The air inside the prison interview room was heavier than usual, as if the walls themselves knew what was about to be said. The guards had already chained Rafael to the chair, and still he looked at ease, his lips curled in that infuriating half smile that Stacy had begun to dread as much as she studied.
“You came back,” Rafael said, his voice smooth as silk. “After Eleonor’s little visit, I half expected you to disappear.”
Stacy set her recorder on the table and leaned forward. “You knew she would come to me.”
“I knew she would try,” Rafael admitted. “Eleonor has always believed herself the guardian of truth. The self appointed saint of her family. But saints rarely tell the whole story.”
“And do you?” Stacy asked.
He laughed softly, tilting his head. “I confess. That is what you came for, is it not?”
“I came for the truth,” Stacy said firmly.
Rafael’s eyes gleamed. “Truth is a dangerous word. Very well. Confession number three.”
She pressed record.
“This one,” Rafael began, his tone slowing into something almost mournful, “is about betrayal. Not the kind you see in crime reports or headlines. This was personal. It cut deeper than any blade I have ever held.”
“Who did you betray?” Stacy asked.
His smile returned. “I will let you decide that. Some names you will recognize. One in particular you may already suspect.”
“Andrew,” Stacy whispered, unable to stop herself.
Rafael chuckled, low and pleased. “Sharp. Always sharp. You see, Andrew Macavinta and I were brothers long before we were criminals. We shared streets, scars, and blood spilled together. But loyalty is a fragile thing, especially when survival becomes a currency. I betrayed him. Or perhaps he betrayed me. The truth is not as clear as you may hope.”
“Tell me what happened,” Stacy urged.
He leaned closer, his chains clinking against the table. “It was after the robbery I confessed to you last time. Andrew and I were riding high, money flowing like wine, power blooming in our veins. But success breeds envy. It breeds suspicion. The more powerful we became, the more dangerous trust became. Andrew wanted more. He wanted control. He thought my charisma was wasted on shadows. He wanted me to play soldier while he played king.”
“And what did you want?” Stacy asked.
Rafael smiled wistfully. “I wanted freedom. Power is a cage, Miss Bendoy. No matter how wide you spread its bars, you are still trapped inside it. Andrew did not understand that. So I gave him what he wanted. I let him believe he was in control. And then, when the time was right, I tipped the scales.”
Stacy’s pen scratched across her notebook. “You set him up.”
“Perhaps,” Rafael murmured. “Perhaps not. A deal went wrong. Police came sooner than expected. Andrew took the fall while I walked away. But what is betrayal if not letting someone you call brother face the fire while you vanish into the smoke?”
Stacy felt a chill run down her spine. “Did you want him caught?”
Rafael’s eyes locked with hers. “Want is irrelevant. It was necessary.”
“But you cared for him,” she pressed.
“I still do,” Rafael admitted, almost too quickly. “That is what makes it the worst of my sins. Betraying an enemy is nothing. Betraying family… that never leaves you.”
The silence stretched until Stacy finally said, “So you admit it. Confession three is betraying Andrew.”
Rafael tilted his head, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips. “I admit nothing. I confess. The difference matters. You may write betrayal as the headline, but remember, half truths are the only truths men like me can afford.”
Her chest tightened. “Then why confess at all? Why give me fragments if you will not give me everything?”
His gaze softened, unexpectedly. “Because you are the only one listening. Do you know how it feels to be locked in here, surrounded by walls and guards, and still crave to be understood? You are the one person who can hold my sins without turning away. Even when Eleonor whispers warnings into your ear, you still come back.”
“You are manipulating me,” Stacy said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“And yet you are here,” he answered.
The next day, Stacy replayed his words over and over in her small apartment. Betrayal. Brother. Necessary. She stared at her notes until her eyes blurred.
Her phone rang. She answered without checking the caller ID.
“You are walking into his trap,” Eleonor’s voice snapped through the line.
Stacy closed her eyes. “You should stop calling me if you are not going to tell me everything.”
“I told you enough,” Eleonor said. “He destroyed Trisha. He destroyed Andrew. And he will destroy you if you let him.”
“Then why does he sound like the wounded one?” Stacy asked quietly.
“Because that is his gift,” Eleonor spat. “He knows how to turn guilt into poetry and sin into confession. He makes women feel chosen when in truth they are only tools. Do not become another Trisha.”
Stacy’s throat tightened. “You say that, but you hide something too. Every time you talk about your sister, it is like you are speaking through gritted teeth. What did you do, Eleonor?”
The line was silent for a moment. Then Eleonor whispered, “I tried to save her. And in trying, I may have pushed her closer to him. That is my sin. But it is nothing compared to his.”
Before Stacy could respond, the line went dead.
When she returned to Rafael the following week, she was already tense. He noticed immediately.
“You spoke with Eleonor again,” he said.
Stacy refused to answer. Instead, she asked, “Why do you keep circling Andrew without naming the full betrayal? What are you holding back?”
Rafael leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Because truth is like seduction, Miss Bendoy. If I give you everything at once, you will lose interest. The anticipation is what keeps you here. It is what keeps you listening.”
Her cheeks burned. “Do not compare your crimes to seduction.”
“Why not?” Rafael whispered. “Both are about trust. Both are about surrender. And both leave scars that never fade.”
She slammed her notebook shut. “This is not a game.”
“Then why do you feel it as one?” he asked, smiling faintly. “Why does your pulse quicken when I lean closer? Why do your eyes linger on me longer than necessary? Do not lie to yourself, Stacy. You came here for the story. But now you are here for me.”
Her voice cracked as she said, “You confessed betrayal. But I think the true betrayal is how you twist everything. Even this.”
Rafael’s chains rattled as he leaned back, satisfied. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the true betrayal is yet to come. Confession three is only the beginning. Betrayal never ends with one act. It ripples, touching everyone, even those who think they are safe.”
Stacy stared at him, trying to steady her breath, realizing with dawning horror that he was not only confessing. He was weaving her into the confession itself.
That night, Stacy dreamed of fire. She saw Andrew’s face, shadowed and broken, reaching out to her. She saw Trisha, elegant and ruined, whispering her name. And through it all, Rafael’s voice threaded like smoke.
Confession three is betrayal. And betrayal is never finished.
She woke in a sweat, gripping her notebook as if it might anchor her to reality. But even in the silence of her apartment, she knew the line between truth and manipulation was already blurring.
And she feared that Rafael Manuel intended to blur it further.
ns216.73.216.23da2
and then Add to home screen.