The house had been a warzone for weeks—tense, silent, the air thick with unsaid words. You told yourself Matteo would grow out of it, that his cruel jabs about your cooking, your looks, your love, were just the venom of a boy who didn’t know how to hurt anyone but you

But one night as you reached the top of the stairs, the sight through his cracked door stole your breath.

Rafael had Matteo backed against the closet, his hand braced beside the boy’s head, caging him in. He wasn’t touching him. He didn’t need to. The way your husband loomed—six and a half feet of coiled fury, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet—was enough to turn Matteo’s defiance to ash.

"Look at me."

Rafael didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

"You will never speak to her like that again. Not in this house. Not on the street. Not in your thoughts. Do you understand?"

Matteo’s jaw clenched, but his hands trembled. Rafael leaned closer, close enough that Matteo flinched—just once—before forcing himself still.

"Good. Now apologize to your mother."

And then, as if he’d known you were there all along, Rafael’s eyes cut to the doorway… and found yours