"She's alive."
"She's also drunk half the time, from what I hear. High the other half. Running around Miami like a woman with a death wish." The words are harsh, but exhaustion bleeds through. "Is that the daughter you're protecting?"
"She's struggling. But she's stronger than you think."
"Stronger?" His laugh turns into a wet cough that makes the monitors spike. "She's a disaster. She's been a disaster since her mother died. Nothing I do, nothing I say works."
"With respect, sir. She's not a disaster. She's in pain. There's a difference."
Silence stretches. Jorge stares at me with those sharp, dying eyes. Measuring. Calculating. Deciding if I'm an ally or an obstacle.
"She's drowning," I continue, because someone needs to say it. "And she needs someone to pull her out, not push her further under."
"You're defending her."
"I'm describing what I see."
"And what do you see?"
"A woman who lost her mother at seventeen and never processed the grief. A woman who's carrying something heavy."
Jorge's jaw tightens. "You've known her a week."
"Sometimes a week is enough to see what family can't."
"And what can't I see?"
"That she's not choosing to destroy herself. She's trying to survive the only way she knows how."
More silence. The monitors beep steadily, marking time Jorge doesn't have.
"Cesar says you're dangerous," he finally says. "He's right."
There's something in his voice. Not anger. Almost… hope?
"You care about her," he says, though maybe it’s a question.
"She's my assignment."
"That's not what I asked."
I don't answer. Can't answer. The truth is too complicated, too dangerous. I couldn't keep Sofia from leaving, couldn't make her stay. But Marisol. Marisol I can keep safe. Even if it means becoming the monster she'll hate.
Jorge studies me a moment longer, then nods. Some internal decision made.
"There's a threat." His voice drops, even though we're alone. "Someone close to me. I don't know who. Not yet. But I feel it. The way a dying man feels everything more clearly."
He reaches out, grips my wrist with surprising strength. His fingers are cold, but his grip is iron.
"The vultures are circling. Waiting for me to die. And when I do, they'll come for her. For the empire. For everything."
"The Zayas family?"
"Yes, but that's external. Expected. This is…" He struggles for words. "This is internal. Someone close. Someone I trust. Someone who's been here so long I can't see them clearly anymore."
Cesar. Everything in me screams Cesar. But I need more than instinct.
"Keep her alive," Jorge says, grip tightening. "Whatever it takes. Whoever you have to destroy. Keep my daughter alive."
