Elena Neves.
Raphael's pupils tightened.
That name hit him like a freight train.
Fast Five — the Rio cop who became Dom's girlfriend during his single phase.
Fast 8 — the one Cipher murdered in cold blood.
But right now she was just an eighteen-year-old girl in a plain blue work uniform, standing at a loom, grinding out a living.
Raphael watched her for a few seconds, then looked away.
"Let's go."
That night when he got home, Monica was sprawled on the sofa watching TV.
Her belly was already six months round. Lately she'd turned into a professional couch potato — if she could lie down, she wasn't sitting.
"How was the factory?"
"Decent," Raphael said, dropping onto the cushion beside her. "Equipment's new, management's a mess. Put the right person in charge and it should turn a profit."
Monica nodded, didn't press.
Raphael leaned back, but his mind kept drifting to the girl in the work uniform.
Not because she was stunning — though she was.
But because in another timeline she was meant to be part of this world.
Like Dante.
Like Reyes.
When you run into someone like that, it feels like a waste not to… touch.
---
The next day he went back to the factory.
This time he walked straight to her station.
The girl looked up, saw a young man she didn't recognize, and froze.
"You… you are?"
"New owner. Raphael Lee."
Elena quickly set down the fabric and stood up, flustered.
"B-boss! Hello!"
Raphael studied her.
Eighteen. No makeup. Healthy wheat-colored skin, big bright eyes.
When she was nervous, her lashes trembled.
"How old are you?"
"Just… just turned eighteen."
"Family?"
Her eyes dimmed.
"Little brother still in school. Mom's sick. Dad… passed away."
Raphael nodded.
"Wage?"
"Twelve hundred reais a month."
"Enough?"
Elena bit her lip and stayed silent.
Raphael pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it in her palm.
"Tomorrow, three p.m. Come to this address. There's a side job. Pays better than the factory."
Elena stared at the card. A café name was printed on it.
"This is…"
"Think it over before you come." Raphael turned to leave. "If you don't want to, forget I said anything."
---
Three p.m. the next afternoon. Open-air café in Ipanema.
Raphael sat in the corner, an Americano in front of him.
At 3:05, Elena appeared across the street.
She'd changed into a clean white sundress, hair down, light makeup — a little clumsy, but she'd tried.
When she spotted him she took a deep breath, crossed the road, and walked over.
"Mr… Mr. Lee."
"Sit."
Elena sat across from him, hands folded tightly in her lap, nerves radiating off her.
Raphael ordered her a fresh juice.
"Made up your mind?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"You're not even going to ask what the job is?"
"No need."
She lifted her head and met his eyes. "Whatever it is, I'll do it."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
Elena bit her lip.
"My brother's tuition is due next semester. Mom needs medicine. The factory money… it's not enough."
She paused. "You're rich. Being with you… I probably won't lose out."
Raphael looked at her.
Eighteen years old. Eyes impossibly bright.
"You understand what this means?"
Elena was quiet for a few seconds, then nodded.
"I do."
Raphael didn't ask again.
He took a bank card from his pocket and slid it across the table.
"Ten thousand reais on here. PIN is six zeros."
Elena's hand trembled.
"This…"
"Take it. Get your mom treated. Pay your brother's tuition."
Raphael stood up. "Tomorrow someone will find you an apartment in the city. Move in. Wait for my call."
He turned to leave.
A few steps away, Elena's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Lee!"
Raphael paused.
"What… what do you want me to do?"
He looked back at her.
An eighteen-year-old girl. No fear in her eyes — just the calm of someone who had already accepted her fate.
He smiled.
"You'll find out once you're in that apartment."
---
Three days later Elena moved into a high-end apartment in Santa Teresa.
One bedroom, one living room, fully furnished, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Christ the Redeemer.
Security downstairs. Cameras. Safe.
She stood in the middle of the living room, staring at everything, feeling like she was dreaming.
The ten thousand reais had already gone to her mother.
Her brother's tuition was paid. Her mom had medicine.
Now she had this apartment.
She knew exactly what the price was.
But so what?
At eight o'clock that night the doorbell rang.
Elena took a deep breath and opened the door.
Raphael stood outside holding a bottle of red wine.
"Settling in okay?"
"Y-yes…"
Raphael stepped inside and set the wine on the table.
"Drink?"
"I… I don't really…"
"Then you'll learn."
He opened the bottle and poured two glasses.
Elena took a sip and immediately coughed.
Raphael laughed softly.
"Take it slow."
That night she didn't go home.
---
Secrets don't stay secret forever.
A month later Monica found out.
When Raphael came home that evening she was sitting on the sofa, face cold as ice.
"Where were you?"
"Factory."
"Lie."
Raphael looked at her and said nothing.
Monica stood up, walked right up to him, and stared into his eyes.
"That girl. Eighteen. The apartment in Santa Teresa."
She spoke each word slowly. "You thought I wouldn't know?"
Raphael gave a small smile.
"How did you find out?"
"João's people."
Monica's voice was steady. "One of his guys saw you leaving that building. Multiple days in a row."
Raphael sighed.
"What do you want to say?"
Monica's chest rose and fell.
Then she suddenly laughed — a laugh more frightening than anger.
"What do I want to say?"
Her voice shook. "I followed you from Miami to Rio while carrying your child. I cook for you every day, wait for you to come home, and you're out there keeping an eighteen-year-old girl?"
Raphael stayed quiet.
"Do you know how angry I am?"
Monica kept going. "I should kill you — no, right now I really want to kill you!"
Raphael looked at her.
Anger. Hurt. And just the tiniest sliver of… resignation.
"Then why don't you?"
Monica froze.
Then she laughed again — helpless, broken, bitter.
"Because I can't."
She said, "Because I fucking realized I can't leave you."
'Of course you can't. All that Force conditioning over the months would've been a waste otherwise.'
Raphael stepped forward to hold her.
Monica shoved him away.
"Don't touch me!"
Raphael stopped.
Monica stared at him, eyes red.
"I have one condition."
"Name it."
"You never bring her here."
Her voice turned ice-cold. "This is my home. If she ever steps through that door, I don't care how old she is — I will kill her. I mean it."
Raphael looked at her.
Anger still there. Hurt still there. But underneath it all, something complicated and heavy.
"Okay."
Monica turned and walked back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
That night Raphael slept on the living-room sofa.
The months after that settled into a strange new rhythm.
Raphael visited the factory two or three times a week, and sometimes went to see Elena.
Monica pretended she didn't know.
Elena never asked about his home life.
The two women lived like parallel lines — each in her own world.
---
At nine months, Monica's due date arrived.
At three in the morning she shook Raphael awake.
"It's time."
Raphael was instantly alert.
He carried her to the car and sped to the hospital.
Outside the delivery room he sat on a plastic chair, listening to her cries, fingers clenched tight.
An hour later a nurse came out holding a tiny, wrinkled bundle.
"Congratulations. It's a girl."
Raphael stood up and looked at the little face.
Eyes closed, red and wrinkled, ugly like a tiny old man.
But something strange and warm bloomed in his chest.
This was his daughter.
Martina.
In the recovery room Monica lay pale on the bed, but her eyes were shining.
Raphael walked in holding the baby and sat beside her.
"Look."
Monica took their daughter and stared at the tiny face for a long time.
Then she started crying.
"She's so ugly," she sobbed.
Raphael laughed.
"Looks like you."
"Bullshit! She looks like you!"
The nurse in the corner hid a smile.
That afternoon Raphael left the hospital, got in the car, and drove to Elena's apartment.
He hadn't been there in a week.
When he opened the door she was sitting on the sofa, staring into space.
Seeing him, she froze.
"You… why are you here?"
"Came to see you."
He walked over and sat beside her.
Elena stared at his face.
"The hospital… she gave birth?"
"Yeah."
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
Elena forced a small smile.
"Congratulations."
Raphael looked at her.
"That all you wanted to say?"
Elena lifted her head and met his eyes.
"What do you want to hear?"
Raphael stayed quiet.
Elena bit her lip, then suddenly smiled.
"I have something to tell you too."
"What?"
She reached under the coffee table and handed him a piece of paper.
Raphael looked down.
Pregnancy test.
Two red lines.
He looked back up at her.
"How far along?"
"Two months."
Raphael was silent for a long time.
Elena watched him, a little nervous but mostly calm.
"Do you want it?"
Raphael didn't answer.
He simply pulled her into his arms.
Elena rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"I want it," she whispered.
Raphael rested his chin on top of her head.
"Then we'll keep it."
Actually, Raphael had known for a while — Force perception made it easy.
He even knew the baby was another girl.
That night he didn't go back to the hospital.
The next morning he went to João's office.
"Find me the best trust-fund lawyers. Top tier."
João blinked.
"Trust funds? For who?"
"Two daughters."
João blinked again.
"Two?"
"Yeah."
João grinned.
"Mr. Lee… your efficiency is… impressive."
Raphael ignored him.
"Have the proposals ready in one week."