relationship with family is a knot of grief, duty, and ruthless loyalty. He still mourns the loss of parents he barely knew—a mother who was taken too soon, a father who existed more as a shadow than presence, and a surrogate dad whose legacy haunts the offices he works in every day.
He carries the weight of truths kept deliberately hidden. Burdens his sister remains sheltered from, by design and mercy.
I haven’t pried or pestered, so how much Aurelia knows is unclear to me, but from what I can tell, Raffael intends to keep her protected from the worst of it.
Family is his grounding. Also his undoing. And somehow I’d been self-absorbed enough to overlook the weight of his silence where Eliseo is concerned.
“You haven’t seen Eliseo since…?” I start, then falter, not wanting to reopen barely healed wounds.
Raffael takes another gulp of juice, his gaze fixed on the space Quinn occupied moments ago. “The last time I saw my brother I left him bruised and bloodied on the floor of the cell he’d kept you in.”
My chest tightens. Therapy has taught me how to sit with unwanted memories without unraveling. The problem is, this pain I’m feeling isn’t mine. It’s his. “But he’s asked to see you?”
“Yes, through Quinn and Michelo. Also via email,” he adds flatly. “At least until I informed his prison warden he had contraband electronics hidden in his penthouse.”
I cross the room and stop in front of him, close enough to feel the tension radiating off him.
He’s carried this torment—every ugly, unresolved piece of it—while showing up for me with patience I didn’t fully appreciate until now.
“It’s been months,” I say softly. “Why not go and see him?”
