My new refrigerator stands open, light glowing inside while shelves are half empty and the rest of the food has been scattered on the ground like someone got angry at the idea of groceries. Cheese smashed under a heel. Fruit rolling into corners. Coffee spilled in a dark stain across the tile.
They didn’t just steal.
They wrecked.
They wanted me to see it.
My chest tightens as I turn toward Disco’s new cage.
“No,” I breathe.
The chrome mansion Diablo bought sits tipped sideways on the floor. One perch is snapped clean in half. Toys dangle loose like someone tore them down for fun. The door hangs open.
Empty.
My throat closes so fast it hurts.
“Disco?” My voice cracks as panic rises in my chest. “Baby, come here. Come on. Disco.”
Nothing.
Fear floods me so fast my hands start shaking.
I rush toward the bedroom.
The mattress has been flipped halfway off the frame. Sheets twisted and dragged across the floor like someone searched every inch. My phone charger dangles from the wall where it was ripped out. The closet stands open.
Empty.
Hangers scattered across the floor like bones.
I spin in a slow circle, breathing too fast, trying to think through the panic.
Who would do this?
Rico.
The thought hits instantly. Familiar. Ugly. He ran, but that never stopped him before. Rico always comes back when he thinks he can get something from me. Rico always returns to prove he still can.
Then I see it.
On the kitchen counter, right where the jewelry box was sitting, rests a single white rose.
No card.
No note.
Just the flower.
Perfect and clean in a room full of destruction.
Cold spreads through my veins.
White rose.
Carmen.
Because Carmen always smells like white florals and expensive perfume. Fucking funeral lilies. Because Carmen walks around Vice Ink like innocence wrapped in silk. Because she smiles like a saint and cuts like a knife.
