RAPHAEL'S POV
I stood in my private study, staring out at the city skyline that blinked beneath me like a dying constellation. My glass of bourbon sat untouched on the table. It wasn't often I allowed sentiment to crawl into my thoughts, but tonight—tonight felt like a turning point.
The call had come in days ago. Not from Otelio, the old fool still buried under pride and poor decisions—but from his daughter.
Linda.
Her voice had trembled. I could almost hear her clutching at the last thread of hope. It amused me. The desperation. The surrender. She had no idea what she was offering me—what her plea would cost her.
I had known about the kidnapping before her call. My city, my rules. Nothing happened without reaching my ears first. And when she mentioned the ransom—470 million dollars—I already had the information sitting in my inbox. My men had been tracking the Dante family for months. Debts piling up. Otelio's estate crumbling. Amelia and Rosa barely holding it together. And Linda… the weakest link, but also the most useful.
I hadn't planned on intervening. Let them burn in the fire they lit. But then Josephine came to me again.
"We can't keep trying like this, Raphael," she had said. "You need an heir. If not for me… for your position."
My stepbrother, crippled though he was, still had claim to the family business. I had power, yes, but no bloodline to secure it. Josephine was right. I needed an heir. And a surrogate.
Linda Dante, broken and desperate, had just walked into my trap.
"I'll give you the money," I told her. "But you'll owe me. This is not a favor, Linda. This is a debt. And I always collect."
The silence that followed was delicious. She agreed, of course. What choice did she have?
The transaction was immediate. My men shadowed the drop. I had a strange feeling about the deal—it reeked of sloppiness. Otelio had burned too many bridges. I had no doubt someone would alert the cops.
So I went myself.
Not directly to the exchange, but to the far end of the warehouse, unseen, eyes watching from a distance. My car rolled in just minutes before the chaos began.
Gunfire cracked through the air.
Then—Boom.
The explosion lit up the sky, flames roaring as if hell had opened its gates. My instincts kicked in. I didn't wait. I ordered my men in.
We didn't have time. The fire was swallowing the structure, sirens blaring in the distance.
"Move fast!" I barked into my earpiece. "Check for survivors—fast."
I watched as my men sprinted toward the wreckage, moving like ghosts in the smoke.
"Sir," one of them radioed back, breathless. "Two bodies—male. Dead on sight. One female—alive, barely. It's Rosa Dante."
"Take her," I said. "Leave the rest."
"Sir?"
"You heard me. This isn't a rescue mission. It's containment. Get her out."
They complied. We drove off, and in the rear-view mirror, the flames danced behind me—orange, merciless, and consuming. I didn't stay to watch.
Back at the estate, Rosa was stabilized. She appeared dazed and remained silent.
Josephine was already on edge, pacing our marble floors like a lioness in heat. She wanted a child. She needed one. For power, for control, for validation.
We had tried. God knows we had tried. Doctors. Clinics. Surrogates. Science.
Failure.
Then she said it.
"What about the girl?"
"The Dante girl?" I raised an eyebrow.
"She called you," she replied coolly. "She owes you. She's strong. Young. Proven loyal under pressure. You saved her sister. She might see it as mercy."
Or obligation.
I didn't respond immediately. But I didn't have to. Josephine knew my mind had already begun turning the wheels.
I had started finalizing my next step. My men had called Linda to inform her of Rosa.
But seconds after, she arrived.
Otelio Dante's wife.
She came unannounced, dressed in pretense. The woman carried an air of grief, but her eyes were sharp. Calculating.
She must have heard I had Rosa. Some rat in my ranks must have tipped her off. I should have had her thrown out. But I was curious.
She sat across from me in my lounge like she had any right to be there. I said nothing. Let the silence force her hand.
"You have her, don't you?" she asked eventually. "Rosa."
I tilted my head.
"You orchestrated the kidnapping. I know you did."
I scoffed and looked at her coldly, but I didn't deny it.
Her voice turned sweet, soaked with poison.
"Then take Linda."
I said nothing.
She leaned forward.
"You want her, don't you? Take her. Let's stop pretending. She was never meant for more than what you can give her. She doesn't belong in the world she thinks she does."
What worth could Linda possibly have? Nothing could really measure up to the millions that were being owed.
Nothing but the heir I actually needed.
"She's your daughter," I said flatly.
She laughed.
"Not by blood. Not by choice."
Silence.
"I won't stand in your way," she added. "Let her pay your price."
Amelia stood and started straightening out invisible wrinkles from her blouse.
"You saved Rosa. I'm grateful. Now do what you want with Linda."
"Okay. You both should get out of my house before you're thrown out," I said.
I stood and walked upstairs.
She had no remorse. No hesitation. Only ambition and rot, disguised in pearls and lipstick.
A few minutes later, Linda arrived.
She didn't see me, but I saw her—through the surveillance, quiet and hollow as she was led into my home.
She looked broken.
This was good. Pain strips away pretense.
If she was to carry my heir, I needed to see what remained beneath the ashes.
She thought she had come here for Rosa.
I watched what unfolded between her, Amelia, and Rosa.
She had no idea what she was walking into—but she would learn.
She belonged to me now. She signed her fate the moment she dialed
my number.
I didn't steal her life—she offered it to me.
Soon enough, she'd realize—she wasn't walking into safety.
She was walking into me.