His attention shifts to her, brow furrowing. “I’m not?—”
“This is my room,” she cuts in. “My safe space. My tatas. My baby. My rules. Get out before I change the Wi-Fi password and never give it to you again.”
“You don’t even know the password,” he says.
“I’ll change my own password,” she counters. “And I’ll name it ‘Asher_Is_A_Control_Freak.’ Now get out.”
He stares at her.
She stares back.
He sighs.
“Fine,” he mutters, backing toward the door. His gaze lands on Talia one more time, glitching there like it doesn’t want to move. “Just remember what I said.”
“No boys,” she recites flatly. “Yes, Dad.”
His jaw ticks, but he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the air exhales.
Jackie shifts the baby to her shoulder and pats her back gently. Her eyes move from the door to me.
“You’re thinking hard,” she says. “I can hear it.”
I pick at a loose thread in the rug. “I’m always thinking hard.”
“Yeah,” she says. “But this is the paranoid kind.”
I meet her gaze.
She holds it, no flinching, no softening. “You’re looking at all of us. You should be. That’s what Xavier would do. That’s what a smart leader does. Turns over every rock, checks under every bed, makes sure nobody within arm’s reach is holding the knife.”
Her voice isn’t unkind. Just brutally matter-of-fact.
“The mole is a girl,” I say quietly.
“I see,” Jackie says. “Talia, sweetie, do me a favor and give the boss lady and me some privacy.”
My stomach twists, as Talia scrambles to her feet and rushes out of the door without a second glance.
Her baby lets out a sleepy sigh, tiny fingers curling against her shoulder. Jackie’s face softens for a heartbeat, then steels again as she looks back at me.
“I get why you’re doing it,” she says. “You’re not wrong to look at everyone.” Her eyes sharpen. “But hear me, Valentina Torres. If you ever—ever—look at me like you think I’m the one selling us out? If you ever stand in a room and say my name in the same sentence as mole or traitor? I will gut you like a fish. Slowly. While you’re awake. And I’ll make sure someone explains to Xavier why his girl bled on my carpet.”
The threat lands like a physical blow. Not because I think she’ll actually do it—though Jackie never makes empty promises—but because of the way she says it. Not rage, not hysteria. Just cold, clear certainty. This is the line. Do not cross it.
I push myself to my feet slowly, heart beating too fast. For a second I consider defending myself, telling her I would never accuse her without proof, that I trust her more than half the men downstairs. But the thing is, she’s already said she understands why I’m suspicious of everyone. And she’s right to draw boundaries.
So instead I step forward and hold out my hand.
“Fair enough,” I say.
Her gaze drops to my hand. She lets it hang there for a beat, testing me, then grips it. Hard. Her fingers dig into my knuckles hard enough to sting.
“Good,” she says, voice low. “Because I like you. I liked you even before Xavier did. And I’d rather not have to kill you.”
“Same,” I manage, half-laughing, half-serious.
She releases my hand. The baby shifts, squirming, and Jackie turns her attention back to the crib.
