Chapter 7 - RAPHAEL’S SISTER LOCKED THE DOOR
Sabine did not run.
She sat in the chapel waiting.
Raphael entered first.
I followed because the conspiracy now included my family whether anyone liked it or not.
Sabine held a camera.
The same model used in the hidden corridor.
Raphael looked devastated.
“Why?”
She answered:
“Because you wouldn’t stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Becoming Father.”
Silence.
Sabine had discovered Conrad’s plan months earlier.
Not from Conrad.
From Freddy.
She knew someone intended to exploit Raphael’s insomnia and succession rules.
So she started photographing him.
I stared.
“You terrorized him to help him?”
“No.”
Sabine’s eyes filled.
“I sent the first photograph.”
Only first.
The message:
214 nights.
A warning.
She expected Raphael to investigate.
Instead, he hid it.
Then more photographs appeared.
Different handwriting.
Different camera.
Conrad hijacked her warning.
“He knew you found the passage,” Raphael said.
“Yes.”
Sabine admitted she entered his room three times.
Conrad’s people entered the rest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you never listen when the subject is you.”
That landed.
Raphael looked away.
Sabine continued.
“You solve everyone’s problems except your own. You thought exhaustion was discipline. You thought grief was weakness. You thought needing anyone made you dangerous.”
Then she looked at me.
“Until her.”
My heart jumped.
Raphael said:
“Leave Elena out.”
“I can’t. You didn’t go to Dominic that night. You didn’t come to me.”
Sabine smiled sadly.
“You went to her.”
Raphael’s face hardened.
“Enough.”
“No. Not enough.”
Sabine stood.
“You knocked on the door of the only person in this house you believed might see you as a man before seeing you as an Orsini.”
Silence.
I could hear my own heartbeat.
Raphael looked at me.
I looked away.
Then a gunshot exploded downstairs.
Everything changed.
Security radio erupted.
Conrad’s men had entered through the old service tunnel.
Not to attack Raphael.
To reach the family archive.
Original trust documents.
Without them, Conrad’s legal claim weakened.
Raphael moved.
I caught his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
He turned.
“You have security.”
“Elena—”
“You told me everyone waits for you to decide what happens next.”
He stared.
“Let them do their jobs.”
It was almost physically painful for him.
Then Raphael radioed Dominic.
“Handle it.”
Three words.
Growth sometimes looked disappointingly ordinary.
Dominic handled it.
Conrad’s men were arrested.
No massacre.
No dramatic execution.
One surrendered immediately.
The second led investigators to Conrad’s safe property outside Chicago.
Police moved.
Conrad escaped minutes before arrival.
But they found something.
Medication records.
Micah’s.
Every treatment.
Every doctor.
Every appointment.
Conrad had monitored him for years.
Even before I worked for Raphael.
This had never started with me.
My employment at the estate was not coincidence.
Conrad had arranged it.
He wanted his granddaughter inside the Orsini house.
Close to Raphael.
Why?
A final file answered.
Photographs of me and Raphael.
Me serving dinner.
Raphael looking toward me.
Me studying in the kitchen.
Raphael walking past.
Tiny moments.
Collected for two years.
Conrad had noticed Raphael noticing me before either of us did.
His plan evolved.
If Raphael became emotionally attached to Conrad’s granddaughter, scandal could destroy the succession vote.
Especially if Conrad revealed our blood relationship publicly and framed me as someone manipulating Raphael for inheritance.
I felt sick.
Our feelings had become another weapon.
Raphael read the file.
Then burned nothing.
That surprised me.
He handed everything to investigators.
“Truth survives,” he said.
Conrad wanted shame.
Raphael chose exposure.
That night, I found him in the secondary kitchen.
Sober.
Same chair.
Same glass of water.
“You came back,” he said.
“I work here again temporarily.”
“You resigned.”
“I’m inconsistent.”
He smiled.
I sat across from him.
“Do you still need me?”
Raphael considered.
“No.”
The answer hurt.
Then:
“I want you.”
I stopped breathing.
“Different thing.”
“Yes.”
“More dangerous.”
“Yes.”
He looked directly at me.
“But I don’t want anything you can’t choose freely.”
For once, Raphael Orsini was not deciding what happened next.
He waited.
So I leaned across the table and kissed him.
Sober.
May you like
Awake.
By choice.
