THE DEVIL YOU NEED

RAFAEL POV

Two shots. One clean. One messy. God, I hate messy.

I drag the body across the floor of the upscale condo, blood smearing like red oil across polished marble. My gloves are already stained. My boots, too. Doesn’t matter. I’ve cleaned up worse.

He was supposed to talk, this idiot accountant. Instead, he screamed, pulled a knife, and now I’ve got a cracked vase, blood on the ceiling, and a cooling corpse with a pencil through his eye. Thanks for that.

I sigh, tossing the guy’s burner phone into a plastic bag. Clean, fast, forgettable. That’s the job.

Until I hear it.

A sound no one ever wants to hear during a clean-up.

A gasp.

I freeze. My head lifts slowly.

The hallway.

Another sound—heels scrambling. Then silence.

I don’t move for a full second. Then I draw my gun.

I’m not in the mood for this. Witnesses are rare. We plan better. I plan better.

But I saw her.

A flash of light blue scrubs. A hospital ID swinging from her neck.

She didn’t belong here.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

Dead, if she isn’t smart.

Emilia POV

I knew something was wrong the second I stepped into Apartment 6B.

The front desk said there was an emergency. I’m off-shift, just came back to drop off the med bag I forgot, and Mrs. Alvarez’s nephew begged me to check on him. Said he hadn’t answered his calls in two days. I didn’t expect roses and tea.

But I didn’t expect a corpse either.

The man—whoever he was—was dead on the floor. His eyes were open. One was missing. And over him stood someone I’ll never forget.

Tall. All black. Gloves. No expression. And a gun.

Pointed at me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I ran.

But I didn’t make it far.

A hand slams me against the wall in the hallway before I can even scream. A gloved palm covers my mouth, a body pinning mine with terrifying precision.

“Quiet.”

His voice is cold. Flat. Controlled.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t panic. That makes it worse.

I nod, tears sliding down my cheeks.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. And for a second, his eyes soften. A flicker. Gone as fast as it came.

“You’re a nurse?” he asks, scanning my badge.

I nod again.

His jaw clenches. He curses under his breath.

“This was supposed to be simple,” he mutters. “Get back inside. Now.”

“I—I didn’t see anything,” I lie.

“Don’t insult me.”

He drags me back into the apartment. My legs shake. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, and I want to believe him.

“But if you run again, I’ll break your legs.”

RAFAEL POV

She smells like soap and fear. A sharp contrast to the metallic stench of blood.

She didn’t look like someone who belonged in a world like his.

The first time he really looked at her—past the fear, past the trembling hands—he saw softness. Innocence. Strength hidden behind wide brown eyes that shimmered like polished earth. She had a nurse’s face: gentle, open, full of empathy he didn’t deserve.

Emilia Hart was small, no more than five-foot-five, with delicate curves and a quiet grace that made people underestimate her. Her skin had a golden glow that deepened when she blushed, and her chestnut brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, though loose waves curled at the nape of her neck. A small beauty mark sat just above her lip—faint, but noticeable when she tilted her head.

Even in scrubs, even shaking with fear, she had a kind of stubbornness he recognized. The way her chin lifted. The way her eyes didn’t flinch. She was afraid, yes—but not broken. Not yet.

And in that moment, for reasons he couldn’t explain, she reminded him of something long lost.

Or someone.

I shouldn’t care. I should finish the job.

But I don’t.

Something about her—wide brown eyes, trembling hands, that damn stubborn chin—hits me in the chest like a truck.

It’s the eyes. That’s what does it.

They remind me of her. My sister. Layla.

Innocent. Too soft for this world.

Dead because I didn’t get there fast enough.

This nurse… Emilia… she’s not built for this life. And if word gets out she saw what she saw, she won’t survive.

Which means I have a problem.

I should call Matteo. Tell him there’s a witness.

But I don’t.

I pick up her ID badge and read it again.

“St. Luke’s Hospital. Emilia Hart. RN.”

I look down at her, curled on the leather sofa like a cornered rabbit.

“You don’t talk. You don’t move. You don’t breathe unless I say so,” I tell her. “And if you’re smart, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

She flinches but lifts her chin. Brave. Stupid.

“I’m not going to disappear,” she says softly. “People will look for me.”

I almost smile. “Not if I tell them you’re dead.”

Emilia POV

He stepped into the light, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Rafael Moretti was the kind of man stories warned you about—tall, lean, and carved from danger itself. His presence was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. At over six feet tall, he moved with a lethal grace—measured, quiet, completely in control. The black suit he wore hugged his body like armor, perfectly tailored, but it couldn’t hide the raw power beneath.

His eyes were the first thing she noticed. Cold. Piercing. A shade of gray so pale they looked like winter frost. But deeper than that—if you dared to look long enough—was a grief buried so deep, it had turned to ice. His jet-black hair was slicked back, though a few strands had come loose, falling across a scar that cut down from his brow to his cheekbone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just watched.

There was ink on his skin—a full sleeve, barely visible beneath his rolled cuff. Snakes, roses, Latin lines that hinted at sins and stories he’d never speak of. Even standing still, he radiated violence. Controlled, restrained—but always there. A storm waiting for an excuse.

And yet, somehow, it was the silence around him that was loudest.

I don’t know how long I sit there, pretending not to cry. My eyes sting. My stomach turns. But I don’t break down.

He doesn’t kill me. That’s the first miracle.

Instead, he cleans. Meticulous. Efficient. Like this is a Tuesday errand.

I try to think clearly. My phone is in my bag. Can’t reach it.

My heart races when he finally walks over, crouching down to my level.

“You’re going to come with me,” he says. “I need time to figure out what to do with you.”

“Why not just—”

“Because I don’t kill innocent people. Not anymore.”

That “anymore” rattles in my head.

I should beg. Plead. But something tells me this man doesn’t care for tears.

So I ask the one thing that’s been burning in my mind.

“What’s your name?”

He studies me, like he’s trying to decide if I deserve the truth.

Finally, he says, “Rafael.”

Then he reaches for me, and everything goes black.

RAFAEL

I drug her. Just a little. Fast-acting. Painless.

She’ll wake up safe. For now.

I carry her to the back exit, avoiding security cameras I already had mapped out. Slide into the black SUV. Drop the body off with a cleaner I trust. Burn the clothes.

All while she sleeps.

By the time Emilia wakes up, we’re already across state lines.

In a cabin I own for situations like this.

No neighbors. No cell signal. No distractions.

She wakes up slow, blinking in confusion, eyes adjusting to the low light.

“You drugged me,” she says groggily.

“I didn’t hurt you,” I answer.

“That’s your idea of kindness?”

“You’re alive.”

She stares at me. Her hands are still trembling. But she’s watching me now. Like she’s trying to see past the monster.

I break the silence first.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I was trying to help someone,” she says. “I’m a nurse. It’s what I do.”

“And now you’re in a world that doesn’t care how kind you are.”

She looks at me, a mix of fear and steel in her voice.

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t care.”

I almost laugh.

She has no idea who I used to be. Who I still am.

And yet… she doesn’t look away.

EMILIA

I should be begging for mercy. I should be terrified.

And I am.

But there’s something else. Something I don’t understand.

He could’ve killed me. He didn’t.

He drugged me, yes—but I’m alive. I’m not tied up. Not hurt.

He even left a blanket on me.

This man—Rafael—is cold, distant, and terrifying. But there’s something broken behind those eyes. Like he’s been fighting demons for years.

And now I’m part of the war.

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask quietly.

His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something real.

“No,” he says. “Or maybe I don’t know, But keeping you alive might get me killed.”

“Then why do it?”

His silence is answer enough.