"Not long enough." The memory of Rhea's bruised face was still fresh in my mind.
“I’ll need to call in a few favors," Rico said finally, zipping the duffel bag closed and sliding it beneath the table.
Rico slipped his phone into his coat pocket. "Keep her off the grid until then. No phones, no credit cards, no familiar places."
I hissed through my teeth. “She needs out in sooner than a week.”
His throat bobbed as he finally stuttered, “I’ll do my best, but there is no way in hell it can be done faster than in seven days.”
I ground my teeth but nodded. "When it's done—"
"The usual drop point." He stood, adjusting his jacket. "And Gavriel? If this blows back on me . . ."
"It won't," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "This isn't my first disappearing act."
"No," Rico agreed with a grim smile. "But it might be your last if you're not careful. Don Azzaro has eyes everywhere."
As Rico walked away, I remained seated, staring into my cooling coffee as more people wandered in for their morning caffeine drip. I needed to keep Rhea hidden and prepare her for a life on the run before saying goodbye to the sister I might never see again.
My phone vibrated, and my lip twitched in a grimace when I saw who it was.
Father: My office. 2 hours. Don’t be late.
Standing with a heavy sigh, I pocketed my phone and left enough cash on the table for the waitress to cover both my and Rico’s untouched coffees. Outside, the morning sun felt too bright, too exposed, and I had to take a deep breath to slow my racing heart. Pulling my cap lower, I slipped into the crowd. Just another face in the sea of humans, carrying the weight of his sister's future in his hands.
Twohourslater,Isat in my father's study, the rich scent of leather and cigar smoke thick in the air. Don Juarez's gold cufflinks caught the light as he gestured expansively,describing the wedding venue—my sister's funeral dressed up as a celebration.
"The Azzaro-Juarez union will bring stability to both our territories," my father said, swirling amber liquid in his crystal tumbler. "The ceremony must reflect this significance."
I nodded mechanically, trying to distract myself so I didn’t end up with my blood spilling onto the floor of my father’s office, my thoughts drifting to Elin. I didn’t know how she did it, but that woman had settled me, Last night, she'd knelt before me, looking up with those dark eyes that saw through every wall I'd built. The memory of her mouth on me, the way her head had fallen back when I’d finally made her come undone, the sweet taste of her on my tongue . . . it was the only thing keeping me sane in this room full of monsters.
The metal cage I wore beneath my tailored pants—Elin's idea of control after the attitude I’d given her—dug painfully as blood rushed south. I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to focus on the conversation that would determine my sister's fate.
"We'll need to move quickly," Don Juarez said, examining the wedding plans spread across the mahogany desk. "I've already arranged the honeymoon villa in Santorini. Privacy is essential for the first months of marriage."
My knuckles whitened around the glass as memories flashed through my mind—the Juarez bride who’d"fallen"from her balcony at six months pregnant, the one found having overdosed in her bathroom with fingerprint bruises still visible on her throat. I'd seen the photos. Rhea would be just another broken doll to him, her womb harvested until it gave out. I didn't give a fuck if he controlled every smuggling route from San Diego to Santiago. I'd slit his throat myself before I'd watch my sister become his breeding stock. The whiskey burned in my stomach like battery acid.
"I've always believed in large families," Don Juarez continued, his gaze sliding to my father with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I plan to keep Rhea pregnant for the next five years, God willing. If she's strong enough to survive that many births, of course. Some women aren't built for continuous breeding."
The glass nearly shattered in my grip. "My sister isn't livestock."
The room went silent. Don Juarez's smile froze, then slowly spread wider.
"Gavriel," my father warned, his voice carrying that familiar edge that had preceded many childhood beatings. "Don Juarez understands the value of what he's receiving. A pureblooded Azzaro woman is a rare gift."
"A gift," I repeated, the word tasting like poison.
"You'd do well to remember your place, son." My father's eyes hardened. "The Owl’s Talon follows orders. It doesn't question them. Rhea will be the perfect wife for Don Juarez—obedient, fertile, and silent. Just as her mother was."
"The nursery renovations are nearly complete," Don Juarez continued, deliberately changing the subject. "I've installed a medical suite adjacent to the master bedroom. For her comfort during the pregnancies."
For her imprisonment, he meant. For easier access to whatever drugs he'd pump into her to keep her compliant. She should choose her partner. Not be sold off to the highest bidder.
The meeting dragged on for another thirty minutes—discussion of security arrangements, guest lists, political alliances to be displayed or hidden. I sat through it all with a mask of indifference, mentally calculating how many men I would need to kill to get Rhea out of the state as soon as Rico's documents were ready.
When my father finally closed his leather portfolio, signaling the end of the meeting, I stood so quickly my chair nearly toppled.
"Gavriel," my father called as I reached the door wanting to get the hell out of there. "Remember your duty. To the family. Tome."
