Chapter 2:Unwelcome Ties

"Who are you?," asks Though her speech was raspy, her dominance was evident. Every letter served as a directive. 

Rafael was not flinching. Steady and methodical, his hands examined the several tubes and cables hooked to her body. "Dr. Escobar," he continued, his voice both deep and tender. You have me as your surgeon. You need rest after going through a demanding surgery. 

Rest. On her tongue, the word tasted alien. She was not a lazy woman. But her limbs felt tight, and the agony in her chest told her differently. She loathed herself momentarily for exhibiting frailty. 

Sofia spat, her voice stronger now but still tinged with poison: "I don't need your pity." 

Rafael's face stayed blank. "Mrs. Alvarez, I am not here to be sympathetic. Here I am to make sure you survive. His gaze momentarily turned to the monitors to validate her steadiness. Though he ought to have been, he didn't sound scared. He was, after all, in the heart of enemy land. 

Her chest thung loudly with her heart. His comments awakened something deeper in her, something she wasn't used to experiencing. Frustration. The powerlessness. The rage. All of it coiled within her, poised for eruption. 

"Why do you still live here?" Sofia's eyes narrowed as she demanded. "I never asked for you." 

Rafael stopped just for a moment. He stayed still and turned not aside. Your inner circle asked for me. Your... situation called for someone with my background. 

Her hands tightened. It made no difference what had happened, who had brought him here; she was not a lady who let someone participate in her life without her permission. 

"Don't think you've earned a place here," Sofia murmured, her voice icy. You are nothing except an outsider. And I am not trusting outsiders. 

Rafael's jaw clenched, but he maintained a steady look. "I have no need of your trust. just your cooperation. 

The environment was clearly tense, stifling. Between them, two worlds, totally incompatible, merging, she could sense. She detested the way she depended on his presence at this time. She owed him something; he was the one who had kept her alive. She never would exhibit it, though. None, not even a doctor, would ever see her frail. 

Sofia gently moved her body to gauge her strength. She had to get off from this bed. She was not a woman who sat about. 

Rafael softly but firmly rested a hand on her shoulder as she went to slide her legs over the side. "For now you have to remain still. Moving could compromise your healing." 

Sofia coiled under his touch, stiffened. Never ever touch me once more. 

Rafael pulled his hand back right away, not changing his face. Understandable. 

Michael Richards emerged from the shadows as he curved the bend. The man's massive figure dominated the little corridor, his black eyes staring unsettlingly at Rafael. Rafael felt uncomfortable about him for some reason, something cold and calculated. 

Michael added, his voice low and as though they were sharing a secret, "I need a word with you, Dr. Escobar." 

Rafael hesitated, but Michael omitted giving him the choice to decline. He moved forward, Rafael's shadow crossing in the poorly lit hall. 

Michael answered, his tone almost apathetic: "You're not a part of this world." "Let me thus make this clear. Stay away from Sofia; else, there will be repercussions. 

Rafael fought to stifle the discomfort crawling into his chest. "I have no involvement in whatsoever this is about. I am only doing my job. 

Michael's lips opened to a chilly smile. "Job," says Perfect. But you cannot walk out of here without being sucked into something even deeper. You have been cautioned. 

Rafael's mind racing, Michael turned and vanished into the darkness before Rafael could answer, leaving Rafael standing there. 

Rafael's phone buzzed in his pocket as he struggled to kick the residual anxiety. With still somewhat shaking palms, he took it out. The simple message on the screen was a picture of Sofia's hospital room taken from an angle not feasible. The accompanying text was terrifying: stay away; she will die next time. 

Her strength returning, Sofia made an offer that felt as much a directive as a suggestion as she lay in bed. 

"Rafael," she murmured, her voice low yet firm. "You are free to depart. You have to leave. I wouldn't stop you. If you stay, though, I want you to be a regular feature of my life. My own doctor. There's no more leaving. Not anymore exclusions. 

Her comments hung between them, weighted and burdened. Though Rafael felt the draw, he was not ready to yield. 

He looked across at the window. The dark automobile in front of us. The one that had spent hours there. Observating them. 

Even in her frail state, her dark, deliberate, piercing eye locked with his. She measured him, studied him. Her gaze sliced through the layer of professionalism Rafael had spun around. Like daggers. She was Sofia Alvarez, not any patient at all. And Rafael, for the first time in his life, had no idea where his role finished. 

Her voice gentle but stern, bearing the weight of her unspoken expectation, she added, "You saved me." 

Rafael maintained his posture steadily, although inside a thousand ideas were fighting. I did what I had to. 

She nodded slightly, her lips curving to form something between a smile and a grimace. She said, nearly to herself, "I don't like being saved." Her eyes then narrowed somewhat, though, as though she had an idea. Still, you are here now, and that implies something. 

Rafael kept quiet. From what standpoint could he say? Was he not here by choice? Was his contribution limited to that of a surgeon? With a hard gulp, he added, "I'm come to check on you. Not your adversary, Sofia, is me. 

She turned in the bed, her eyes flickering with something deeper but not looking at him. She asked, "You think you understand what this is, don's you?" Her voice was like a keen, under control razor. "You don't know the half of it; you think you can save me. You are ignorant of the combat I battle every single day. 

Her comments land more precisely than they should have. Her voice carried strength, the agony hidden under her cold façade a challenge that tested his nerves. He had always been a guy of reason and of science. He was alien to the realm of mafia politics, of blood and power. Still here he was, a participant in a game he hardly comprehended. 

Sofia moved once again, her hand reaching out weakly, but her presence loomed over him anyway. "I am not the kind of lady who lets fate be decided upon by others. If you are here, I have let it happen. 

Rafael's instincts guided him to back off and remain distant. But something in her voice caught his attention, a subdued but unquestionable intensity. Part of him yearned to learn more and to better grasp her. Still, he was unable. His duty was straightforward: save her life then go. 

His voice low, he murmured, "Why me?" trying to stifle the shiver of inquiry. 

Her lips opened, but before she could reply the door to her private chamber flew open, breaking off the moment. Rafael hardly had time to respond as a sharp-minded group of people entered. 

One of them was tall man with dark, sharp eyes Antonio Fuentes. He exuded the kind of person accustomed to getting his way. His eyes moved to Rafael then fixed on Sofia. 

"Are we upsetting anything?" Antonio questioned, his voice silky yet weighted with command. 

Rafael stiffened and turned back. His employment was to heal her; it was not to be part of this. But the tension in the room was evident, and Rafael felt as though he was an alien caught in the undertow of a world he was not equipped to negotiate. 

Sofia looked from Antonio to Rafael then back once more. "No," she answered, her voice picking back to its regular edge. "Dr. Escobar is just getting out. He must be busy, I'm sure. 

Antonio's eyes stayed on Rafael a little longer than required before he turned back toward Sofia. "I sure he has better things to do than stay here and watch you." 

Rafael's lips clenched, yet he stayed put. Antonio's comments served as a reminder that he was more than just a doctor living here. He belonged to a far more expansive web that disregarded ethical or occupational differences. Whether or not he liked it, he was in their world right now. 

Rafael turned to go and heard Antonio's voice once more, this time more sharply. "Dr. Escobar, just so we are clear: you are here on our terms. Not yours. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a sharp reminder of the world he had just entered. He had hardly ventured into the hall. It was a message, a number he couldn identify. 

Pulling it out, his thumb quivering slightly, he read the brief text: Stay out of her world; you'll be dead before the week ends.