The silence in Rafael Navarro's office was a living thing.It slithered between the thick marble walls, curled around the oak desk, and sat heavily in the spaces between him and Caleb. No music. No guards. No smile on Rafael's face.
Only tension, thick enough to choke on.
Caleb stood stiffly across from his brother, hands clasped behind his back. His jaw worked, teeth grinding, but he didn't dare speak first. Rafael was staring at the large map of Central Mexico pinned to the wall, his cigarette forgotten between two fingers. Ash burned long, untouched.
Then Rafael finally said, "Do you know what it costs me to lose a shipment like that?"
Caleb kept his voice even. "We'll recover. It's just...."
"Just?" Rafael spun around. "You think losing fifty crates of rifles is something we just recover from? Do you have any idea who was on the other end of that shipment, Caleb?"
Caleb swallowed. "Yes."
"Then why the fuck did you let it happen?"
"I didn't let anything happen," Caleb said, tone tight. "We vetted the transport. We had eyes in every checkpoint. Someone fed information to Cassimo's men."
The name alone made Rafael's eyes narrow to cold slits.
"Cassimo…" he muttered, and turned back to the map, stabbing his finger into the red-ringed territory. "Every time we let our guard down, that bastard creeps closer. He wants the Sonoran line. He's testing me. And now, thanks to you and your sloppy goddamn crew, he thinks he can take it."
Before Caleb could respond, a sharp knock echoed from the door.
Rafael didn't speak. He didn't have to. One look was enough.
The door creaked open, and one of the guards entered....blood on his sleeves, breathing hard. "Señor… we have him. The one who tipped them off."
Rafael said nothing for a long moment.
"Take me there."
The walk to the basement was silent. Rafael didn't glance at Caleb. Didn't acknowledge the two sicarios who joined them as they passed through the hallway outside his secluded office.
They walked to the farther end of the wall then took the steps. The air grew colder. The walls rougher. Until they reached the steel-reinforced door at the end of the hall.
Inside was blood.
The man was slumped in a metal chair, arms strapped to the arm chair, head hanging one sided, chest rising in shallow wheezes. One eye was swollen shut. The other flicked up when Rafael entered, and filled instantly with raw, unfiltered fear. They had tortured him before calling El Diablo.
"Señor Navarro… please…" the man choked, his lips torn and bleeding. "It wasn't me… I swear, I didn't..."
Rafael didn't look at him.
Instead, he turned to Caleb. "Did you know he had a family?"
Caleb blinked. "No."
Rafael lit a new cigarette and exhaled slow. "Wife. Two daughters. One of them plays piano. The other… she has asthma. Fragile lungs."
The man's body shook violently in the chair.
"I… I didn't tell anyone! I was with my daughter that night. Ask anyone, please, please!"
Rafael finally looked at him. "You were paid to keep your mouth shut. But you didn't. You sold me for what.....fifty thousand dollars? A favor from Cassimo?"
"No....no...."
Rafael raised a hand. Silence.
Then he stretched it behind him, palm open.
A guard handed him a gun.
"Señor… I'll work for free. For life. I'll.....I'll give you my hands. You can cut them off if you want. Just let me live."
Rafael walked forward. His shoes crunched the man's broken teeth on the floor.
He stood in front of the man, close enough that blood from the man's lip dropped onto Rafael's pressed trousers.
And then he looked down into his face and said, very calmly:
"You sold me out. And you expected mercy?" A pause. "Do I look like a fucking priest?"
"Please....please, my daughters....."
Rafael didn't blink.
He raised the gun. Pressed it to the man's forehead.
The man sobbed once, then
BANG.
Silence. Final and thick.
The man slumped backward, neck at a grotesque angle, blood blooming across the wall behind him.
Caleb flinched.
Rafael handed the gun back, casually brushing flecks of blood from his sleeve. Then he turned to the room, guards, sicarios, even Caleb.
His voice was made of ice.
"This is what happens when you fuck with my business. I don't give warnings. I don't do second chances. You fail me.....you die."
He looked at one of the younger guards, whose face had gone pale.
"You want to work for me? You make mistakes, you own them. You bleed before my name bleeds. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, Señor."
Rafael turned without another word, walking past the corpse as if it were a broken chair. Caleb followed, silent.
"And yes....the bastard didn't have a family.....no wife....no children.....if he had said no when I assumed he did....i'd have probably let him live but he chose to continue lying. " He said and the door slammed shut behind them, the echo thudding through the concrete like a closing tomb. The remaining guards looked at each other and knew that the next thing to do was to clean the mess up.
As Caleb climbed the stairs behind him, Rafael said softly, without turning. "Find out if Cassimo was behind the leak. If he was… I want him begging next."
Caleb nodded, jaw tight.
"And Caleb?"
"Yes?"
"Don't ever bring me another man's failure again. If your crew fucks up, you answer for it."
The threat in his voice was quiet. Controlled.
But Caleb felt it like a knife to the spine.
.....
The wheels of the black Maybach rolled to a slow halt outside the Navarro estate just after midnight. Rafael stepped out without a word, his black gloves still on, his shirt cuffs faintly specked with a shadow darker than wine.
The guards straightened the moment they saw him. One reached to speak. Rafael cut him off with a single look.
"Where is she?" he asked.
The guard blinked. "Señor?"
"Isabella."
The guard swallowed and nodded quickly. "She's in her room, Señor. Sleeping, I think."
Rafael didn't respond. He walked past the ornate pillars, through the high archways of the house he owned but never considered home, and into the stillness of the corridor.
The house was quiet, filled with velvet shadows and sleeping dread.
He didn't know why he wanted to see her.
But he did.
.....
Isabella sat upright in her bed when she heard the knock. She hadn't been able to sleep since her argument with Selena. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
"El Diablo is asking for you, Señora" the maid whispered and left almost immediately.
Isabella slipped out of bed slowly, her bare feet cold against the marble. Her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped the silk robe around herself. She didn't bother asking why. Rafael never needed reasons. It was only for one reason.....If he wanted her, he wanted her.
But when she entered the room, she froze.
He was seated.....not standing in the shadows like usual. He sat in the armchair by the fire, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, eyes burning in the dim light.
He didn't say anything.
She stood, rigid, just inside the doorway.
He took a slow sip, then gestured toward the empty chair across from him.
"Sit." Something he had never asked her to do. They were strangers bearing the title husband and wife. The only thing that existed between them was sex which was always forceful and involuntary.
But regardless of that...she did. Slowly. Carefully.
Not because she wanted to.....but because she was afraid not to.
The silence stretched between them like a blade.
Then Rafael said, "You always wear white."
Isabella blinked. "What?"
"The robe. The nightdress. Even your perfume smells... clean." He swirled the drink in his hand. "Why?"
She looked down. "You chose them.."
"I made sure the maids stocked up all colours"
She remained quiet.
"Do you like them?"
She hesitated. "They're… fine."
Rafael's lips twitched. Almost like a smile. But it wasn't a warm one. It was sharp. Amused. Cruel, maybe.
"I never asked you before," he murmured. "What do you like, Isabella?"
She stared at him.
The question felt wrong. Twisted. A trick maybe. Or a trap.
"I....I don't know," she said quietly.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locking onto hers like a predator who suddenly decided not to bite just yet.
"Everyone likes something. Even you."
She shrugged. "Books."
"What kind?"
She swallowed. "Stories where… people survive."
That made something flicker in his expression. Not soft. Not understanding.But something.
"Do you think you'll survive me?" he asked, voice low.
Isabella looked away. Her mouth opened. Then closed.
Silence.
He sat back.
"Why don't you speak more?" he asked.
"I don't know what to say."
"Liar."
Her eyes snapped to his. But he wasn't angry.
"People like you always have something to say," he said. "But you've been quiet since the day you got here. Quiet girls hide loud thoughts."
She didn't respond.
Rafael finished his drink and set the glass down. Then stood....she flinched afraid of what might come next.
"I'm not going to fuck you tonight," he said bluntly. "Don't look so scared."
"I'm not...." she started, but her voice shook. She stopped.
He stepped closer. Not to touch. Just to study her. His shadow fell over her completely.
"You've lasted longer than I expected," he said finally. "Most girls would either cry… or try to run."
"I did cry," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Yes. But not where I could see it."
She didn't know what he wanted from her.
And he didn't know what he wanted either.
Something about her silence unnerved him more than any betrayal, more than any blood.
It reminded him of things he didn't want to remember.
Rafael turned toward the door.
"You can go," he said. "But next time I ask you what you like....have a good answer." And just like that he walked into his bathroom.
Isabella was stunned but she managed to pick herself up and walk to her room.