Diablo’s hand drops from my face slowly, like he’s afraid he might crush me if he keeps touching. His expression empties out, not from lack of feeling but from too much control.
No anger on the surface.
No emotion.
Just a void that means someone is about to die.
“What kind of dirt?” Diablo asks, voice flat.
“Deals,” I say. “Locations. Money. Anything that weakens you.”
I see Carmen swallow.
Diablo doesn’t look at her, but I can feel her watching him, measuring his response like she’s already planning her next move.
“He threatened to kill Disco if I didn’t cooperate,” I add quietly, and saying it out loud makes my eyes sting.
Something dark slides into Diablo’s gaze.
I’ve seen it once before.
The night Rafael died.
“You should’ve come to me first,” Diablo says, steel under the words.
“I didn’t want you killing him,” I whisper, because that’s the truth that makes me hate myself. Some part of me still flinches at blood. Some part of me still wants to believe monsters can choose not to bite.
Diablo’s eyes snap back to mine, sharp and immediate.
“Now I have to.”
Carmen’s voice cuts in, smooth as a blade wrapped in velvet. “Think before you react. If he’s asking for information, someone’s backing him.”
Diablo doesn’t answer her.
That silence is violence.
He looks at me again, really looks, taking in my swollen cheek, the blood at my mouth, the tremor I’m trying to hide. His gaze drops briefly to my throat like he’s checking my pulse without touching.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says.
The possessiveness in his voice isn’t romantic.
It’s command.
It’s survival.
It’s a promise that the world just got smaller and I’m trapped inside it.
I swallow hard. “I didn’t come here to be locked up.”
Diablo steps closer, just enough that I feel his heat through the humid air, just enough that I can smell him over cigars and whiskey. Leather. Smoke. Salt. Miami clinging to him like it owns him.
“You came here because you had no other move,” he says quietly. “Now you let me handle it.”
“And what if I don’t want you handling it?” I push back, because backbone is the only thing I have left.
His eyes narrow, not angry at me, more like he’s trying to hold himself still.
