Darling’s eyes flicker for half a second.
Doubt.
Carmen catches it like blood in the water.
“Don’t,” I warn.
Carmen lifts her hands slightly in mock surrender. “I’m protecting what my father built. You’re risking everything. For what? A Calle Ocho stray?”
“And I’m protecting what’s mine,” I snap.
Silence drops in the room, thick and sudden.
Carmen’s gaze sharpens. “Mine?” she repeats, slow.
I hold her stare.
“She stays.”
The words land like a gunshot.
For the first time tonight, Carmen’s composure cracks at the edges. It’s small. A flicker. But it’s there.
“For how long?” she asks.
“As long as I say.”
Her eyes narrow.
The bass from the party swells again in the distance. Miami roaring beyond the walls. The city always hungry. Always listening.
Carmen nods once.
“Then understand,” she says quietly, “that every move you make from here on out has consequences.”
She turns and walks out without slamming the door.
That’s how I know she’s more dangerous than anyone in this building.
I exhale slowly and turn back toward Darling.
She’s staring at me like I just pulled a trigger.
“You just declared war,” she says.
“No,” I reply.
I step closer again, careful now, like she might bolt, like she might break.
My hand settles at her waist, light, asking more than taking. Her body goes still under my touch. Not rejecting. Not surrendering. Just feeling.
“I chose you,” I say.
Outside the walls of Vice Ink, Miami roars with music and neon and midnight heat.
And somewhere beneath all of it, I can feel the city shifting.
Blood always follows choices.
