Chapter 4 Shadows of the Past

(Marisol's POV)

"What the hell did you just say?"

I froze in the hallway outside Rafael's office, my pulse hammering in my ears. The voices on the other side of the door were muffled, but one sentence had cut through the thick wood like a blade:

"...her father was one of us."

My father? One of us?

I leaned closer, my breath caught in my throat. The men inside continued talking, their words laced with tension, but I couldn't make out much more. What had my father been hiding? He'd always been a quiet man, steady and reliable a rock in our family. Had it all been a lie?

The door creaked, and I barely had time to duck into the shadows before it opened. Rafael stepped out, his sharp gaze sweeping the hallway. For a moment, I thought he'd seen me, but then he walked away, his phone pressed to his ear.

I pressed my back against the wall, my mind spinning. If Rafael knew something about my father, I had to find out.

"You're playing with fire, Mari."

Elena's voice a true friend I met at the nightclub was low, urgent, as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the dressing room. Her dark eyes burned with worry.

"I can handle myself," I said, shrugging her off.

"No, you can't," she snapped. "You think Rafael is your savior, but he's not. He's dangerous, Mari. More dangerous than you realize."

I stared at her, my chest tightening. Elena had been my best friend since childhood, the only person who knew the truth about my scars. But she didn't know the full story.

"I'm not scared of him," I said, my voice steady.

"Maybe you should be," she whispered, her voice breaking. "People who get close to Rafael... they don't survive."

Her words clung to me like smoke, even as I walked away.

I felt his eyes on me before I saw him.

The scarred man sat at the bar, nursing a drink, his gaze fixed on me like a predator stalking prey. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to keep dancing, my movements slow and deliberate.

He knows.

I didn't know how, but I could feel it in the way he watched me. He was toying with me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

When my set ended, I slipped backstage, my heart pounding. But the feeling didn't go away. I turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway, his scar twisting into a cruel smile.

"Nice performance," he said, his voice low and mocking.

"What do you want?" I demanded, my hands trembling.

He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "I think you know."

I followed him out of the club, keeping my distance. The night air was sharp against my skin, but I barely felt it. My focus was on him the man who had taken everything from me.

He stopped in an alley, turning to face me with a smirk. "You're not very subtle, are you?"

I froze, my breath hitching. "Who are you?"

His laughter was cold, cutting. "You don't remember? That's a shame. I remember you."

The world tilted, and I clenched my fists to steady myself. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You should have stayed dead."

The next night, the club was buzzing with tension. Word had spread that Rafael had eliminated one of his rivals a brutal, public display of power that left no doubt about who was in charge.

He called me into his office, his eyes sharp and assessing. "You've been distracted, Marisol."

I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. "I'm fine."

"Good," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Because I need you focused. The game is changing, and I can't afford any weak links."

His words were a warning, but they only fueled my determination. I couldn't afford to be weak, not when the scarred man was still out there.

Late that night, I stood on the balcony of my apartment, staring out at the city lights. My body ached from the night's performance, but it was my mind that refused to rest.

How far was I willing to go to survive? To get my revenge?

I thought of my family, of their faces, their laughter. The memories were a double-edged sword comforting and agonizing all at once.

I clenched my fists, the cool night air biting at my skin. I couldn't let their deaths be in vain.

It was an accident, really.

I'd been searching for Rafael, but instead, I found a door hidden behind a heavy curtain in the club's basement. My curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped inside, my heart pounding.

The room was dimly lit, filled with shelves of files, photographs, and documents. But it was the photograph on the desk that stopped me cold.

It was my father.

He stood next to a younger Rafael, both of them smiling, their arms slung around each other like old friends.

"What the hell?" I whispered, my fingers trembling as I picked up the photo.

The door creaked behind me, and I spun around to find Rafael standing there, his expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"You're hiding something."

The scarred man's voice was a taunt, his words slicing through the air like a blade. He'd cornered me outside the club, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"What do you want?" I demanded, my voice shaking.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "I know who you are, Marisol. And I know what you want."

My blood ran cold, but I refused to let him see my fear. "You don't know anything."

His laughter was low and chilling. "We'll see."

Rafael's orders were clear: I was to deliver a package to one of his associates. It seemed simple enough, but the weight of his gaze told me otherwise.

"This isn't just about the package," he said, his voice sharp. "It's about trust."

I nodded, but as I walked away, doubt gnawed at me. Rafael was testing me, pushing me to see how far I'd go for him.

Would I pass? Or would I fail?

The photograph haunted me.

I stared at it, searching for answers that refused to come. How had my father known Rafael? And why had he never told me?

The questions burned in my mind, but there was no one left to answer them.

The scarred man wasn't just watching me anymore. He was investigating me.

I could feel it in the way people looked at me, the whispers that followed me through the club. He was digging into my past, and it was only a matter of time before he found something.

When Elena didn't show up for work, I knew something was wrong.

I went to her apartment, but it was empty. No sign of a struggle, no note just emptiness.

My stomach twisted with dread. Has Rafael done something? Or was it the scarred man?

The man grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "You think you're better than us?"

I twisted free, my heart pounding. "Let go of me."

He laughed, but it was cut short as I slammed my knee into his groin. He doubled over, cursing, but I didn't wait to see what he'd do next.

The club erupted into chaos, but all I could think about was getting to Rafael.

"You handled yourself well tonight," Rafael said, his voice laced with approval.

He reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek. The gesture was almost tender, but his eyes were anything but.

"You're stronger than I thought," he murmured.

I met his gaze, my heart racing. "I won't let you down."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "See that you don't."

As I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a deal with the devil. Again.