The alarm clock buzzed like a dying insect in the quiet apartment. Rafael opened his eyes without blinking, staring at the pale ceiling, his breath steady and measured. He didn't need the alarm. He hadn't needed it for years. But keeping up the illusion of routine was just another part of the game. Just another mask.
He rose from bed with silent efficiency, the kind that couldn't be taught in corporate onboarding videos. The room was minimal: white walls, a single framed photo of a little girl with gap-toothed laughter, and an old sofa chair with stitching beginning to fray. Everything had its place. Everything was still.
He showered, dressed, and moved through the apartment with the same practiced grace as he once had in darker places. Black slacks, pale blue shirt, no tie. Just another man heading to another boring job. But the silence followed him, clinging like a scent no soap could erase.
From the next room came a small yawn, then the soft patter of feet. Aria appeared in the hallway, rubbing her eyes, oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.
"Morning, Papa," she said sleepily.
Rafael knelt down, arms open. She ran into them without hesitation.
"Morning, little lion," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her tangled hair.
She smelled like sleep and strawberries. Eight years old, curious and bright. She never asked about his past. Never needed to. He had found her in fire and blood, years ago, and built a world just big enough for two. She didn't remember much before him. That was the blessing. That was the lie he wanted to protect.
Over breakfast, she talked about school projects and a boy who wouldn't stop pulling her braids. Rafael listened, nodded, laughed in all the right places. To anyone watching, he was a loving guardian with average income, unremarkable history, and slightly haunted eyes.
But as she grabbed her backpack and darted for the door, he paused. The stillness in the room changed. Something shifted.
He moved to the window with casual precision. Across the street, a black car was parked at an odd angle. Windows tinted. Engine off. It hadn't been there yesterday. The man in the driver's seat was reading a newspaper. Who still read newspapers?
Rafael's fingers twitched. Not with fear. With muscle memory. That kind of parked car was a question. One he couldn't ignore.
The ride to school was filled with laughter and music. Rafael drove one-handed, his other resting near the emergency brake, his eyes scanning mirrors every thirty seconds. The black car didn't follow. But that didn't mean it wasn't watching.
Aria jumped out at the school gates, waving. "See you tonight! Love you!"
Rafael smiled and waved back. "Always."
As soon as she disappeared into the crowd, his smile faded.
---
The office was fluorescent-lit hell. Desks in neat rows, phones buzzing, people talking about metrics, deadlines, and weekend plans. Rafael sat at his corner desk, typing reports with robotic precision. No one really noticed him. That was how he liked it. One coworker had once tried to pry into his life over coffee. She never asked again after seeing his eyes.
He lived his role well. Lunch at 12:15. Caffeine at 3:00. Leave at 5:00. A perfectly forgettable man in a perfectly forgettable life.
Until 3:47 p.m.
His phone buzzed. A number he didn't recognize. No caller ID.
He stared at it.
Answered.
Nothing.
Then, a child's voice.
"Papa?"
His heart stopped.
"Aria?" he asked, voice razor-thin.
Then a low chuckle filled the speaker. Male. Amused.
"Cute kid. Shame if something happened to her."
The call cut.
Rafael sat perfectly still for two seconds. Then three. Then he stood.
"Emergency," he said to no one in particular, and walked out of the office.
---
The apartment door swung open hard enough to leave a dent in the wall. Rafael swept through every room in under thirty seconds. No sign of struggle. No note. No message. But her stuffed lion was on the floor.
She never dropped it.
He opened the closet near the back wall. Reached behind the coats. Pressed a hidden switch.
A panel slid open.
Inside: a black case. Smooth, fingerprint-locked. It hissed open under his touch. Inside, metal glistened like old friends. A handgun. A combat knife. A phone without SIM.
He picked up the knife.
And for the first time in years, Rafael Diavolo smiled.
Not the smile of a father.
The smile of a man no one had dared speak of for a long, long time.
---
The Devil had just woken up.
And someone was going to bleed.