She waves to the clerk.“We’ll take it.And a wrap.Silk charmeuse.Neutral.No need to overstate.”
As the associate disappears with the dress, Valentina adds, almost conversationally, “My husband will be pleased.He’s been… disappointed before.”
The wordpleasedprickles under my skin.
I smile just enough to show I understand she means girls like Lucia.“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you or your husband.”
It’s the right answer.
I learned that lesson the day I lost Little Miss Magnolia.I hesitated when I should have complied.
Jagger
Adena's late.
Shopping with Valentina took longer than it should have, and the delay tightens the air in Marquez's suite.
Nobody says it, but lateness means one of three things: disrespect, disinterest, or defiance.
And any one of those things can be lethal.
Marquez sits motionless in his chair, tuxedo tailored so precisely it looks painted on.Calm in a way that warns me he's thinking two steps ahead.His fingers rest on the arm like he's conducting something only he can hear.
Ortega leans against the bar, ice clinking in his glass.Tux.Restless fingers tapping the crystal—all noise and bravado, but calculated.Testing boundaries.
Valentina's in a gown that costs more than most people make in a year.
I'm dressed the same as them: black tie.Hair held back, tailored just enough to show the clear order of hierarchy.
In New Orleans, power spreads itself out.I deal with Marquez.Valentina's shadow moves through corridors and quiet deals, her influence something I don’t deal with unless I have to.
Vegas is crushing all that.Here, every layer of hierarchy collapses into one place—four walls of marble and glass holding three people who don't share power; they circle it.Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Strip, all that glittering chaos outside, while we sit trapped in silence inside.
And Adena is pushing it by keeping us waiting for over ten minutes.
I keep my breathing even.My hands are loose but ready.Every word feels dangerous.Every silence, worse.In here, even eye contact carries weight.One glance too long can shift the balance.
I've been in shootouts that felt less volatile than this.
When she finally arrives and steps inside, conversation dies—what little of it existed.The shift is immediate, like someone pulled the oxygen out of the room and replaced it with something heavier.
The gown hits me first.Forest green, so deep it's almost black until the light catches it.The fabric moves like breath when she walks, fitted but restrained, following her shape without announcing it.
Under the chandeliers, the silk crepe shows a subtle sheen, something alive in the way it moves.She doesn't look like she's trying.That's what makes her even more alluring.
Marquez looks up, assessing.Slow.Deliberate.His eyes travel the length of her like he's pricing merchandise.Ortega's smirk widens into something indecent.
Valentina's smile doesn't move, but her eyes flick to me—just once, enough to remind me she's watching what I do with this moment.
They’re waiting to see how I’ll react.Whether I’m distracted.Possessive.Weak.
Adena’s eyes find mine—just for a second—and it’s too much.It’s part defiance, part apology.But in this room, anything human looks like a mistake.
I can’t afford to give them one.
When I speak, my voice comes out cold.“Don’t keep them waiting again.”
Adena
