Camila Dias is a legend, on and off the battlefield.She strides toward me with precise shoulders and a cat-stepped gait, the kind of posture that makes people sit straighter without realizing why.
Her matte-black combat suit fits like it was made for motion, not show, the buckles and straps stashed with countless weapons.
No unnecessary accessories.No flourishes.Not for a badass Latina who shares a bed with the bloodthirsty kingpin of the Colombian cartel.
At her nod, the lookalikes fade into the shadows and exit the room, suddenly irrelevant.
Camila lowers onto the couch beside Van as if the seat is hers by right.
“You have a little something…” She plucks the fallen toothpick off Van’s chest and drops it in an ashtray.
Scowling, he pulls a fresh one from his pocket.
She turns her attention to me, stares for two beats, then tilts her head like she’s taken a taste.
“El Vigilantein the flesh.”The soft vowels of Mexican-Spanish curl around her accent.“I’m—”
“Camila Dias.Wife of Matias Restrepo.Queen of the cartel and founder of The Shadow Collection.”
Her eyes glitter.No need for theatrics.She’s not here to prove anything.She’s here to collect.
“I told you he was good,” she says to Van.
“Too good.”His scowl deepens.
Great.He’s still pissed I said all those things about his wife.All true, but that won’t stop him from separating my head from my body.
“He knows our secrets.”Camila stares at me full-on.
I know everything about every man and woman in their inner circle.I know their lovers, their spouses, their children, all the weaknesses they keep safely hidden.
The light catches the braid at her nape, drawing my gaze to the teeth marks on her throat.A fresh bite.
I bet her capo husband is here, probably standing on the other side of that door, ready to rip out my throat if I look at her wrong.
The chances of me walking out of here alive?Slim to none.
“Thank you.”She crosses her legs, adjusting the blades on her thighs.“For showing up.And for saving my life.”
Her gratitude strikes off my bones.I saved her life once, and she may be the reason I lose mine.What a turn.
“I’ve been watching you,” she says.“Studying what jobs you choose, what you won’t sell, and who you protect.I like what I see.Loyalty is rarer than talent.Most men sell it fast.”
“I’m loyal to no one.”
“That’s not true.”Her gaze hardens, but there’s a soft edge beneath it.“You’re loyal to her.”
I hate that they know my weakness.
It must show on my face, because she says, “That’s not a weakness, Jag Rath.It’s leverage.It’s motive.It makes you dependable, and it makes you useful.”
Useful.Like I’m a thing that can be handed over, wrapped and delivered.
Van watches me closely, toothpick between his teeth like a metronome.
“Here’s the plain part.”Camila wets her lips.“Adrian Crowe loves nothing and no one.Except himself.He hides in charities, elite circles, and polite smiles.He built an industry around innocence and traffics girls the way his politician friends collect rare wines.We want him gone.Annihilated.Out of our way.”
I want to hear the how.I don’t ask it yet.She can tell I’m not a man who signs blank checks.
