7 ~ Meet The Devil!

I could already feel the weight of their stares—the intrigue, the questions, the silent conclusions being drawn before a single word was spoken.

Raphael’s smirk stretched lazily, his dark eyes locked on mine with an unspoken challenge. He was enjoying this, the power, the attention, the sheer amusement of watching me squirm under the spotlight.

I stiffened when he suddenly leaned toward me, his lips so close to my ear that his breath brushed against my skin. “I can see where you get your fair share of audacity,” he murmured, voice teasing. “You’re quite the firecracker yourself, little rabbit.”

Carla, ever the opportunist, leaned in slightly, her curiosity outweighing whatever survival instincts she should have had when dealing with a man like Raphael Delano. “Well?” she prompted, her tone a mix of playfulness and snide mockery. “We’re all dying to know.”

I needed to shut this down. Now.

“Mr. Delano,” I said quickly, keeping my tone neutral and controlled. “I don’t think someone like you should be answering such an obnoxious and rude question.”

Carla’s smirk faltered as her confidence wavered, but only slightly. “Oh, come on, Lene,” she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not 'that' rude. I mean, it’s only fair that we get to know why the great Raphael Delano is 'personally' interested in a 'lowly street peasant waitress'.”

I clenched my fists, but before I could respond, Raphael chuckled.

A deep, amused sound that sent an unsettling tension rippling through the room.

His voice dropped into something smooth, dangerous. “And why,” he mused, his gaze flicking to Carla, “should I explain myself to someone who clearly doesn’t understand the limits of their own place?”

Carla’s mouth parted slightly, and for the first time, hesitation crossed her features. “I-I didn’t mean any offense, sir—”

“Didn’t you?” Raphael tilted his head, studying her with something akin to mild irritation. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re questioning me. And I don’t take kindly to people questioning me.”

Carla visibly swallowed, taking a small step back. “I just meant—”

“Enough.” His tone was final, cutting. Carla shrank, nodding quickly.

Gina shot Carla a warning look, silently telling her to 'shut up before she got herself killed.' But before the conversation could veer into even more dangerous territory, Raphael turned back to me, and suddenly, his expression shifted.

Gone was the cold, detached mafia boss.

Instead, something playful flickered in his gaze. A different kind of game entirely.

“You want to know my relationship with Selene?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement. “Alright.”

Then, before I could react, he reached out.

A single bloodstained finger ran down my jawline, slow and deliberate. His touch was barely there, featherlight, but it might as well have been a brand. A claim.

Heat shot through me—not from desire, but from sheer fucking panic.

I swatted his hand away, stepping back instinctively.

The entire bar 'gasped'.

Carla's mouth fell open. Gina clutched the edge of the counter. Even Victor, who had been trying to keep his distance, sucked in a sharp breath.

Swatting away 'Raphael Delano’s' touch?

I might as well have signed my own death certificate.

Realizing my mistake, I immediately bowed my head, my voice controlled but hurried. “Apologies, sir,” I said, playing the part. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but he said nothing.

I had to take control of the narrative—fast.

Straightening, I turned to Victor. “Actually, I should clarify something,” I said, feigning nonchalance. “My father’s sickness? That was just my way of explaining why I wasn’t here yesterday.”

Victor furrowed his brows. “So, you lied?”

“I had to work off my father’s debts,” I said smoothly. “Which is why—” I glanced at Raphael, hoping he’d play along, “—Mr. Delano here has graciously recruited me as his new part-time maid.”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

I could practically hear Carla's brain short-circuiting.

“You’re a maid?” she echoed, skeptical.

“Yes,” I replied. “To pay off my father’s debts.”

I could feel Raphael’s irritation at the lie, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He wasn’t pleased. He wanted to say something, to call me out, but he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a soft 'hmm', his gaze narrowing slightly.

“You’re late to your shift, then,” he said finally, his voice dangerously low.

I exhaled inwardly. He was playing along.

I bowed, feigning humility. “I didn’t expect a drunken fool to delay me,” I said, my words dripping with sarcasm, “but I do appreciate your intervention, sir.”

Victor's expression flickered with realization. “So that’s why you weren’t here yesterday.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “But I’ll be at my checkpoint in a few minutes. No need for someone like you to be bothered by a lowly servant like me.”

The room went still.

Raphael’s presence changed. Darker. More...pissed.

I knew I had just tested his patience.

His fingers twitched at his side, and for a moment, I thought he might actually correct me in front of everyone. But then, something else happened.

Before he could say anything, Carla, ever the opportunist, stepped forward, her voice sickly sweet. “Well, in that case,” she purred, “if Selene is too busy paying off her debt, I wouldn’t mind filling in for her.”

I shot her a look. Are you serious?

She wasn’t done.

Carla ran her hands down the front of her blouse, pushing her breasts together to enhance their size. Then, not-so-subtly, she hiked up her skirt, revealing more thigh than necessary. Her eyes roamed down Raphael’s body—his eyes were locked onto her, but not in the way she hoped.

“If you’d rather have someone more *attentive* to your needs,” she continued, her voice practically dripping with suggestion, “I could warm more than just your meals… or your home.” Her gaze flicked down to his groin, her intentions crystal clear.

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my past lives.

Raphael’s reaction, however, was priceless.

His gaze swept over Carla’s body, his expression blank. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a condescending smirk.

He let out a low, amused hum. “Hmm.”

Carla preened, thinking she had won.

When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with sarcasm. “Tempting offer, really,” he mused. “But I prefer my…packages big, juicy, and definitely not cheap.”

Carla’s face dropped.

Gina coughed, trying—and failing—to suppress her laughter.

Victor looked deeply uncomfortable.

And me?

I had to physically bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.

Raphael turned to Victor, completely dismissing Carla like she was a speck of dust. “Your bar,” he said smoothly, “has proven useful tonight.”

Victor blinked. “I…uh, appreciate that, sir?”

A nod from Raphael, and one of his men stepped forward, carrying a black briefcase.

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, great,” I muttered under my breath. “Because every Mafia gangster must travel with a suspicious suitcase full of cash.”

Victor hesitantly took it, unbuckling the latches.

His breath hitched.

Even from where I stood, I could see it—the sheer *amount* of money inside.

Victor nearly collapsed.

“Holy—” His voice broke, hands shaking. “Sir, I—”

“Consider it a payment,” Raphael interrupted. “For letting me clean up some trash.”

He flicked his gaze toward the drunken man’s still-unconscious body.

Victor dropped to his knees. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, Mr. Delano. I—I don’t know what to say.”

Raphael barely spared him a glance. Instead, he turned back to me.

His expression hardened.

“You have responsibilities, maid,” he said coolly. “Don’t be late again.”

I exhaled sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“A single slip-up…” His fingers brushed against my wrist, his grip light but firm. “And you might end up just like the rest.”

The way he said it—

I felt the blood drain from my face.

The threat was vague.

Yet terrifyingly clear.

Then, with one last smirk, he turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Victor stared at me, his eyes filled with a hundred unspoken questions. Gina, still clutching her belongings, wasted no time. “Well. That was a lot. Goodnight!” she blurted out before practically running out the door.

Carla, still recovering from the humiliation, simply smirked.

Like she thought she’d get another chance.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Victor, I’ll cover the damages.”

Victor barely looked at me, too busy staring at the briefcase full of money like he had been blessed by the heavens. “Damages? What damages? I’d gladly let him tear this place apart if it meant getting this.”

I exhaled, exhausted.

Fantastic.

He got rich, and I got a headache.

I forced a smile. “Lucky you. I'll be off to meet the devil, Victor. Pray for me!”

Victor finally broke the silence. "Lene…"

I turned to him, already bracing myself.

He looked down at the briefcase, then back at me. "You’re going to have to explain this one day."

I gave him the most nonchalant smile I could manage. "If I figure it out myself, I’ll let you know."

Then I grabbed my coat and walked out

But the moment I stepped outside, I realized something.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

*****

I found myself in a completely different setting.

Raphael’s bedroom.

The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being the fireplace crackling at the far end.

And then I saw him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, legs spread wide open, like some goddamn Greek god carved from sin and stone.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

Just watched me.

I shifted, suddenly aware of what I was wearing.

The thin, silk nightdress clung to my body in ways that left nothing to the imagination. The maids. They had wrestled with me into this, talking about how a WIFE should please her HUSBAND.

But I wanted nothing of it.

Nothing of HIM.

Yet, under his unreadable gaze, I felt bare.

Exposed.

Vulnerable.

Then, finally, his lips parted.

And his voice came, low and commanding.

“Strip.”