He dries his hands, turns around, takes a deep breath like he's preparing for battle.
"I need to tell you something first," he says. "About why I said what I said."
"What?"
"The President found out about you and Quinn." Miguel's voice goes flat, controlled. The tone he uses when he's delivering badnews. "He ordered me to cut ties. Said having a lieutenant whose sister is fucking the Iron Talons President makes us look weak. Makes me look compromised."
The words hit like a physical blow. "So you chose the club."
"I chose survival. For both of us." He takes a step closer. "If I'd refused, they would've handled it. Handled you. This way, publicly disowned, you were off-limits. Protected by my rejection."
I process this slowly, medical mind working through the implications. "You disowned me to protect me?"
"I disowned you because I was ordered to. But yeah, it also kept you alive. Coyote Fangs was talking about making an example. About what happens when you choose the enemy. Your name came up in ways that made my blood cold."
The hospital room tilts. All this time I thought he abandoned me because I wasn't worth fighting for. But he was fighting for me. Just in the worst possible way.
"And now?" I ask. "Coming here? Does your President know?"
Miguel's jaw tightens. "No."
"Miguel—"
"He finds out, I'm fucked. Demoted at minimum. Beaten out at worst. Maybe worse than that." His voice drops. "But I couldn't... I couldn't not meet him. He's my blood. He's a Cruz."
Fresh tears stream down my face. "You risked everything to come here."
"I've already lost five months with you. I'm not losing more." His voice breaks again. "Now can I please meet my nephew before I lose my nerve?"
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat.
Miguel approaches the bed carefully. I show him how to support Santiago's head, how to hold him securely. The transfer happens slowly, both of us treating this moment like the sacred thing it is.
And then Santiago is in Miguel's arms.
The transformation is instant.
The hard Coyote Fangs lieutenant crumbles. The protective older brother softens. The man who disowned me five months ago becomes the brother who taught me to ride a bike, who walked me through my first heartbreak, who paid for nursing school, who raised me when our parents died.
He's just Miguel again.
My brother.
Crying over my baby.
Our family's second chance.
"Díos mío," he whispers, tears streaming freely now. "He's perfect."
Santiago's tiny hand reaches up, grips Miguel's finger with surprising strength.
Miguel laughs through his tears. "Strong grip. Cruz blood."
"He's stubborn too," I say, smiling despite everything. "Reeves genes."
"Unfortunately." Miguel studies Santiago's face with the intensity of someone memorizing every detail. "He has Dad's nose. And your eyes. And..." He touches Santiago's dark hair gently. "His father's hair."
The acknowledgment of Zane sends tension rippling through the moment, but Miguel doesn't pull away.
