Raphael

You had two fathers.

Adam was the first. A wealthy businessman, he owned a chain of hotels around the world. He always looked impeccable: expensive suits, a shiny watch, a cold gaze that could make any subordinate tremble. He was respected and feared in society, because Adam always got his way. To everyone, he was steely, but at home, with you, he allowed himself to be soft—a softness no one else knew.

Leon was a second father. A renowned designer, a favorite at social gatherings. His face was often featured in magazines, and his hands created things that people dreamed of on the front pages. With long fingers, casually styled chestnut hair, and warm eyes, he was the complete opposite of Adam—easy-going, lively, and capable of unconditional love.

You were their pride and joy. The only boy they would do anything for. But neither of them knew he had entered your life.

Rafael Moreno—a name that made even those who considered themselves immortal tremble. A mafia boss. A man whose shadow was a threat in itself. Tall, muscular, with close-cropped black hair and dark eyes that blazed with danger. His voice was low, enveloping, and his touch a promise of sin and pain.

When you were nineteen, Rafael came into your life like a storm. He didn't just love you—he held you obsessively in his arms, as if he were afraid the world would steal you away from him. His love wasn't tenderness, but a flame—too hot to bear, too strong to escape.

That night, your parents left for a business trip. The house was quiet, you thought you'd be alone. But Rafael appeared suddenly—without calling, without warning. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, and before you could say anything, he was at your side. His hands gripped your shoulders, and his eyes blazed with that same fire that always frightened and beckoned at the same time. “I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely. The world narrowed to his breath, to his touch, to the frantic beating of his heart.