My name came out as a bark.
Commanding. Demanding.
He stopped just a few feet away.
Close enough that I could feel the weight of his presence pressing into the space between us.
“Is it true,” he said, his voice tight, but edged with something I couldn’t quite place. “that you took my heirloom ring?”
I blinked.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
His jaw tightened.
“My mother’s ring.”
The words came out raw.
Like the mention of it physically hurt him.
“The only thing I have left that still feels like her.”
Silence fell.
He dragged in a breath, his grip tightening at his sides.
“For seven months,” he continued, his voice lower now, rougher, “I’ve torn this place apart looking for it.”
My confusion deepened.
“I thought one of my own men sold it to the Spanish—everyone knows what that piece means to me.”
His gaze sharpened.
Focused. Accusing.
“Then Ciro tells me this morning...”
His voice dipped slightly.
“...he saw you tucking it into your bra while you were out walking the grounds.”
The world seemed to still.
For a moment—
I couldn’t even process what he had just said.
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
The word came out soft.
Confused. Genuine.
