The Foiled Plan (War of Sins Book 2)

There are times in our lives when we have to take a good look at ourselves and truly see. Not the idealized version, not the biased version.

The reality.

I’ve lived the last couple of years of my life blaming everyone around me and thinking I’d been just a victim. A meek victim who’d been persecuted time and time again, first by her family, then by her husband, and then by her family again.

I’d looked, and I’d only seen what I wanted to see.

The truth, however, is far from fair. And it’s far from pretty.

The truth…will wreck me.

I blink, bringing myself back to the present as I’m greeted by the person staring back at me in the mirror. It’s me yet…it’s no longer me.

Identity is produced by memories. We are who we are because of the information stored inside and the experiences that have shaped us.

For the longest time, I’ve been a pianist. And though there is the inherent talent, I could not call myself one if all my musical knowledge were to disappear.

The same goes for all my other memories.

I’d erased a lot of my memories from before and in turn, I’d erased the person I’d been.

But now?

A sad smile pulls at my lips as I raise a finger to trace my features.

For a few weeks I’ve been having flashbacks. Sometimes it’s just impressions and feelings, and other times it’s full scenes, like the one in the tunnels.

Yet the more I see myself through my past self’s eyes, the more I start understanding Raf’s initial distaste for me.

I wasn’t good. I wasn’t nice. And at some point…I stopped being able to claim I was a victim.

I see snippets of the past, and I don’t like the person I was.

More than anything, she scares me. She’d had no qualms killing to keep herself alive—and then doing it again.

I’d truly thought I would never be capable of murder—no matter the circumstances.

Because good people don’t kill. Good people don’t lack remorse when they kill. And good people certainly don‘t prepare for the next kill.

That’s just the thing though. I wasn’t good.

‘You ok?’ I swivel, my eyes wide as I come face to face with Raf.

‘Yeah. I was just applying some cream,’ I lie, forcing a smile.

‘This late?’ He blinks, bringing his wrist up to check the time on his watch.

‘My face felt very dry and I couldn’t sleep,’ I make the excuse.

What else am I to say? That my past is coming back to haunt me?

That my ex-husband was involved in God knows what type of pagan rituals and he was performing human sacrifices? That I watched a corpse being fucked?

Or better yet, that I’ve killed people.

I’ve had their blood bathe my skin and drip down my face. And I hadn’t blinked.

I hadn’t fucking blinked.

The worst, though, is that I know I will remember more. And when I do…

‘Let me help you,’ he says as he comes into the bathroom, his hands on my shoulders as he backs me against the tub. ‘Sit,’ he orders just as he takes the jar of cream.

‘You don’t have to. You should go back to sleep. You must be tired after today.’

He’d come back in time for dinner—just as he’d promised me.

But instead of finding his sweet wife, he’d found a stranger. One that lied with every word that came out of her mouth.

‘I’m never tired for you, pretty girl,’ he says sweetly, and my heart constricts in my chest.

My cheeks are tight and strained from the fakeness of my smile as I speak even more false platitudes.

Who am I?

‘Here,’ he brings the pad of his finger on my skin, swiping some cream before swirling it around to blend it. His touch is light and gentle, and his eyes are so full of affection—more than I’ve ever received in my life.

I watch him closely, memorizing every feature.

He can’t find out.

I don’t think I could bear for him to look at me in disdain. I wouldn’t survive.

Instead, I simply thrust everything from my mind, focusing on him.

‘I love you, Raf. More than anything in the world,’ I tell him. And in that moment, another certainty washes over me.

I would kill for him.

‘You’re my heart, pretty girl,’ he caresses me reverently. ‘You’re everything that’s sweet and kind,’ he continues, those words hitting me in the chest like sharp arrows.

I cough, suddenly out of breath, my eyes moist, my lashes full of unshed tears.

‘Easy,’ he pats me on the back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ I shake my head. ‘Nothing…’ I repeat.

‘Let’s go to bed then,’ he smiles at me as he swoops me in his arms.

But as he lays me in bed, wrapping me around his body, I can’t help but ask.

‘Raf,’ I wet my lips.

My arms are spread on his naked chest, my chin on my hands as I peer at him through my lashes.

‘Hm?’

‘Hypothetically…’ I start, taking a deep breath. ‘What would you say if I actually harmed someone. If I…killed someone?’

He chuckles.

‘There’s no hypothetical. You’re not capable of something like that,’ he states with conviction and my heart plummets.

‘I may have deluded myself in the past that you were some evil femme fatale,’ he laughs, ‘but I know it was my erroneous perception. I didn’t know you. I only knew of you.’

I purse my lips at his words, every one of them making me feel even worse.

‘You’re too kind to harm anyone,’ he adds.

‘But what if,’ I whisper. ‘What if I killed people?’

‘People? As in multiple?’

I nod.

He looks at me for a moment before laughing.

‘You’d never do that, Noelle. I know you. I know the woman I fell for, and she could never bear the thought of hurting someone. Even if they deserved it.’

‘Your view of me is too nice,’ I murmur, my cheeks red.

‘It’s the truth. You made me fall for you with your kindness and lack of artifice. Your genuine responses and the way you stood up to me showed me exactly who you are. Someone extraordinary. And someone I’d do anything to protect,’ he bends his head to kiss my forehead.

I smile weakly, getting comfortable as we both go to sleep. But though he manages to fall asleep easily, I don’t.

Because how could I when now, more than ever, I know he’s fallen for an impostor.

‘What are you doing?’ I startle as I feel Raf behind me, the urge to close the laptop overwhelming. But that would mean implying I’m doing something wrong. So I just turn to him, a tight smile on my face.

‘Just browsing the internet.’

‘Aztec human sacrifice,’ he raises a brow. ‘Now that‘s interesting,’ he notes.

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘I took courses on Pre-Columbian Americas,’ he scratches the back of his head, ‘and I remember that the heart and the head were pretty important. A lot of facts were exaggerated by the conquistadores when they reached the Americas to justify their actions. That is not to say that sacrifice was not part of the culture. There are a lot of pictograms that depict the practice.’

‘I see,’ I nod, raking my teeth over my lower lip as I mull over his words. ‘But it’s an old practice, right? It doesn’t happen anymore.’

‘Of course. Can you imagine anyone performing human sacrifices in this day and age and getting away with that?’ he laughs. ‘Though the belief in the old Gods might still exist in isolated communities.’

‘Why would they do it, though? I don’t understand the allure,’ I sigh.

‘We can’t look at these cultures through a western lens. They didn’t have the same system of values we have, or the same understanding of right and wrong. A lot of these sacrifices were performed to appease a specific god and to bring some type of benefit to the community. Most of the time, these rituals were done for fertility and to avoid draughts that would affect agriculture.’

Immediately, my mind goes to what Fernando had said about prosperity and Sergio taking care of the region. Still, the entire thing seems preposterous.

Maybe it wasn’t real.

Yet no matter how much I tell myself that, I know it was real.

‘Do you know of any ritual with a jaguar?’ I ask, thinking back to any clues. I want to add more, like the way the girl had been killed, but that would only raise suspicions.

‘Hmm, let me look,’ he says as he scoots me over so he can join me on the bed. Taking the laptop from me, he starts typing up a few searches before showing me the results.

‘This?’ He asks as he points at one picture of a stone jaguar, the shape and overall design not too different than the one I’d seen.

‘Yeah,’ I nod.

‘It represents the god Tezcatlipoca. His name means smoking mirrors, and he was considered an all-powerful deity for the Aztecs. He also dealt in sorcery and what we might call today black magic,’ he explains.

‘Black magic?’

‘Rituals dedicated to him were said to offer the priests in charge powers and unspeakable wealth,’ he shrugs. ‘It’s all very fascinating. Look at this,’ he shows me a picture of a skull designed with a mosaic of stones and shells. ‘This is the representation of Tezcatlipoca, and this,’ he points to the black glass, ‘is obsidian.’

‘Smoking mirror, so dark mirror?’

‘Right. Since the obsidian is black, and he is associated with it.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ I breathe out. ‘And you’re so knowledgeable about this.’

Everything is interesting, minus the sacrifice part.

‘I learned about it in college,’ he shrugs. ‘I did my dissertation on minerals and precious stones in Meso-America and their uses as ritualistic tools.’

I look at him wide eyed as I process the information. I knew he was smart, but I didn’t realize how smart. For a moment, I feel ashamed of my lack of education.

All my life I’d had tutors, but never a formal education. The disciplines were chosen for me, but they were basic—enough so I could comport myself in society. After all, when your destiny is to become a wife and a mother, what use do you have of higher education, or of any type of knowledge?

The knowledge I do possess is due to my voracious appetite for media. Since young I’ve been an avid cinephile, always on my computer in search of my next favorite. Because I was so alone growing up, my upbringings restricting me from doing a lot of things normal teenagers did, I simply lost myself in the wonders of the internet, picking up random facts here and there.

‘Now it’s your turn to tell me why you were so interested in this,’ he closes the laptop as he turns to me, an amused expression on his face.’

I tilt my head, studying him.

I can’t answer the question truthfully when I don’t understand the past myself. Maybe if I had something more than just a snapshot, I would be able to piece together what had happened and why Sergio had had the equivalent of an inverted pyramid temple under the hacienda.

There is also another question… Can I trust my mind? Was what I saw real?

Ceremonies. Human Sacrifice. Necrophilia.

Everything is out of a horror movie.

‘I was watching a movie and thought it was very interesting. Although the sacrifices were a little gory for me.’

‘There are countless depictions of them in pictograms, and they are not for the faint of heart,’ he chuckles. ‘But if you’re interested, we can visit a museum that hosts Aztec artifacts. I’ll look for exhibitions and we can do a short trip.’

‘Really? That would be awesome,’ my lips stretch in a genuine smile.

Twirling my arms around his neck, I bring him to me, kissing his cheek.

‘Come here, pretty girl,’ he says as he swoops me up, laying me on his lap and tugging me to his chest.

His head resting on my head, he brings his arms around me as he hugs me tightly.

‘I was thinking we could look into venues so you could perform,’ he suddenly says. ‘If you want to, that is,’ he amends. ‘But now that we’re not tied down by anything, and since there’s no more danger…’

‘You’d be ok with me becoming a performer?’ I lean back so I can look him in the eye.

‘I’d be ok with anything that makes you happy. And I know that music is part of you,’ he says as he brings his hand over my heart. ‘I would never dream of taking that away from you.’

‘But that would mean traveling and…’ being away from you.

‘I’d come with you, of course,’ he retorts in indignation. ‘You think I would let you travel the world by yourself?’ he grumbles under his breath.

‘You’d do that for me?’ I blink, surprised. ‘What about you? What would you do? I’m sure you’ll have work and…’

‘Work can be done remotely too. And I happen to love traveling. Where you go, I go. We’re a package deal, the two of us,’ he says as he flicks his finger over my nose in an affectionate manner. ‘And if you’re happy, I’m happy.’

‘You’re too sweet to me, Raf,’ I sigh, unable to believe how lucky I am.

But if he finds out…

I quickly thrust that thought aside. There’s no way he can find out except from me. And I’m not about to confess out loud that I’m a murderer and that I might have very well killed his first love.

At this point, I’m just happy she’s dead. It’s so bad of me to even think that, but I can’t help it. I’m more than happy, I’m ecstatic that she’s dead.

Because he’s mine, and only mine.

And if she weren’t dead…then I might very well kill her myself.

I inhale sharply, the direction of my thoughts terrifying me.

Who am I?

‘You bring out the best in me,’ he winks.

But he might bring the worst in me…

We spend the rest of the day lounging in bed and watching TV. I know Raf is trying his best to forget what happened in New York and the fact that one of his own friends might have betrayed him. There’s also the issue with Marcello and his family… The entire situation is a mess.

‘We can go back to the city, you know,’ I add at dinner. ‘We’ve had an extended vacation as it is. I’m fine with returning.’

‘Are you sure?’ he frowns. ‘I don’t want to ruin this…’

‘You’re not ruining anything. We can return on Monday. How is that? That way we have the weekend to forget about everything and then we go back to the real world.’

‘If you’re sure?’ He asks, looking at me with a worried expression. Before I can reply, though, he gets out of his seat, swooping me up and taking my seat before placing me on his lap.

‘I’m sorry we have to cut it short. I wanted you to have a good time away from all the mob business, since I know you don’t like it.’

‘Whether I like it or not, it’s our life,’ I tell him gently. ‘And I know you didn’t choose this willingly either.’

My brother had been pretty strict about the terms of their agreement, and he needs Raf to be the head of the Guerra family so he can take advantage of its name and resources.

‘I promise you I’ll do my best to keep you away from the ugly side of it. We’ll travel the world together. You’ll play the piano, and I’ll do all the dirty work,’ he kisses my temple.

Taking my fork from my hand, he proceeds to feed me.

I giggle at his attempt, but he shushes me.

‘I like to take care of you,’ he whispers in my hair. ‘Let me do that, please,’ he says in a low voice.

‘You do realize I can eat by myself too,’ I challenge.

‘I know. But I want to take care of every single one of your needs, pretty girl. Because you’re mine. And because…’ he trails off.

I turn.

‘Because?’

‘Because this is the only way I can ever make it up to you for how I behaved. By spoiling and pampering you and showing you how much I care about you,’ he gives me a tight smile.

‘Raf…’ I trail off, taking a deep breath. ‘I thought we’d talked about that before. It’s time to stop feeling guilty.’

‘I don’t know if I can,’ he whispers.

‘I forgive you. You need to forgive yourself too,’ I bring his knuckles to my mouth for a kiss.

He grunts, but doesn’t let me go, continuing to feed me as before.

Shaking my head with a smile, I accept it as his token of affection since it’s clearly important to him to make sure I’m taken care of.

After we’re done with our food, we split the cleaning tasks—he washes the dishes, I dry them. But not before he plays some music for us.

We both move to the rhythm as we clean the kitchen up, and I can’t help but laugh as he takes my hand to lead me into a spin.

The fun is cut short though when my phone rings.

Frowning, I pick it up to see it’s my brother.

‘You answer that and I’ll be upstairs in the room,’ Raf says, turning off the music and leaving the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, I answer the call.

‘How is it going, Noelle?’ He asks in his usual somber voice.

‘Good,’ I answer in a neutral tone. ‘We’re in Newport,’ I tell him though I am sure he already knows.

‘So I’ve heard. I hope you have better weather than we do,’ he chuckles, and my lips flatten into a thin line at his attempts at small talk.

‘How is Yuyu and the baby?’

‘Great. She’s recovered well, and he’s getting bigger by the day,’ he adds proudly.

There’s a pregnant pause as neither knows what to say.

‘We’ll be coming home soon. I thought I’d give you a heads up. We won’t be staying there long, though.’

‘You’re moving for good?’

‘We’ve decided to take a trip to Italy, tour the boot so to speak.’

‘Are you thinking of moving there permanently?’

The situation had only gotten tenser as past enemies had resurfaced for both Cisco and Yuyu after the reveal of her identity. I know that they’ve been extremely careful now that they had the baby to think about too.

‘Maybe,’ he answers flippantly.

‘Is that why you called?’ I roll my eyes.

‘I wanted to check up on you and make sure Rafaelo is treating you well.’

It’s on the tip of my tongue to shoot him a sarcastic retort.

Now you care?

Instead, I take a deep breath, and I reply civilly.

‘Yes. He’s treating me very well, Cisco. You don’t have to worry.’ As if you ever did.

A brief pause and I can hear him breathing on the line.

‘Good. I’ll see you in New York then,’ he says before he hangs up.

To say that I’m surprised that he’d inquire into my wellbeing is, well, an understatement. Shaking my head in amusement, I head upstairs to our room.

We’d planned to continue our marathon of horror movies well into the night, so I’m excited for that.

The door to the room is wide open, and I get this crazy idea to surprise him with a jump scare. Abandoning my slides, I tiptoe barefoot on the floor as I attempt to stealthily enter the bedroom.

I’m barely inside when I frown. He’s holding something in his hand, his expression melancholic. But as soon as he spots me, he throws the item into the drawer, pretending he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

‘What was that?’ I ask as I reach his side, bummed that he’d seen me before I could scare him.

‘Nothing,’ he smiles. ‘Just my watch,’ he lies.

I blink in surprise.

‘I’ll go take a shower and then we can get back to Saw,’ he winks at me as he jumps from the bed, heading straight into the bathroom.

A little unsettled, I spend two minutes staring at the floor as I try to make sense of what just happened and the fact that he lied to me.

His watch was still in the kitchen when I’d left, since he’d taken it off while washing the dishes.

But why would he lie to me?

My eyes skitter to the drawer, and something inside of me compels me to see what it is.

I extend my hand to open the drawer, before putting it down, scowling at myself and lack of trust.

I shouldn’t snoop around.

But he lied.

Why did he lie?

A few more attempts at opening the drawer end in failure and I end up taking a deep breath and making my mind.

I want to see—I need to see.

Straightening my back, I look in the direction of the bathroom, satisfied that the sound of the shower is still on, and I slowly open the drawer, reaching inside.

My fingers wrap around a small stone dangling from a thin chain. And as I lift it up, it’s to realize what it is…

My eyes close on a tired exhale, and without even thinking, I drop it back, closing the drawer and trying to put it out of my mind.

Why?

Why does he still have the necklace? And what is he doing with it here?

It’s been months since he stopped wearing it, so why now? Since then, I haven’t even seen it around—not even at home.

But for him to have it here?

I try to regulate my breath, but it’s becoming increasingly harder not to give in to the panic attack threatening to overtake me.

Why?

I’m not even angry. I’m…sad.

Betrayed.

He promised me she was in the past. He promised that she…

I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest.

Why?

Am I not enough? Why else would he need a reminder of her?

He loves me. I try to tell myself that he loves me, that he’s married to me and that she’s already dead.

But that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? How can anyone compete with a ghost?

He loves me.

The words become a small chant in my head as I try to convince myself of the fact—as I tell myself that the necklace doesn’t mean anything.

But it does.

I bring my fist to my chest as I bang against it in an attempt to settle my errant heart.

He loves me.

Does he, though?

Panic bubbles inside of me as I mentally go over every single interaction we’d had.

Has he ever said the words?

I tell him I love him every chance I get, but his reply is always the same.

I adore you.

You’re my heart.

I care about you.

It’s not…love, is it?

My lungs constrict and I feel like I can’t breathe. Dashing to the window, I push it open as I take big gulps of air. Yet no matter how much I inhale, or exhale, I still feel like I’m suffocating.

My hand goes to my throat as I massage it, willing it to open up and let me breathe normally.

But the more I think about it, the more agitated I become.

He’s never told me he loved me. He used any other word, just not love.

No, it can’t be right.

I refuse to believe that he doesn’t love me. He’s shown me repeatedly how much he cares about me.

But is that love?

Hasn’t he reiterated time and time again that he feels guilty about the way he treated me? So is that all it is? The fact that he feels sorry for me? Am I just a pity fuck? Is that it?

There’s this tiny voice inside my head that won’t let me be. It contradicts every little explanation I might come up with, making me face the dire fact that he…

‘No, no, no,’ I whisper, my voice ragged.

‘Noelle?’ He calls my name out, and in my panic I haven’t heard the bathroom door open.

Closing my eyes, I count to ten before I slowly turn, plastering a fake smile on my face.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, and nothing more. His skin is glistening, small droplets of water dripping down his hard chest.

He’s mine.

I refuse to believe he’s anything but mine.

He’s never even slept with Lucero. I’m the only one who knows him intimately. The only woman he’s ever been inside.

But is that enough?

‘Are you feeling ill? You look a little pale,’ he says as he comes to my side, the back of his hand on my forehead as he checks my temperature.

‘No,’ I shake my head, ‘I’m fine,’ I lie.

Taking a step forward, I open my arms as I hug him, holding him tightly against me.

‘I love you, Raf,’ I tell him, awaiting to see his answer.

There’s the barest pause, but it’s there, and my heart drops in my chest.

‘I adore you,’ he murmurs softly.

My eyes go wide, and I do my best to keep myself from breaking down.

Instead, I ask the question in a roundabout way.

‘You’re the only person who’s ever loved me,’ I add, waiting for his reply.

‘You have no idea how much I care about you, pretty girl,’ his arms come around me, the heat from his body transferring to mine.

But why does it feel like I’m freezing?

He doesn’t admit, nor deny it.

Whether I want to or not, I have to concede that he’s never uttered the word love to me. He’s never used it.