She stood apart from the crowd, champagne flute untouched in her hand, the bubbles slowly dying in the golden liquid. Smiling when spoken to, but her eyes remained distant. Calculating. Like she was cataloging exits. The slight tension in her shoulders visible even from this distance.
Smart girl.
"Target's approaching the stage," Vince's voice crackled through my earpiece, the static making my ear itch. "ETA two minutes."
I didn't respond. Didn't need to. Vince had been my right hand for eight years. He knew how I operated. The metallic taste of anticipation coated my tongue.
My focus remained on Julietta. The way she tilted her head, exposing the delicate line of her jaw. The careful distance she maintained from Miguel Suarez Jr., the cartel prince she was promised to. Her fiancé. The man whose brains I was about to paint across imported Italian marble. I could almost smell the copper tang of blood that would soon fill the air.
I'd first seen her photograph six months ago. A dossier had landed on my desk—intelligence on the Altieri-Suarez alliance. The heavy paper felt significant between my fingers. Standard information gathering. Nothing special.
Until her face stared up at me from the glossy surveillance photo.
Something shifted inside me that day. Something primal. Possessive. Heat spreading through my chest. I told myself it was strategic interest—the adopted daughter returned to the fold, a key piece on the board. But strategy didn't explain why I'd memorized the curve of her neck, the precise shade of her eyes.
It didn't explain why I'd had Vince track her movements for months. Why I knew she visited the botanical gardens every Thursday, lingering among the orchids. Why I knew she read Russian literature and drank her coffee black.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention."
Lorenzo Altieri's voice pulled my focus back to the scope, carrying clearly through my equipment. The old don stood at the microphone, arms spread wide like a benevolent dictator. Beside him, Miguel Jr. grinned with too-white teeth. Twenty-eight years old, Harvard Business School, and responsible for the deaths of at least thirty-seven people–at least, that was the number I could prove. The scent of gun oil filled my nostrils as I shifted position slightly.
The crowd quieted, the murmur of conversation fading to silence. Julietta moved to stand beside her father, the dutiful daughter. But she positioned herself carefully—close enough to appear loyal, far enough that she wasn't touching either man. The subtle resistance made my pulse quicken.
I shifted the rifle slightly, centering the crosshairs on Miguel's forehead, feeling the cool metal of the trigger against my index finger.
This hit would destabilize everything. The Altieri-Suarez alliance had been tenuous at best, built on Lorenzo's promise of his daughter. With the prince dead, the cartel would demand blood. Lorenzo would scramble. Markets would open. And in the chaos, I'd expand my territory. The air around me seemed to vibrate with potential.
That's what I told my captains. That's what I told myself.
The truth was more specific.
I'd built my empire on three rules: Never traffic people. Never harm civilians who weren't players in the game. And never let anyone think they could take what belonged to me.
The first two rules made me cleaner than most of the filth that ran this city. I didn't move drugs that destroyed families. Didn't sell women and children like livestock. Didn't prey on the weak just because I could.
I’ve killed people. Lots of people. But only people who'd chosen this life. Who understood the rules. Who knew that power came with a price, and sometimes that price was a bullet.
Miguel Suarez Jr. had tortured three women to death in the last six months. Lorenzo Altieri was planning to murder his own daughter for territorial gain. They were predators who'd mistaken civilization for weakness.
I was the reminder that there were still consequences.
The casinos, the legitimate businesses, the network of safe houses—they weren't just fronts. They were infrastructure. A way to move money, sure. But also a way to move people out of situations that would destroy them. To intercept trafficking shipments. To give someone like Julietta a way out before her father put her in the ground.
I wasn't Robin Hood. I didn't pretend my hands were clean.
But I had lines. Anyone who crossed them learned exactly why I'd clawed my way to the top of this city's underworld.
And Miguel had crossed every single one of them.
I settled back into position, eye to the scope, finger resting against the trigger. The ballroom came back into focus just as Lorenzo began to speak.
"It is my great pleasure to officially announce the engagement of my daughter, Julietta, to Miguel Suarez Jr. Their union this fall will bring our families together in business and in blood."
Applause rippled through the crowd, the sound like distant rainfall through my equipment. Miguel stepped forward, taking Julietta's hand. She smiled—a perfect, practiced curve of lips that never reached her eyes. I could almost feel the coldness of that smile from here.
My finger tensed against the trigger, the pressure building incrementally.
"Together, we will control distribution across North America," Miguel continued, his accent thickening with excitement. "No one will stand in our way."
