Chapter 6 - The Ultimatum
By midnight, the estate was quiet again, save for the hum of generators and the crunch of gravel as cleanup crews worked under floodlights in the courtyard.
Wren sat on the edge of her bed in the south wing while a private doctor—summoned urgently by Rafael—checked her stitches. The physical trauma of the evening had reopened two of her lower incisions, and a fresh white bandage now wrapped tightly around her ribs.
Rafael stood by the window, watching the courtyard in silence, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand. When the doctor finally packed up his bag and left, Rafael turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Wren.
"You need to leave," Rafael said quietly.
Wren froze, her breath catching in her throat. After everything—after the confessions, the protection, the fierce, terrifying possessiveness—the words felt like a physical blow. "What?"
"You heard me," Rafael said, walking over and stopping a few feet away. His face was carved from stone. "Marcone knows you’re here. He knows you're my weakness. Tonight proved that as long as you're under this roof, you're a target for every rival syndicate in the Midwest."
"You said I was safer here than anywhere else," Wren argued, a sudden surge of anger cutting through her pain. "You said I belonged here!"
"I lied," Rafael snapped, slamming his glass down onto the bedside table so hard the crystal cracked. "I wanted you here because I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you every day. I wanted you locked away where I could protect you. But tonight, you threw yourself in front of a gun again. You saved my life a second time, Wren. And I realized... if I keep you here, I’m going to get you killed."
Wren stood up, ignoring the sharp twinge in her side, and walked right up to him. She didn't cower. She looked him dead in the eye.
"You think you can just decide when I stay and when I go?" she challenged, her voice trembling with rising emotion. "You think you own my life just because I happened to slip on a rug and take five bullets? You dragged me into this war, Rafael. You can't just push me out when it gets too hot!"
"It's not about the war, Wren!" Rafael roared, his control finally snapping. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip fierce but trembling. "It’s about the fact that I love you! Do you understand that? From the moment you woke up in that hospital bed, fighting for breath, I was done for. And I will not watch you die for me!"
The confession hung in the breathless silence of the room. The sprawling empire, the blood feuds, the guards outside—everything melted away into nothingness.
Wren stared up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. All the anger, all the fear, all the confusion distilled down into a blinding, undeniable truth.
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"You idiot," Wren whispered, a watery smile breaking through her tears as she reached up to cup his stubbled cheek. "I don't want to leave."
Rafael stared at her, his dark eyes wide with disbelief before a fierce, desperate hunger took over. He pulled her against him, crushing her lips to hers in a kiss that was part salvation, part surrender.
