Chapter 6 - THE MARSH RUNS RED
The ballroom windows rattled in their heavy cypress frames.
The single crack of gunfire was followed by the low, guttural roar of a high-performance marine engine tearing through the narrow channels of the Ashley River behind the estate.
Inside, the music faltered. Several women screamed, clutching their husbands' arms as security lights along the perimeter flared violently from amber to crimson.
Rafael didn't flinch. His hand remained firmly planted against the small of Marisol’s back, holding her so close she could feel the heavy, measured thud of his heart through the layers of velvet and wool.
"Desmond," Rafael said, not raising his voice above a conversational tone.
Desmond appeared instantly from the terrace shadow, an earpiece humming against his temple. "North dock, Don Rafael. Croft didn't leave quietly. He had a secondary crew waiting on a 40-foot scarab boat in the reeds. They tried to hit the fuel depot to create a diversion while he pulled his offshore records from the marina safe."
"Casualties?"
"None of ours. Marcus tried to breach the perimeter gate. He won't be attending any more galas."
Marisol's fingers tightened on Rafael’s shoulder, her eyes widening. "Marcus... that was Isabel’s personal guard. The one who watched the door while she..."
"He was an operative for the Moretti family out of Tampa," Rafael said, looking down at her with an expression so fiercely protective it made the room feel small. "Croft didn't just overreach with my shipping lanes, Marisol. He invited wolves to my boundary lines. Isabel’s little display last night wasn't just spite—it was meant to test whether I was distracted enough to be blindsided."
"And were you?" Marisol whispered, her breath brushing his throat.
"I was distracted," Rafael admitted, his fingers curving around the nape of her freshly styled neck, his skin searing against her exposed collar. "By a woman who has worked three yards from my study for three years, pretending she was nothing more than a shadow."
Before she could answer, Antonio strode across the floor, bowing low. "The guests are being escorted to their vehicles via the south gates, Don Rafael. The local authorities have been notified that there was a misfire during a duck hunt in the marsh. They will not interfere."
"Good," Rafael said, releasing Marisol's waist only to take her hand in his, lacing their fingers together in plain view of every lingering guest. "Bring the car around to the front portico. Miss Vega and I are leaving."
"Leaving?" Marisol asked, panic cutting through the adrenaline. "Where? Mr. Dwarte, my mother is in the clinic in Bowfort! If Croft is desperate, if these men know who I am—"
"Your mother was moved three hours ago," Rafael interrupted, his voice dropping into that smooth, immovable cadence that brooked no argument. "She is currently in a private recovery suite at the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston. Her bills have been cleared in perpetuity. Two of my best men are standing outside her door."
Marisol stopped dead on the marble floor. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, welled in her eyes. "You... you paid her clinic debts?"
"She gave me three years of your loyalty while you carried this house on your shoulders," Rafael murmured, stepping closer until only an inch separated them. "I consider myself heavily in her debt. Now come. Croft will try to reach the open sea, and I do not leave weeds in my garden."
He led her through the grand doors, past the whispering clusters of old Charleston families who now looked at Marisol not as a curiosity, but as the reigning queen of a sovereign kingdom.
A matte-black armored Maybach was idling under the portico. Desmond held the door open, his submachine gun hidden discreetly beneath the fold of an overcoat.
Rafael helped Marisol into the leather interior, his broad frame sliding in beside her as the heavy doors sealed with a pressurized thud.
The car surged forward down the live-oak driveway, spitting gravel as it accelerated toward the river road.
Marisol looked down at her lap. Her hands were still shaking. The emerald velvet dress, the short, fierce haircut, the gunfire in the marsh—it was moving too fast. "Why are you doing this for me? A week ago, you barely knew I existed."
Rafael reached out, catching her chin between his calloused fingers, gently forcing her to face him in the dim, shadowed interior of the speeding car.
"A week ago, Marisol, I thought I had to protect you by keeping you in the background. I thought if I stayed away, if I let you live your quiet life, the blood on my hands wouldn't touch you."
His thumb stroked the soft line of her lower lip, his gray eyes burning with raw, possessive intensity.
"Then I saw you kneeling on the floor of that flower room, holding your own hair like a wounded child. And I realized that by trying to keep you safe from my world, I left you completely unprotected in yours."
He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers.
"I will never make that mistake again."
May you like
Before she could speak, the driver shouted, "Brake lights ahead, Boss! Roadblock at the Ashley River Bridge!"
A heavy impact slammed into the Maybach’s reinforced rear bumper, sending the heavy vehicle skidding across the rain-slicked asphalt toward the dark, rushing waters of the swollen marsh.
