“Paloma Muñoz.”
The name hits him like a bullet.
His breath stutters. “Paloma…” His voice fractures. “She disappeared.”
“She died,” I say. “Crossing the border. Trying to get to you. To tell you about me.”
Silence crushes the room. Patricio drags his hands down his face.
“What do you want?” he asks finally.
“I want out,” I say. “I want Alma found. And when those results come back positive, don’t look for reconciliation. You’re dead to me.”
His jaw tightens. Something violent stirs beneath his skin as he steps closer. I raise the gun on instinct—but he doesn’t flinch. He reaches out and presses the barrel down, slow and deliberate.
“We’re wasting time,” I say. “Let me go.”
Patricio studies me for a long moment, then exhales through his nose.
“Call Ignacio,” he snaps. “Have him find her.”
Gael steps out, leaving us in thick, awkward silence. When he returns, his face has gone pale.
“He’s not lying,” Gael says quietly. “Alma was taken from the church.”
Patricio’s head snaps up. “Then call Ignacio,hombre.”
“That’s the problem,” Gael says. “No one’s seen Ignacio since before the ceremony.”
“Fuck.” Patricio drags a hand through his hair. “Call my nephew, Adan. Have him trace the tracker in Ignacio’s tooth.”
He turns back to me, eyes sharp, reassessing.
“Let’s go,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
_______
The tracker’s dot blinks on Patricio’s screen. A single red pulse as we make our way toLa Verdis Italian Ristorante.
“I thought the Biondini brothers were your allies,” I say from the other end of the limo.
“There’s no such thing as allies. Just family, and even then they can be destructive,” Patricio says, looking at Thalia sitting next to me.
“Leave it to the fucking Consuelos to ruin my brother’s wedding.” She huffs out. “This has Cassiel written all over it.”
“I wouldn’t be fucking surprised,” Patricio says, removing his suit jacket to reveal a shoulder harness strapped underneath.
He pulls one of the guns from the stash, checks the chamber with a quick glance, then tosses it to me. The ride has been dead silent between the three of us. Thalia stares straight ahead while occasionally sending Patricio dirty looks.
Patricio has been gripping his phone as if it might crack in his palm, and I can’t help replaying Alma’s screams in my head until they echo.
“And if Ignacio took her?” I suggest.
“He wouldn’t.” Patricio shrugs.
Everyone’s a suspect as far as I’m concerned. The limo jerks to a stop at the front of an alley, and the three of us rush out. Thalia takes the lead, her six-inch heels clicking on the pavement, an AK-47 secure in her hands. Patricio is behind me with his gun drawn. There’s no one back here, not a sign of life, or a sign of struggle.
“This way,” Patricio says, stopping at a metal staircase spiraling downward
