Jagger steps forward and leans in.His mouth brushes mine, deliberate and sure, and it seals this more than the vows ever could.
His kiss isn’t for them.
It’s for God.
For me.
For the truth that obedience doesn’t always look like escape.
Twenty-Four
Jagger
The congratulations blur together—hands clapping my shoulder, laughter too loud, too sharp around the edges.
Valentina sweeps in first, her smile radiant enough to burn.Marquez trails behind her, tux crisp, eyes cold.
“Tonight,” she says, lifting her glass, “we celebrate not just love, but legacy.The reception will be held in the Skyview Ballroom.Nine o’clock sharp.”
A wave of people surges around us.Cameras flash.Some cartel lieutenants, a few corporate faces I half-recognize from dossiers, everyone pretending this is a society wedding instead of a coronation.I catch glimpses of Adena—veil gone, face pale but composed—before she’s swallowed by Valentina’s attendants.
Every smile feels like it’s been rehearsed for weeks.
Marquez’s hand clamps down on my shoulder.“Come.Just a few signatures to make it official.”
He steers me and Adena toward a side door near the chapel.A long table waits, lined with folders, pens, and a notary who doesn’t look old enough to drink.
Valentina doesn’t bother with ceremony here; she slides a folder across to me with a cool smile.“Paperwork before the party.You understand how business goes.”
Marquez gestures toward the stack of papers on the table, gold seal gleaming under the chandelier.
When I hesitate, he laughs, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.“Don’t look so serious.It’s formality.A few signatures, a little paperwork — makes you look good to investors, makes us all look clean.Vegas loves a good photo op.”
He slides the pen across the table.“Sign, and enjoy the reception.”
Adena’s fingers twitch in her lap.Her eyes are glued to the documents in front of me.
I glance them over — corporate seals, board minutes, a few lines about officer appointments and controlling interest.Legal fluff, from the look of it.Something to sell the image that I’m officially part of the family business.
Valentina’s watching too closely.I force a smile, lean into the act.“Legitimacy,” I echo.“Can’t argue with that.”
She smiles back, slow and sharp.“Exactly.You’re one of us now.”
My stomach drops.The words sound like a verdict, not a celebration.Sweat pricks the back of my neck despite the air conditioning.
I nod, force my jaw to unclench, but my shoulders stay tight and my breathing's too shallow.
Every instinct I've honed over years undercover is screamingambush, but I can’t see where they’re hiding.
Adena
Jagger picks up the pen.
His hand hovers over the signature line.My fingers dig into the armrest of my chair, nails biting into leather.
We're not being promoted.
This isn't a formality.This isn't just paperwork to make the wedding look legitimate.
