Mafia Runaway Lover

Chapter 3

Rafaello entered the ICU without a second thought.

"Sir, the doctor said..." the head nurse began, stepping into his path.

He looked at her once. She stepped aside.

For once, he forgot about everything waiting for him outside those doors. He forgot about the organization he commanded, the men who depended on him, and the countless responsibilities that came with being its head. Enzo's phone had been vibrating for the last hour with calls he had not answered, and he did not care.

There was only one thing on his mind.

Rose.

His Rose. His lover, his possession, and, in a way, the woman who had once stood on the opposite side of him.

He didn't care about anything else right now. He only wanted to see her awake.

When he approached the bed, his steps slowed.

There she was.

Her beautiful blonde hair lay scattered across the pillow, and her amber eyes glistened faintly. She looked as though she had been crying, though there were no fresh tears falling from her eyes.

Rafaello swallowed the emotions rising in his throat before calling her name.

"Rose."

It was perhaps the gentlest voice he had ever used in his entire life.

The woman who had forgotten everything turned her head at the sound.

Her amber eyes trembled as they settled on him.

She didn't know why she had reacted so instinctively. The name sounded familiar, as though some distant part of her recognized it. Yet it also felt strange, like a name that belonged to someone else.

She stared at the unfamiliar man standing beside her bed.

He was handsome, with jet-black hair and equally dark eyes. His appearance was refined, though his hair was no longer neatly arranged. His clothes were slightly dishevelled, and he looked as if he had been through a difficult night.

Despite that, he carried an unmistakable air of authority.

More strangely, he looked at her as though she were someone precious to him.

"W-Who are you?"

Rafaello's expression shifted.

So it was true.

Dr. Alexandro had already informed him about her memory loss, but a part of him had still wondered whether Rose was merely pretending. Perhaps she had remembered everything and was simply refusing to acknowledge him.

But looking into those confused amber eyes, he could no longer doubt it.

She truly didn't remember him.

Was that a good thing?

Perhaps.

If her memory loss was real, then she wouldn't remember running away from him. She wouldn't remember the terrible things she had overheard. And, most importantly, she might never try to leave him again.

Either way, he could accept it.

He would make her stay.

"You really don't know who I am, Rose?"

His voice remained gentle, almost affectionate.

The woman studied his face, searching for something familiar, but nothing came to mind.

Rafaello noticed her expression. He approached the bed a little closer.

"Do you really not remember me?"

She shook her head faintly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm trying. There's nothing there."

"Don't apologize."

Something strange happened inside her chest.

The moment he appeared, the moment she heard his voice, a sharp ache spread through her heart. It was unlike ordinary pain. It felt as though something inside her had been torn apart, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness.

She instinctively raised a hand to her chest.

Rafaello immediately noticed.

"Are you hurt, Rose?"

His expression changed, and he leaned closer.

"Should I call the doctor?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

She lowered her hand, still looking at him with uncertainty.

"It's just... strange."

She hesitated before asking again.

"Do you know me? Am I really Rose?"

Rafaello stared at her for a moment before smiling.

"Of course. You're Rose. Rosaline. That's your name."

He spoke as though reassuring a frightened child.

"Rosaline," she repeated softly, testing the word on her tongue. It fit, and yet it didn't. "And you are...?"

"Rafaello."

He gently took her hand.

"I'm Rafaello, Rose. I'm your lover."

"My... lover?"

Her eyes widened.

Was that really true?

She looked at the man holding her hand. He seemed genuinely happy to see her awake, and there was an affection in his expression that she couldn't quite understand.

But why did her heart hurt whenever she looked at him?

Why did something inside her feel so frightened?

She didn't understand any of it.

Still, seeing how happy he seemed, she couldn't bring herself to question him further.

"But I forgot everything."

"That's all right, Rose."

Rafaello smiled, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand.

"You don't have to remember everything right now. You'll recover eventually. I'll help you remember all the happy moments we've shared."

He said it with such tenderness that anyone watching might have mistaken him for a devoted lover who had just been reunited with the woman he cherished.

Yet Rose noticed something peculiar.

He looked even happier knowing that she had forgotten everything.

She couldn't understand why.

Before she could think further, Rafaello leaned down and wrapped his arms around her.

It was a tight embrace, almost possessive.

Rose's body immediately stiffened.

The pressure hurt her injured body, and she instinctively tried to pull away.

"Ah... please, let go of me."

Rafaello didn't release her immediately.

"Even if you forget everything, you should never forget your master's touch, Rose."

He said it with a gentle smile, as though it were an affectionate joke.

Rose froze.

What was wrong with this man?

She didn't understand what he meant by master, nor why he spoke as if she belonged to him.

His embrace was suffocating, and her body was beginning to ache. Yet there was something else that confused her.

The scent coming from him was strangely comforting.

It reminded her of a summer forest, warm sunlight filtering through the leaves, and the gentle fragrance of grass after the rain. It made her feel peaceful in a way she couldn't explain.

But his words and the way he held her made her uneasy.

"Please... can you let go of me? It hurts."

This time, Rafaello loosened his arms.

"All right, Rose. Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

He carefully adjusted himself beside her bed, mindful of her injuries. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The monitor beside her kept its steady rhythm, and outside the window, the storm was finally fading into a thin, silver rain.

Then his gaze lowered to her stomach.

With a gentleness that seemed almost unbelievable coming from a man like him, he placed his hand over it.

"We'll eventually have another child, too, Rose."

"A child?"

She looked down at his hand.

"Am I... pregnant?"

Rafaello's expression softened, though a faint shadow passed through his eyes.

"Not anymore."

Rose stared at him for a moment.

She couldn't remember being pregnant. She couldn't remember carrying a child, nor could she recall ever having loved someone so small.

There was no memory of a baby. No image, no voice, no familiar feeling of motherhood.

Yet the thought left an unfamiliar emptiness inside her.

Her hand slowly moved to her stomach.

"I'm sorry, baby."

The words appeared in her mind without warning.

She didn't know why she thought them. She didn't remember the child, didn't remember loving it, and couldn't even understand why those words had come to her.

She simply remained quiet, her palm resting over her stomach.

Rafaello watched her in silence.