Chapter 4. Disguised Angel

Rafael

Demons.

He was plagued by them. No matter how much tequila he consumed, he couldn’t block the memory of his baby sister crying. Her pain. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him.

When will it end?

Monette.

She would have been a teenager now. Fuck! Some big brother he was. He was good for nothing. He couldn’t even save her.

In the darkness of his bedroom, heavy drapes blocking the outside world, he gulped the remaining contents of the heavy liquor.

Though he was feeling the buzz of the alcohol, his mind was on full alert. Too active. Too much. Too many painful memories swirling inside his head.

He could do some paperwork to pass the time. But...

Rafael squinted his eyes, trying to read the time. Puta!

Tomorrow, he would be supervising the training of his men. In a few weeks, he would choose his new second.

Rafael’s stomach grumbled. A reminder he hadn’t had sustenance, except the booze, since arriving.

Grimacing, he rubbed his eyes. If he remembered correctly, Tia would always leave something for him in the kitchen for his midnight snack. He would usually sneak at night despite his mother’s strict warning of no sweets and extra carbo before bedtime.

His heart gave a tiny squeeze from the memory. He shouldn’t be reminiscing about the past. The hard booze had dulled his thoughts, making him fucking vulnerable.

Just for tonight. He planned to eat his fill. Be drunk. Be vulnerable in his own home. No one would notice, especially at dawn. He was all alone.

Rafael’s pace was sluggish as he navigated the darkened hallways of his hacienda. He knew every nook and cranny like the back of his hand, he could even do this blindfolded.

Hearing his stomach grumble, his lips twisted, and he grunted in annoyance.

At his age, he should have acquired a wife as expected of him. His to love and care for. His to protect. One his mother would have approved.

No! Never! All of those dreams belonged to the past. He was not worthy of a wife, let alone a family.

The sober mood Rafael was sporting since he arrived had only grown darker. With the intent to grab a quick bite and retire for the night, his long, slightly clumsy strides brought him to the warm kitchen he grew up with.

Another bitter recollection made him growl. Adjusting his eyes from the gloomy darkness, his steps faltered.

Pausing, assessing. He couldn’t be this drunk. Surely, an angel of God had not come down to escort him to the gates of hell.

An apparition.

A woman so light on her feet with ethereal luscious blonde hair clinging to the small of her back gracefully flitted into his kitchen, humming, tucked on her left arm a basket filled with an assortment of delicious food.

Dios Mio! He was suddenly so fucking hard he couldn’t think straight. Fuck! It was way too long since he had fucked his usual women.

Now, how much he tried to remember their faces, for the life of him, he couldn’t. He had been captured. Captivated. Balls and all. By an angel sent by God. Could he fuck her then?

He hoped so. Another sin to add to his list.

In drunken euphoria, he watched her graceful movements toward the fridge.

The sudden blast of light made him flinch, bringing him back to reality.

Blinking, he tried to focus. He needed to. This woman might be sent by his enemies. To kill him no less. Shit!

How could one person distract him so much? Annoyed, more with himself and his baser needs, he reached her in a few drunken strides. Fuck! She smells so good.

Growling, annoyed at himself because of his lustful thoughts, he asked in his usual menacing voice. “¿Quién diablos eres tú?¿Y qué haces en mi cocina?” (Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?)

He watched her whole delectable body stiffen, and his suspicions proved him right. The angel-like beauty was an intruder.

Determined to see her face, he grasped her bare arm, became so distracted again by her soft skin, and found himself hunched on the tiled kitchen floor with bruised ribs and a bloody nose. Shit! He was not that drunk. And she was not that fast.

Rafael was fairly sure the angel was sent to kill him. She had the potential.

From his vantage point, he could see her delicate features contorted in disbelief. And guilt.

Pausing. Distracted. Again.

No one had ever bested him before. No one. Except for his childhood buddies, now the mafia king and the general.

Well, he had an excuse tonight, he was drunk.

Not that drunk, Rafael.

Standing slowly, wiping the blood from his nose, he eyed his opponent. Graceful and willow. Subtle curves in all the right places and elegant aristocratic beauty. Only the adamant look on her face showed she was far from the angel his mind had conjured when he first saw her.

He could take her in a few moves guaranteed to subdue her, enough for him to investigate her presence in his hacienda.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” she warned. Cheeky little miss. So confident. She didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You already did,” he muttered. His dark eyes never left her face. Her stance showed she had practice. Well and good. Let’s put that to the test, angel.

Relaxing his shoulders, critically measuring the distance from her, in two giant steps, he pulled her in his arms to cage her. To his surprise, she didn’t squirm nor did she attempt to escape from his hold.

Again, he was thrown off. She was so soft and smelled so good. Like fresh flowers in springtime.

Fuck! Concentrate before you get your balls kicked, Rafael.

“I don’t want to fight you.” She sounded breathless yet he wasn’t squeezing her too much. In fact, she lay supple in his arms. He could feel her heart racing. Only thin barriers of clothes separated them, and his libido heightened.

She is trouble. Concentrate!

Looking down at her upturned face, he frowned, showing his disapproval. “Tell me who sent you, and I will be merciful.”

She dared roll her eyes at him and pouted. “You are so dense. No one sent me. We both work here. Well, I just started a few months ago. Look, you can ask Tia and Tio.”

“Me mientes!” (You lie!) He knew everyone in his household. And Tio Ramon would have told him they hired new help.

“What?! No. Tia must have told El Patrón. Look, let me go, and we will speak to them in the morning. Si?”

Rafael frowned. She looked convincing enough. But all spies were. Was she playing with him? She came here for him, El Patrón, yet she didn’t know her mission.

With her arms caged by him, he tried to read her fathomless eyes in the dark. He wondered what their hue was in daylight.

“Or I’ll just keep you in a cell until morning. Then we can ask Tia.” Yes. That’s a better option. He’d be more than happy to volunteer himself to guard her for the rest of the night.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice suddenly firmed.

“You don’t have any choice, little girl,” he answered condescendingly. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Claro que tengo, señor.” (Of course, I have, sir.) She growled her words out. Ah, a spitfire. Bueno.

Adjusting his hold, about to hoist her up to his shoulder and bring her to the nearest cell, he forgot that her hands remained unbound. All he felt was a slight discomfort at the back of his neck…

Damn, angel! These were his final thoughts.

Then darkness.