"Yeah." And I am. I actually am.
"Good," he says, then grins wider. "This bread though. Sera, where'd you learn to bake like this? It's like communion but actually edible."
She laughs. "My grandmother. She said bread was the first prayer. Feeding people when words weren't enough."
Adrian goes quiet for a beat, real quiet, not his performing kind. "Your grandmother was right."
20 - Seraphina
Iwake to the sound of Gabriel’s breathing, deep and even beside me. Morning light filters through the curtains, painting golden stripes across his bare shoulder. Last night’s ritual dinner still hums in my bones: laughter, warmth, the weight of belonging somewhere for the first time since Abuela Rosa’s kitchen.
Morning's already half gone when I check my phone. Reyes expects me before lunch, and I need to transform back into the grieving widow who needs his guidance.
I slip from bed carefully, gathering clothes in silence. Gabriel doesn't stir. The exhaustion of finally being himself has knocked him out completely. I leave a note on the nightstand:Running errands. Back this afternoon. -S
In the kitchen, I pause at the counter. The wooden spoon leans against the wall where I placed it last night, dark wood catching morning light. Abuela's voice echoes:Some people run hot, mija.I touch it briefly, grounding myself, then grab my purse and slip out.
The drive to Brickell takes forty minutes in Monday traffic. I shed Sera-who-belongs with each mile, pulling on Sera-Marin like armor. By the time I park in Reyes's garage, my face has arranged itself into the right expression: vulnerable widow with complicated finances, grateful for guidance.
His receptionist remembers me now. "Ms.Marin, Mr.Reyes is ready for you."
The office still reeks of orchids, that cloying sweetness that makes my stomach turn. Reyes stands when I enter, warmer than our first meeting. I've been promoted from mark to acquaintance.
"Sera, wonderful to see you." His handshake lingers. "Coffee? I had my assistant get the Cuban kind you mentioned liking."
"That's thoughtful, thank you."
We settle into leather chairs. I cross my legs, watch his eyes track the movement. Men like Reyes are so predictable. Give them a little attention and they'll tell you everything while thinking they're the ones in control.
"I've been thinking about what you mentioned," I say, leaning forward slightly. "About vault protocols. The security tiers especially. Julian never explained how any of it worked."
Reyes's chest puffs slightly. Professor mode engaging. "Well, it's quite elegant really. The facilities use graduated access. Biometric scanners at entry, secondary authentication at the vault level. Some require dual-key systems, though those are becoming less common."
"Dual-key?"
"Think of it as a failsafe. One person holds the primary access code, another holds secondary authentication. Prevents any single person from accessing assets alone." He steeples his fingers. "Though most of our clients prefer single-point access now. More convenient."
I file every word, matching it against the code burned into my memory. VA-11.03.18-7K4X9. Single access then, not dual. One less complication.
My eyes drift to his bookshelf, catching on a framed photograph. Reyes on a boat, champagne in hand, with another man. I've seen it before but never looked closely. Today I study the other man's face: older, silver-haired, gaunt but commanding. Something about him registers as familiar,though I can't place it. The posture speaks of ownership, of someone used to being obeyed. A type I recognize from Julian's world.
"The old Miami families understand the importance of proper systems," Reyes continues, and the phrase snags my attention back. "Wealth management isn't just moving money. It's building frameworks that endure."
The word Julian used when he explained how clean money and dirty money shake hands. The same framework Logan described last night, talking about La Sirena's legitimate structure.
"Your husband understood that," Reyes adds. "He helped build some impressive structures in his time."
The coffee turns to battery acid in my mouth. I set the cup down carefully, my mind racing through implications while I maintain the widow's grateful smile.
"Speaking of which," Reyes leans back, "I'm having a small gathering Friday evening at my home. Just a few select clients and associates. You should come. It would be good for you to meet others who understand these… complexities."
"I'll think about it."
"Please do. Sometimes the best partnerships form over good wine and honest conversation."
The drive back to La Sirena stretches like a confession I'm not ready to make. With each mile, the revelation settles deeper: architecture, frameworks, systems. All the same machine, grinding forward, and I've been sleeping in a bed it helped build.
I return to La Sirena through the back entrance, needing to shed the Sera Marin mask before seeing Gabriel. The alley smells like last night's garbage and this morning's deliveries. Normal. Familiar.
