Jagger steers me closer to Jake's setup, not because he appreciates the music, but for cover.
"We're being watched," Jagger says quietly."Don't look."
He slides his arm around my waist, his lips brushing just below my ear.To anyone watching, it probably looks like he's whispering something romantic.“Whatever happens, go with it.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and for a moment, the noise of the square fades.The crowd.The music.Even the threat.
It's just Jagger, looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
I force a soft smile, reaching up to brush an imaginary strand of hair from his forehead."I’m ready."
"Better be."His voice is rough.“It’s about to get real.”
Jagger turns us away from the keyboard, his arm still around me, guiding me back toward the main path through the square toward a man in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, arms crossed, sunglasses reflecting the morning light.
He's leaning against the wrought-iron fence near the cathedral, not bothering to hide.Not pretending to be interested in the street performers or the artists hawking their paintings.
Just watching us.
He pushes off the fence and starts moving—not fast, not aggressive.Just deliberate.Cutting through the crowd with the kind of confidence that says he knows we're not going anywhere.
Jagger's jaw tightens, but his stride doesn't falter.The man intercepts us near the fountain, his smile cold and lazy.
"Paco," Jagger's voice is flat, controlled."You need something?"
Pacolets his gaze slide to me, lingering just a little too long."Boss wants to see you both."He gestures toward Decatur Street, where a black SUV idles at the curb."Let's go."
Jagger's hand slips from my waist to my hand, his fingers lacing through mine.
Whatever it is we’re about to walk into, his touch doesn't feel like a cover anymore.
It feels like a lifeline.
Four
Jagger
Pulse jumping in my throat, I keep my posture relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, close enough to Adena that we look comfortable together.
Paco rides shotgun, twisted around to face us, one arm draped over the headrest.His gold chain catches the light every time he moves.
The enforcer behind the wheel doesn't say a word.Doesn't need to.His eyes flick to the rearview mirror every few seconds—watching us, watching the road, indexing everything.
Paco's gaze shifts to Adena."Nervous?”
"No," she says."I’ve auditioned for jobs like this before."
"Yeah?Like who?"
"Whoever paid."
Paco laughs, sharp and loud.He glances at me."Hope she delivers,hombre, be a shame to see this one go."
I slide my hand over hers."She’s not going anywhere."
Her hand tightens around mine—just once, quick—and I feel the tension coiled beneath her calm exterior.
Paco nods, still watching.“Guess we’ll find out in a few."
