"A mobster arrives in Argentina and, of everyone in the country, just happens to targetyou? You, who are friends withanothermobster? Do you truly believe that attack was random?"
"Mateo wouldn't have asked him to protect me if he was responsible for any of this."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs and paces away from me. When he turns back, he looks exasperated.
"Katarina, you don't understand the sheer number of enemies this family has," he says. "If you stay, you'llalwayshave a target on your back."
"Damiano has a plan. He’s tracking the payment Nicolod made to Alfonso. He's going to prove Nicolo was the one behind it. Once he does, the Mafia will withdraw their protection, and then he’s free to get him."
Julian doesn't pull away. He leans in, his breath hitching, his eyes searching mine with a desperate clarity. He lets out a soft, hollow laugh that sounds more like a choke.
"And you really believe him? You think Damiano is going to do all those things he said? He’s theirally, Kat."
"He won’t choose him over me," I whisper.
"Kat." He says my name like a prayer he knows won’t get answered. There’s a painful intensity in his eyes. It makes my breath catch, and I suddenly sense his loyalty to me is about more than just the job.
"You must see how stupid it is to trust someone from the mafia."
Could he be right?
Am I deceiving myself?
“Who must I trust then? You?” My voice cracks with frustration. “You couldn’t even protect us that night. What makes you think we can survive this? And just the two of us?!”
The moment the words leave my mouth, regret hits me like a punch. I watch guilt flood his face as he flinches, my words clearly cutting deeper than I intended.
“We weren’t prepared, Kat. That attack blindsided all of us—even your brother,” he says, then quickly lowers his voice and glances toward the mansion.
When he leans in closer, he says, “I am prepared now. I’ve been planning this since we arrived.”
I pull away and start walking, Pedro still cradled in my arms.
“I’m not arguing with you anymore, Julian,” I warn, hearing his heavy footsteps closing in behind me almost immediately. His right hand catches my arm and turns me around effortlessly.
“Just say the word, and we'll leave tonight. Don't let him do this to you. Look at you.” Julian's gaze flickers to my hair, something raw and wounded flashing behind the disgust. “You dyed your hair. You changed it—for him. And you don't even seeit, do you? He's marking you, Kat. Little by little, he's turning you into something that belongs to him.”
The insult felt like a physical slap.
“I didn’t change my hair because of him—you know what? I don’t have to argue with you. I’m not running anymore,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to stay with me if you want to leave. I don’t expect you to.”
He didn’t agree to this. He doesn’t have to keep risking his safety for me.
“You’re making a mistake,” Julian says, his face hardening into a grim mask.
He pulls a smartphone from the inner pocket of his jacket and shoves it toward me. “Look. The media frenzy in Argentina is out of control. They’re digging into your life, Kat.”
My stomach drops as I scan the headline:
Actress Katarina Flores Missing.
Below it, photos of my own face stare back at me. Photos that were taken a few weeks ago at a gala, when my life was completely different.
“If we go back now, we can control the narrative,” presses Julian. “If you stay any longer here, people will sound the alarm. They’ll look for you everywhere."
I inhale deeply, allowing the cool air to steady me.
“I just need to appease them. If I give them a story they can believe, they’ll stop talking. I’ll send an email to Sol later.”
