There.
A scar. Jagged. Ugly.
Running from the outer corner of her left eye down across her cheek, stopping just short of her jawline.
Thick. Raised. Poorly healed.
Knife work.
Someone had wanted her to feel it.
To remember it.
My jaw tightened.
My fingers curled once at my side before I forced them still again.
She lifted her head.
And looked at me.
Recognition hit her like impact.
Her pupils dilated.
Her lips parted slightly—but no sound came out.
Just breath.
Shaken. Disbelieving.
“Boss,” Renzo muttered behind me, his voice low and edged with controlled aggression. “This woman is a spy—probably sent to kill you.”
His grip tightened on his weapon.
“The Spanish sent her. I’d stake my life on it.”
His stance shifted.
“Let me drag her to the altar,” he said, voice low and certain, already leaning into the decision. “Make her kneel where everyone can see her. Let them all watch what happens when someone dares to cross us.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the door.
A faint, dangerous smile curved his lips. “We make an example. Right here. Right now. In front of every ally, every rival, every witness who thinks they can test us.”
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
“Let the message be clear—cross us, and you don’t just disappear... you’re remembered.”
His finger rested against the trigger.
Tight. Ready.
Renzo didn’t bluff.
When he spoke like that—
He meant it.
