His sinful Obsession

Entangled

Rafael stood before the large oak mirror in his suite, meticulously adjusting the cuffs of his tailored shirt. The early morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the sharp angles of his face. The Bluetooth earpiece in his ear crackled as his grandfather's voice carried through.

"When are you coming back to Madrid?" the elder demanded, his tone both commanding and concerned. "The family needs its leader. The mafia's structure doesn't allow for absences, Rafael."

Rafael's jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm, almost detached. "Soon, Abuelo. There are matters here that require my attention."

"Matters?" his grandfather's voice hardened. "What could be so pressing in Norway? Surely Lisa and her family don't require this much of your time."

Rafael paused, his fingers stilling for a moment. "Lisa is well. She's... adjusting to life here but they deserve my support, especially now."

The elder sighed heavily, his voice softening just a fraction. "You've always been loyal to your family, Rafael. But don't forget the empire you've built. We'll talk more soon."

The line went dead, leaving Rafael to his thoughts. He finished his preparations and called out, "Fernando. In my study. Now."

.

.

Moments later, Fernando entered the room, his demeanor professional but relaxed. "What's the plan, boss?"

Rafael handed him a slim folder containing documents and photographs. "Mexico. The situation with Alvarez's cartel is spiraling. You'll meet our contacts in Veracruz and ensure the shipments resume without disruption. Eliminate any resistance."

Fernando nodded, flipping through the pages. "Got it. Anything else?"

"Report directly to me. And Fernando..." Rafael's voice dropped slightly. "No loose ends."

Fernando smirked. "You know me, boss."

As Fernando left to prepare, Nicolas entered, a tablet in hand. "Updates from Italy," he began. "The new gang is making moves in Milan. They've disrupted two of our operations already. I've got our men investigating, but it's clear they're trying to establish dominance."

Rafael's eyes narrowed. "Double our presence in Milan. I want their names, their locations, and their alliances. No one undermines us without consequences."

Nicolas nodded. "Consider it done."

.

.

As Rafael made his way to the dining room, the soft clinking of silverware and hushed morning chatter drifted to his ears, an almost peaceful backdrop—almost. But peace was an illusion. Not for him. Not when the air still carried the remnants of last night.

He passed the doorway, and then—there she was.

Frida.

She froze the moment their eyes met, her fingers tightening subtly around the edge of her plate. The pale morning light bathed her delicate features in a muted glow, but it did nothing to hide the telltale signs of the storm she had weathered.
Puffy eyes, a faint redness around their edges, the way her lips pressed together like she was still trying to steady herself.
She had cried.
He could see it—feel it.

A dark satisfaction uncoiled in his chest, slow and insidious. His words had cut her. She had carried them, slept with them, woken up with their weight still clinging to her fragile frame.
And now?
Now she wore her sorrow like an unspoken surrender.
It was a victory.
His victory. Only he could claim. 

And yet... something else lurked beneath the triumph. Something deep, something that curled and slithered at the edges of his mind, a sensation he refused to name. He crushed it beneath the heel of his pride.
His smirk was effortless, his steps unhurried as he finally stepped into the room. And though he turned his gaze away as though her sadness meant nothing, deep down, he knew it undid him.