"My grandfather has made enemies with the Italians. The Silver Serpent’s not the best place for a Lopez García to go." I glance at her, trying to get a read on her reaction.
When she turns her head for a second to look at me, her face pales. "I am so sorry; I didn’t know, Alex." She grabs her phone to make a call. I snatch it from her before she can dial. "No. It’s fine. We’ll deal with the situation when it comes to us. They might not even recognize me since I don’t work for my family. I don’t personally have any problems with the Italians. Maybe it won’t be a total shit show."
She looks skeptically at me. "Sorry, babe, but you do look like your grandfather. It’s not hard to tell you belong to that bloodline."
"Well, fuck." I mutter under my breath as we pull up to the casino parking lot.
Chapter seven
Rachel
I walk into the Silver Serpent, fingers laced with Alex’s, the warmth of his hand grounding me. The casino hums with life—glasses clinking, soft jazz drifting through the air, slot machines spinning, and the occasional burst of cheers from a lucky winner. The scent of expensive whiskey and cigar smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of my own nerves.
Alex’s muscles tighten beneath my touch as we move deeper inside. His grip on my hand hardens—not enough to hurt, but enough to tell me he’s on edge.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, my voice low but full of concern.
“Yeah.” His tone is clipped, his eyes scanning the room, sharp and calculating. “Just on high alert. I don’t need a gunfight breaking out in the middle of this casino.”
I stop mid-stride, pull his arm so he spins to face me, and glance up at him. “Wait—you’re carrying a gun right now?”
He turns to me, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you carrying knives on you?” He answers my question with a question. I give a sharp nod. “Exactly.” His words were as sharp as the knives in question. “Ever since Olivia was taken, I’ve had a minimum of two on me at all times. I’m not taking any risks anymore.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “Being a Lopez García is dangerous enough, but going against THE Lopez García? That’s an even bigger risk. My grandfather will want my head for what happened at the auction, and I refuse to let you or Olivia be at risk again because of my family’s bullshit.”
I swallow hard and nod, unwilling to poke at that wound right now. This is neither the time nor the place for that conversation. I turn away from him, continuing to walk deeper into the casino as I scan every table and bar.
I finally spot Tyler Starr seated at a table in the far right corner of the bar. His messy red hair hangs in front of his face; his fingers are loosely curled around a glass of amber liquor, watching the liquid swirl, lost in thought.
“Come on,” I say, tugging Alex toward the table. He follows, but I don’t miss how his free hand hovers near his side, where I know one of his guns is hidden, and his hand laced in mine squeezes a little tighter, almost a sign to show me that he is here with me through it all.
“Tyler,” I greet as we approach, keeping my voice even and professional. I always get a knot in my stomach from being near a Starr brother. After all the hell Andrew put me through, trusting them isn’t an option.
Tyler looks up, giving us a practiced, unreadable smile. “Rachel. Thanks for meeting me here.” He extends a hand. I hesitate for half a second before grabbing his hand to shake it, keeping my grip firm and professional. He looks over at Alex, then back at me. “And who is this?”
“This is my boyfriend, Alex,” I say, my tone making it very clear where my loyalties lie.
Alex extends his hand out to Tyler, who takes it in his grip and shakes it, his gaze steadily watching Tyler’s every move. Then, without a word, he pulls out a chair for me. It's a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes—protection, possession, maybe even a warning.
I sit back straight, trying not to let my nerves show. Whatever Tyler wants, I need to be ready for it.
Tyler exhales sharply, swirling his drink again. “Rachel, the biggest reason I needed to talk to you so urgently is to let you know my brothers are pissed about what happened to Andrew.” His eyes lift to meet mine, dark and brimming with unspoken rage. “He was murdered. We got all the reports back from the Medical Examiner; the cause of death was a stab wound to the throat.”
I keep my features schooled, suppressing any flicker of emotion that could give me away.
Tyler leans in, resting his elbows on the table, staring me down like he’s searching for a crack in my armor. “You have any idea who killed him?” His voice is lower now, edged with suspicion. “You were the last one to see him alive.”
I mirror his posture, leaning forward with quiet confidence, even as my pulse pounds. Under the table, I feel Alex shift. His hand moves to his waistband.
“Don’t you think if I knew who killed him, I would have told you?” I arch a brow, keeping my voice measured. “Are you accusing me of killing your brother, Tyler? If so, just spit it out instead of dancing around it.”
Tyler leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, studying me.
“I’m not accusing shit, Rachel. Just stating facts.”
“I already told you,” I say evenly. “Andrew was involved in some deep shit. Someone probably killed him for crossing the wrong people or not paying a debt. I also have the report right here.” I pull out the manila envelope I grabbed from the office. “It states he had Fentanyl and Heroin in his system before death.”
Tyler’s jaw tightens. His fingers flex against his biceps as if trying to restrain himself. Then, suddenly—
“YOU LIAR!” His voice erupts as he slams his fist against the table, the impact rattling the glasses. Heads turn. Conversations stop.
