The Doctor And The Don

It Was Never Random

Rafael found me alone by the pool one evening while Marco took a call inside, his usual easy humor replaced by something more serious.

“Can I tell you something, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

“I have known Marco since we were fifteen. I have seen him through every version of himself. The kid who lost his father too young. The man who took over an empire before he was ready for it. The version of him that stopped letting anyone close enough to matter.” Rafael sat down across from me. “I have never seen him like this. Not once. Not with anyone.”

“Like what?”

“Careless. Happy, even. You make him forget to be careful, and honestly, that terrifies me a little, because careful is the only reason he has stayed alive this long.”

I turned that over in my mind, the weight of it. “I never asked for any of this, Rafael. The house, the guards, any of it.”

“I know. Nobody ever does, in this life. It finds you, and then you spend the rest of your years deciding what to do with it.” He glanced toward the house, lowering his voice further. “There is something you should know, though. About why he asked for you specifically. It was never random, Doctor. It never was.”

My stomach dropped, the earlier conversation with Marco suddenly resurfacing. “He already started telling me. About my father.”

Rafael’s expression shifted, surprised. “He told you about Thomas Hayes?”

“Some of it. He got interrupted.”

“Then ask him to finish, Doctor. Whatever it costs him, you deserve the whole truth, not just the parts that are easy to say.”

Before I could respond, Marco stepped out onto the patio, phone still in hand, his expression tight with something urgent.

“Rafael. We need to talk. Now.”

Rafael stood, giving me an apologetic look before following Marco inside, and I sat there with my pulse racing, understanding that whatever conversation Marco had been avoiding was about to happen whether either of us was ready for it.