“Who are they?”
I glance at Seraphina. She hasn’t fully confided in me about exactly what trouble she’s in, so I hedge my bets.
“Professionals,” I tell him. “I need a security team here now.”
“Address?”
I give him the cottage location.
“Done. Gabriel, if they’re escalating like this…”
“I know. We’re coming to Miami.”
“Finally using your brain. I’ll have everything ready.”
I end the call, dial another number. This one hurts more to remember.
“Gunner.”
“It’s Gabriel Delgado. I need a pickup team and a secure transport. Homestead to Miami, two passengers, assume we’re being watched.”
Gunner doesn’t ask questions. Just: “Forty minutes.”
I make three more calls. Each one pulls me deeper back into the infrastructure I abandoned. Security protocols, planned routes, the machinery of the Delgado network coming online because the prince called home.
Sera watches me work the phone, sees the transformation happening in real time.
“We’re leaving,” I tell her when the calls are done. “Pack what you need from here. Five minutes.”
She doesn’t argue. She already moved the essentials to the rectory, toiletries and underwear, but she quickly goes about gathering the rest.
The drive back is silent, both of us scanning for tails, for watchers. Back at the rectory, I’m already moving before she’s through the door.
“We’re leaving for Miami. Now. Pack what you need.”
“You’re not asking.”
“Would it matter if I was?”
She studies me, and I see her recognize something. Not just the threat but the man responding to it. The one who’ll leave bodies before letting them touch her.
“No,” she says quietly. “Not with them escalating.”
She sets down the wrapped spoon carefully. “Your family…”
“Will do what I tell them.” The certainty surprises even me, but it’s true. The infrastructure is there, waiting. “Logan’s already mobilizing security. We’ll have protocols in place before we arrive.”
She’s quiet for a moment, weighing something. Miami is where her investigation leads. I can see her thinking about it, trying to figure out how to be in my family’s house while pursuing whatever she’s pursuing.
“This changes things,” she says. “You going back. Being a Delgado again.”
“Yes.” No point denying it. The priest was the costume. This certainty, this readiness to do violence, this is what I was raised to be.
She studies my face. “Okay. We go to Miami.”
The relief nearly buckles my knees. “Gunner will be here in thirty minutes.”
She goes to the bedroom, my bedroom, our bedroom for exactly one night, and I hear her packing. Quick, efficient. The sound of someone who knows how to leave in a hurry.
