Page 92 of Dangerous Deception

“No,” Raffaele repeats.

Of course. Why would he die for me? I’m the daughter of the monster who’s poisoning the city, the daughter of the man who’s been trying to kill him for months. He must think I’m a terrible person and a?—

“I won’t ever die for her because I would never leave her all alone in this world.” Raffaele lifts his chin defiantly and his smile spreads. “That’s the difference between you and I, Pascal. How many years have you sat whittling away your time with plans and schemes, grasping at power while people die around you? How many nights have you crawled into a cold, empty bed without an ounce of warmth to keep you company?”

A flash of rage passes over my father’s face.

“You’re a pathetic, lonely man. But me? I see the value in people, and Adelina? She’s the best person I have ever met. She’s sweet. Kind. Strong. She gets handed money and power, and what does she do with it? She buys a fucking hospital. That heart of gold clearly came from her mother. So no, I won’t die for her because I will not leave her side.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. His answer is like out of my wildest dreams when I would fantasize about someone being so incredibly in love with me that they would do everything and anything to be by my side. Dying for me is romantic in its own right, but Raffaele’s powerful words make my chest swell with love.

He won’t die because he wants to be here, right here, with me.

“But you know what I will do?” Raffaele’s smile fades in an instant. “I will kill for her. Anyone who has ever harmed her, anyone who has ever scared her or hurt her, or even brought a tear to those beautiful eyes. I will kill them. I would burn down the entire world—no, my entire empire—for her. Because I love her, and there is no sacrifice too big to ensure she ends up right back where she belongs. With me. In fact…” The smile returns briefly. “I’ve already started.”

What does he mean? I glance rapidly between the two of them, shifting where I lie, but my subtle movements are halted by a guard’s boot in my back. The weight forces a grunt of airthrough my nose, and I wince, struggling to focus on shallow breaths while unable to take my eyes off Raffaele.

He came for me.

Whatever else happens in this warehouse, whatever the outcome, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember that he came here for me and would burn the world for me.

Pascal’s arm wavers slightly and the aim of the gun dips from Raffaele’s forehead down to his chest as he rummages in his pocket for his phone. He stares down at the screen and his mustache twists.

“Expecting someone?” Raffaele asks casually. “Don’t tell me they’re late.”

What is he talking about? And how is he acting so relaxed while facing down certain death? I want to surge up and slap him, then demand he takes this more seriously.

Then again, maybe Raffaele’s made peace with how this is going to play out.

“What have you done?” Pascal lifts his head and his arm tightens, once again lifting the weapon to Raffaele’s face.

“I told you.” Raffaele’s eyes narrow to slits. “There’s nothing I won’t do to get back what’s mine. I imagine you were expecting the Irish to rush in right about now? So you could hand me over and go on about your merry way?” He lifts his other hand and wiggles his fingers, mimicking people running away. “They’re kind of preoccupied.”

“What?” Pascal’s mouth falls open.

“Has it clicked?” Raffaele taps a finger to his temple. “The Irish themselves are a powerhouse, so how could little old me distract them to the point that they wouldn’t even come here to deal with me? Let me think… The court of public opinion is intense. Especially when the public has been poisoned for the better part of fifteen years.”

“You son of a bitch!”

“Technically, I didn’t do anything.” Raffaele smirks. “Your boy Carlos did most of the leg work. I just gathered what he left behind and presented it to the right people. I think the Irish won’t be contacting you for a long time, although the FBI might be knocking down your door. They take things like water contamination very seriously.”

My father’s carefully constructed balance of power always rested on one thing. The Irish and their ability to protect him for their own good. In just a few words, that protection has gone up in smoke.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Pascal yells. “You’ve fucked me, oh, you’ve so fucked me. To think I was going to give you a clean kill, but you know what? You don’t fucking deserve that. I don’t need the Irish. I don’t need anyone! I am Pascal Castiglioni and I?—”

Pascal flies back into the arms of one of his guards as Raffaele surges forward and delivers a powerful punch to his face. A few of the guards raise their weapons, but uncertainty is clear on all their faces.

The Irish were their stability. No one is safe. Not anymore.

“Where is she?” Raffaele yells, surging at Pascal once again. “Now is the time where you tell me what the fuck you’ve done with my wife!”

The guard pinning me to the ground surges to life and steps off me, only to grab me by the rope binding my arms behind my back and pick me up. I grunt through my gag as the strain pulls painfully at my shoulders. As soon as he hauls me to my feet, I twist away from him and try to take a few steps, but he circles an arm around my waist and lifts me off the ground.

Kicking my legs out, I throw my head backward and collide with something hard and sharp—hopefully, his chin. My captor stumbles backward but maintains a firm grip around my abdomen. Desperation surges through me.

I have to let Raffaele know I’m here!

A brawl breaks out before me where Raffaele shows impressive strength in knocking out two of Pascal’s guards. I kick my legs again, twist my body left and right, and then bring both my legs down as hard as I can. The shift in weight makes my capture overbalance, and we both fall into a pile with a mixture of grunts and pained squeaks.

---