He gives me a look. “Debatable.”
Then his expression shifts, serious again. “You would’ve shot me.”
“I did shoot you.”
“Somewhere fatal.”
I lift a brow. “There’s still time.”
He laughs despite himself and pulls me back into his arms. I let him, resting my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
After a moment, he speaks again, quieter now. “I never lied to you, Saint. I’ve been hunting the Guild since they framed me.”
He pulls back just enough to cup my face again, forcing me to look at him.
“There’s more at stake than just me,Picarita,” he says softly. “I needed you to see the truth first.”
His eyes search mine, almost pleading.
“But I couldn’t risk my family. I had to clear my name and keep them safe. And by some miracle…” His gaze flicks between my eyes, his mouth curving into something vulnerable and real. “…get you back.”
We stand there for a moment, neither of us rushing to speak, the quiet settling around us like something earned rather than imposed. The garden is still torn up from the fight, petals crushed into stone, glass catching the early light, but the sky above us is beginning to pale, the first real hint of morning stretching over the desert.
“Where did you go?” I ask finally. “Tonight. Where did you run off to?”
Alejandro exhales slowly, one hand sliding to my lower back as if anchoring himself there. “I had to track down who put the hit out. Whoever contacted Kenji claimed to be El Fantasma. Promised him a partnership. Hartley was the mark. A takeoverafter.”
My brow furrows as the pieces shift again. “Then who was it? Who put the hit out?”
A soft, almost incredulous laugh escapes him. “Hartley.”
I blink at him. “He put out a hit on himself?”
He nods. “It wasn’t meant to succeed. He told Kenji he had to do it himself, to prove loyalty. Set the location. His guards were supposed to intercept. Take Kenji out, take the Guild in the chaos. A double-cross stacked on top of another.”
“The poison,” I say quietly.
“Kenji was the waiter,” Alejandro replies. “No one ever looks at the staff.”
“Not even the staff,” I murmur, the memory clicking into place.
“He was at the brunch,” Alejandro continues. “Tripped that poor server with one of these.” He pulls a marble from his pocket and rolls it between his fingers. “Needed to stop you from warning Hartley. He didn’t know Hartley was in on everything. Then later, at happy hour, I saw him again. Martini glass. Hartley was dead the moment he took a sip.”
My chest tightens. “You knew that night we went to Kenji’s house. The berries. You said they smelled sweet.”
“Sweet like the poison,” he confirms. “I needed to be sure.”
There’s regret in his eyes now as he cups my face, thumb brushing gently under my swollen eye, his other arm steady at my waist. “I know how close you were to him. I couldn’t accuse him without certainty.”
Everything finally settles. The doubt. The anger. The relentless noise of the last few days.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He glances down at his arm. “It’s a scratch.”
“I’m not sorry I shot you.”
