Rapheal pov

I stared at her mouth, which was still filled with pasta, eating like whatever she had done was just simple.

Her lips were smeared with a little sauce at the sides. I wanted to wipe it off, but I couldn't. Not when I knew what she had done. My cheeks still pulsed from the bruise on my face.

I grabbed the knife lying on the floor; my blood still stained the blades, making it a little bloody.

"One more thing, Raphael," she said casually, shoving more pasta into her ...