Her jaw tightens at that. “That’s what I figured.”
She steps in closer, keeping her voice low. “There’s chatter. Not just about me. People are nervous. They think someone new is moving into the vacuum.”
I hold her gaze. “Bogdan Corluka’s assassination left fractures. Someone’s going to try and fill them.”
Something shifts in her expression. Just a flicker, gone as fast as it comes.
“You weren’t talking about Corluka,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away, just watches me. “You used to be under Amador, right? Or pretended to be,” she says finally.
“Deep cover. Four years as his lieutenant.” No point hedging—she saw me standing beside the man. “The assignment ended when the Agency pulled me out.”
“He leaves Mexico and doesn’t even look back. Just folds himself into Papá Flores’ empire like he never left. People noticed.”
Of course they did. The two of them back together after all this time? It rattled more than a few cages.
“And now there’s someone new,” she adds. “No history. Too clean. Too poised. They’re saying he’s Amador’s pick. The heir.”
“That’s useful noise. As long as they’re watching someone else, they’re not watching you.”
She tilts her head, a sliver of something sly in her tone. “He never mentioned it to you? Or were you two too busy fucking for conversation back then?”
I ignore the taunt and move on. Let the rumors breathe. If they want to believe Rafael’s been groomed to retake Mexico, let them. It keeps the heat focused somewhere useful.
She steps a little closer, eyes narrowing. “Everyone else who’s crossed Amador ended up flayed or buried. But here you are. Still in one piece. Walking free.”
I hold her gaze. “Maybe he didn’t think my tattoos were worth preserving.”
That gets the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. But she’s not smiling.
“Or maybe Flores pulled him out before he had the chance.”
That’s the version most people are starting to believe. That Arturo came storming in when the federales moved on Amador’s Cancún compound. At the end of the day there was no hiding that an attempt was made to take Amador down. But lucky for us, the brutal way with which the two men took care of business during our rescue of Sadie Watts gave us the cover we needed to put the pair back in play. So to any outside observers it looked like the two of them had reconciled in time to burn their enemies down and walk away untouched.
In a way, it’s not wrong. Amador’s property still belongs to them. Through an elaborate series of forged legal documents, he managed to put Celeste’s name on all his material wealth. The only thing he really gave up was the territory he used to control. But his little corner of Mexico is a drop in the bucket compared to the access he gained reclaiming the throne beside Flores.
She shifts her weight. “You want me to believe I’ll be safe from them?”
“If you’re with us, you’re off their list.”
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t entirely believe me yet.
After a beat I say, “You think I got out because I was lucky?” I glance toward the yard, then back at her. “I was close to being flayed alive. Closer than anyone who’s still breathing. And I’m still here. That should tell you something.”
Her eyes stay locked on mine, measuring.
“Corluka’s fractured,” I continue. “And no one’s watching the exits. If you’re going to vanish, now’s the time.”
And for her, it is. The Corluka family ran the Serbian mafia—Bogdan and Jovan at the top—and now both are gone. Their deaths left a vacuum no one’s managed to fill. There are lieutenants circling the top spot, but no clear successor yet. The whole structure’s wobbling, and that instability gives her the cleanest cover she’ll ever have. A path out that doesn’t look like betrayal. Just another loose thread in the chaos. One we’re hoping to pull to unravel the whole organization before it has a chance to recover.
She moves back to lean against the glass. The metal creaks behind her. She’s not going to make this easy.
“I met him three times,” she says. “Amador. When I was still a courier for Corluka. Before I moved up. The third time, he brought you. But he called you by a different name.”
“Cal.”
“Right. That’s what they called you. You didn’t say much.” She squints at me now. “I remember thinking you looked like someone who’d forgotten what your own voice sounded like.”
