Page 27 of Dark Reunion

CHAPTER 11

YASMINE

Five weeks after Andrés’s birth, Yasmine still woke to the sound of his breathing before she registered her own. Every rise and fall of his tiny chest, every sigh, every twitch of his small fingers against her skin was proof that hope hadn’t yet been strangled out of the world.

And yet tonight, Carlos was determined to poison even that.

The party had been announced the morning before, without consultation, without care for whether she or Dean wanted it.

Of course they didn’t.

Who in their right mind wanted to parade their newborn in front of cartel heads and their jeweled wives? But Carlos insisted, and there were no refusals when Carlos Ramírez sent out a command.

Yasmine swaddled Andrés in the softest blanket she owned, the family colors wrapping around him as she brushed a gentle hand over his dark fuzz of hair. Dean stood nearby, buttoning a crisp shirt, the twins restless around his legs. He hated the event as much as she did, his jaw tight as he slid cufflinks into place.

“We should’ve named him after you,” she murmured, looking at their son.

Dean’s mouth curved briefly. “We did.”

Andrés. The name Carlos had expected—Carlos—twisted into defiance. They’d chosen Carlos’s middle name instead. It just so happened that it had also been Dean’s grandfather’s name. It meant, manly and brave. A rebellion Carlos might grin at in public, but they both knew it was a knife beneath the tablecloth.

“Ready?” Dean asked.

Yasmine looked down at the pretty golden dress Dean had managed to get for her and lifted her chin. “As I’ll ever be.”

They walked like a small herd with four guards escorting them. They were a group that Ricco had gathered, loyal to Dean and Yasmine, not to Carlos and his cruelty.

The compound’s ballroom glittered like sin disguised as celebration. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across polished floors, champagne fizzed in tall glasses, and silver trays floated between men in expensive suits and women dripping in jewels. The air reeked of cigar smoke and power.

Carlos stood at the head of a long table, with three women fawning all over him as he smiled and spoke to his guests. Yasmine watched in disgust as he shook hands and kissed cheeks.

When Dean and Yasmine entered, the hum of conversation dimmed. Eyes followed them, curious to see the new baby, hungry for information, assessing the level of threat. Vultures looking for a weakness.

Little Andrés was far from the line if you took in Dean, Tate, and Aiden, but it didn’t matter.

Yasmine clutched Isabella tighter and was happy that Dean carried their new son. He stirred against Dean’s chest, lips parting in a soft sigh, oblivious to the vile people surrounding him. Carlos waited until they reached their seats at the head table, the position of honor.

“My son, Mercurio,” Carlos announced, voice booming with theatrical pride, “has given me another grandson. Proof that the Ramírez bloodline is stronger than ever. Tonight, we drink to strength, to loyalty, to family!”

Glasses raised. A cheer rolled through the room. Despite what came out of the people’s mouths, Yasmine saw the excitement didn’t reach their eyes.

Dean’s expression didn’t flicker, but Yasmine felt the tension in his hand at her back. She pasted on a smile, teeth aching from the pressure. When the applause ebbed, Carlos leaned toward them with a smirk.

“Tell them my boy, what is my new grandson’s name?”

Yasmine’s stomach knotted. Dean raised Andrés slightly into the air and answered. His voice was flat but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We proudly present, Andrés Ricardo Ramírez.”

Carlos’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before the smile returned, wider this time, as if he were the one who’d chosen it. “Andrés,” he repeated, savoring it as he lifted his glass into the air again. “My father’s name, it screams of legacy and courage. Fitting.”

The guests nodded approval and clapped again. The performance was flawless. But Yasmine saw the truth in Carlos’s eyes—the silent promise that this defiance would not be forgotten.

They all settled at the table and regardless of the reason for being here, Yasmine couldn’t deny that the food was outstanding. Tate and Aiden were incredibly well behaved, and both Isabella and Andrés slept like they were in their cribs and not a noisy ballroom.

Dinner felt like it stretched on forever. Course after course, wine poured, laughter forced. Yasmine focused on Andrés, feeding him discreetly, rocking him when he fussed, keeping her children’s world small and safe, even as danger prowled in every corner of the room. Dean asked Ricco to hold Isabella as he went to speak to one of the generals.

Yasmine watched him walk over to the man she only knew by reputation, and wondered if it would be a conversation to help Carlos, or to bring the man down. She glanced at Carlos who now had a young woman sitting on his lap. Rolling her eyes she looked away.