Paco lowers the gun, smirking.“No hard feelings,hombre.You know how this works.”
The penny drops a second before I hear Italian leather on concrete behind me and catch the scent of Cuban cigar smoke.
This wasn’t Paco trying to bait me.It was ceremony.Rite of passage.The final measure before a lieutenant steps into deeper loyalty.
Like he was listening in, Marquez’s voice fills the entire room like a change in weather.
He steps in close enough that only I hear him.“If you had betrayed her—even a whisper of hesitation—I would have ended this today.”
His meaning is clear: Not ended me.Endedher.
“The arrangement stands.She will marry you.Today is the last day anyone questions her loyalty.”
His eyes harden.“Oryours.”
Adena
My stomach churns, acid climbing my throat, but Valentina's suite hums with forced celebration.Attendants circle me like vultures dressed in Chanel—adjusting hairpins, smoothing lace, dabbing lipstick with surgical precision.
A makeup artist leans in close, her breath mint-sharp, curling my eyelashes with heated metal that comes too near my eye.I don't flinch.Can't.Not with an audience of harpies perched on the velvet sofas behind me, watching every micro-expression.Upper-level cartel wives, I assume—the kind who've never had to pull a trigger themselves, just women who smile for cameras and know exactly how to get blood out of silk.
I sit rigid in front of the gilt-edged mirror while cold fingers work the last pearl button down my spine.
"I haven't seen Jagger."I keep my voice light, casual, like I'm asking about a misplaced earring.
Valentina doesn't look up from her phone."He'll be here."Her tone drips honey, practiced and poisonous."A little bruised, perhaps, but he'll understand after the reception."
The women behind me titter—soft, knowing laughter that makes my skin crawl.
I force myself to join them, lips curving into something that might pass for amusement."Nothing that'll show in the photos, I hope?"
Valentina's face splits into a delighted grin."Don't worry, mija.Marquez gave them strict orders—be gentle."
Gentle.My pulse hammers against my ribs, so loud I'm certain they can hear it.The makeup artist dabs powder under my eyes, and I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart's racing through my skin.
Someone materializes with a champagne flute, bubbles rising in pale gold columns.Valentina waves them away with a flick of her wrist and steps closer, circling me like a predator inspecting prey.Her eyes rake over every detail—the fall of the veil, the angle of my shoulders, the tremble I'm trying desperately to hide in my hands.
Her voice softens, almost genuine."You've done what no one else could—gotten him this far.There were others, you know, before you.None of them came close."
The words slide between my ribs like a blade, precise and cold.Others.Women who tried and failed to catch the attention of Marquez… or, more likely, his wife.
I turn my head just enough to catch her reflection in the mirror, forcing curiosity into my expression instead of the dread clawing up my spine."Gotten him this far to what, exactly?"
Her smile doesn't waver, just deepens—crimson lips that look like they've been dipped in blood.
The room shrinks.I can hear everything—the soft hiss of the garment steamer in the corner, the whisper of silk as someone adjusts my train, my own heartbeat pounding in my ears like a countdown.
I try again, lighter this time, like we're sharing secrets over coffee."I’d love to know."
Valentina studies me, tilting her head slightly, deciding how much to reveal, how much I've already guessed."Let's just say he's moving up the line."She smooths an invisible wrinkle from my sleeve, her touch lingering a fraction too long."And every man at that level needs a woman who can keep up, who can handle the administration aspect."
Silas's warning crashes through my mind—you become evidence.
I keep my voice low, teasing, like I'm in on the joke."So that's why you wanted a forger?"
Her smile sharpens.“Always the clever girl.But tonight isn't about business.It's about presentation."She steps back, admiring her work—me, dressed and decorated like a prize."All will be revealed at the reception."
Confirmation without confession.
