Claire's POV

The corridor smelled like damp concrete and gunmetal. The low hum of voices drifted through the cracked door ahead—sharp, clipped, tense. I recognized one of them instantly.

Vera.

I slowed my steps, keeping close to the wall as I neared the doorway. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Not at first. But something in Vera's tone stopped me cold.

"I don't like repeating myself."

There was no heat in her voice—just the kind of calm that came before violence.

A deeper voice responded, slow and measured. "Then maybe you should listen harder."

Silence. Then the sharp clink of a glass being set down, too hard to be casual.

I edged closer. Through the small gap in the door, I saw them—Vera seated at the head of the table, posture deceptively relaxed, one hand spinning her knife idly. Across from her stood a man I didn't recognize, tall, built, the kind of presence that wanted to be intimidating.

He wasn't. Not to her.

The tension in the air thickened.

"I don't do business with people who waste my time," Vera continued.

"And yet, here we are."

The amusement in his tone was forced. I saw it—the way his fingers twitched near his belt, the way Gabriel's stance shifted slightly behind Vera.

This wasn't a negotiation anymore. It was a test. I didn't think. I moved. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, my boots hitting the worn floor louder than I intended. The second I entered, the shift was immediate.

Vera's fingers flexed around the handle of her knife. She didn't turn to look at me, but I felt her register my presence. A long, slow exhale through her nose.

The man's gaze flicked toward me, dragging over my frame in a way that made my skin crawl.

"And who's this?" he asked.

Vera still didn't look at me. But she moved. Before I could process it, her hand closed around my wrist—smooth, effortless—and pulled me forward. I barely had time to react before I was seated next to her. Not across. Next to.

Vera leaned back, one arm draping lazily along the back of my chair. Her fingers skimmed the curve of my shoulder, light, absent. Like I wasn't even worth thinking about.

Like I was already hers to protect. I swallowed hard.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Vera finally spoke, slow and deliberate. "This one," she murmured, her fingers brushing my neck just for a second before pulling away, "is off-limits."

The shift was subtle. But I felt it. The man hesitated. Calculated. Then his smirk curled tighter, and I saw the realization hit him.

He was losing.

He let out a low chuckle, but there was a flicker of something cautious now. "Didn't take you for the possessive type, Vera."

Vera's smirk didn't waver.

"I'm not. I'm practical. And my patience is running out." She tilted her head. "So. Are we done here, or are you going to waste more of my time?"

A pause. Then—

The man exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his jaw before nodding once. "Fine. You'll get your shipment in three days."

Then he glanced at me again, eyes sweeping over me in a way that made my stomach turn. A slow grin curled across his face.

"Since I'm feeling generous," he added, tone oozing something that made my skin crawl, "let's call it a favor... for the pretty lady's sake."

Silence. Then— Vera moved. Smooth. Unhurried. Intentional.

Her hand slipped beneath the table, and when it reappeared, she set her gun down between them. Not pointed at him. Not raised. Just placed there, centered, her fingers tapping once against the grip.

A silent challenge. The man's smile froze, his eyes flicking between her and the weapon.

Vera tilted her head, gaze steady. "You want to push forward with that line of thinking?"

The tension in the room shifted—coiled tighter.

Gabriel barely moved behind Vera, but I saw it—the way his hand hovered near his belt, ready. The way the air thickened with something colder.

The man's fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for anything. He swallowed once, jaw clenching.

"No problem," he muttered, lifting his hands slightly. "Just being polite."

Vera's smirk returned, slow and sharp. "Good. Keep it that way."

A beat of silence. Then he pushed back from the table, gave her a tight nod, and left.

The door clicked shut. Vera didn't move and neither did I. The weight of her lingered. The warmth of her arm behind me. The ghost of her fingers against my skin.

She had protected me. Not because she had to. Not because I was some pawn in this game. Because she wanted to.

The realization hit me like a slow-burning fuse, unraveling something inside my chest.

I exhaled, trying to steady my pulse. "You didn't have to do that."

Vera finally turned her head. That knowing smirk was still there, but her eyes flickered with something else.

"Didn't I?"

For a second—just a second—something passed between us. Something dangerous.

Something I wasn't ready to name.

Vera's POV

The silence in the room settled like smoke—thick, clinging, impossible to ignore.

The door had shut. The deal was made. But Claire was still sitting next to me. I should have told her to leave. Instead, I reached into my jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and flicked my lighter open. The flame hissed, a brief flash of warmth before I took a slow drag.

Controlled. Unwavering. Unbothered.

That's what I wanted to be.

I exhaled, watching the smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling. Claire was still sitting stiff beside me, arms crossed, pulse too fast. She was pretending to be unaffected, but I knew better.

She should have left.

Instead, she was looking at me. Watching.

I took another drag, waiting for her to speak. When she didn't, I flicked the ash off the edge of the cigarette, my voice coming out even. "What are you still doing here, pastelito?"

Claire's jaw tensed slightly, but she didn't look away. "I didn't like the way he was talking to you."

I paused. She wasn't lying. Of all the things she could have said, she chose that.

I studied her for a moment, then exhaled smoke, slow and deliberate. "You've got some strange priorities."

Claire crossed her arms tighter. "It wasn't right."

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "Nothing about this world is."

Her fingers tapped against her knee, like she was running through a dozen things she wanted to say but wasn't sure how.

I took another slow drag, watching her. "Tell me, do you usually step into rooms full of armed men to correct their manners?"

Her eyes flickered with something sharp. "Do you usually let them talk to you like that?"

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "You think I needed you to step in?"

Claire huffed a quiet breath, shaking her head. "That's not what this is about."

I flicked ash into the tray, eyes steady on her. "Then what is it about?"

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then she looked away, staring at the empty chair across from us. "I don't know."

The words came out quieter than I expected.

I leaned back, taking my time with the cigarette. "Be careful what you get involved in, Pastelito."

Her jaw tightened. "Or what?"

I leaned in just enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet my gaze. Her pulse jumped in her throat, but she didn't look away.

"Or you might start liking it," I murmured.

The tension shifted, thickened.

Claire exhaled, slow and measured, then tilted her head slightly, voice softer but no less pointed.

"Are you scared I will like it, or are you scared you will like having me in it?"

I didn't move. Didn't let my expression slip. Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure if she was wrong.

I flicked my cigarette into the ashtray, pushed up from my seat, and turned toward the door.

Before stepping out, I glanced at her one last time, smirking. "Try not to make a habit of this."

Then I walked out, leaving her there with all the things I didn't have the patience to figure out. Footsteps approached from behind, steady and unhurried. I didn't turn.

Gabriel.

He stopped beside me, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "Sniper finally talked."

I exhaled smoke, letting the silence stretch between us. The outcome was never in question—only how long it would take.

"Did he, now?" I murmured.

Gabriel nodded. "We got something good. Real good."

I flicked ash onto the pavement, still not looking at him. "And?"

Gabriel's lips curved slightly, the kind of grin that came with knowing you had leverage. "He gave us something priceless."

I finally turned my head, arching a brow. "And what's that?"

He let the moment linger, then said, "Leo's plan to break Dominic out of prison. The entire plan. Time and date included."

I hummed, low and pleased. The sound of a predator content with the hunt.

Now that was valuable.

Leo had always been careful, meticulous with his moves. He never played unless he was sure he'd win. If we had his entire plan, it meant we had leverage he didn't know existed.

I took another slow drag of my cigarette, exhaling in satisfaction. "That's more than I expected."

Gabriel chuckled, crossing his arms. "Looks like Claire was useful after all."

I paused. Just for a fraction of a second.

Then I flicked the cigarette away, watching the ember snuff out against the pavement.

"Looks like," I said smoothly.

I turned, already moving. Because now, I had something far more interesting to plan.

Claire's POV

The night air was cool against my skin, the distant hum of city noise a constant presence in the background. I sat on the edge of a worn-out crate, fumbling with the cigarette between my fingers, trying—and failing—to get the damn thing lit.

The cheap lighter refused to cooperate. A shadow loomed over me, and I didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Antonio clicked his tongue. "Vera's already a bad influence on you."

I let out a quiet chuckle, finally glancing up at him. "Relax. I smoke every now and then."

Antonio arched a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. "Sure you do."

Before I could argue, he plucked the lighter from my hand, flicked it open with practiced ease, and held the flame steady. I leaned in, the tip of the cigarette catching fire, the first drag settling warm in my lungs.

Antonio pocketed the lighter, watching me with the kind of easy patience I was starting to associate with him.

"How long have you been working for Vera?" I asked, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

"Long enough."

I narrowed my eyes. "That's vague."

He smirked. "I worked for Ignacio first. After he died, I joined Vera."

I studied him, trying to read between the lines. "Why?"

Antonio tilted his head slightly, considering. "She's strong. Ruthless, but strong."

Something in his voice told me he meant it as a compliment.

I took another slow drag, my fingers tapping idly against my knee. "Doesn't it bother you how she treats you?"

Antonio exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "There's hierarchy in our world, Claire. You either understand it or you don't last long."

I flicked ash onto the ground, letting his words sit between us. "And Gabriel? He's higher up the chain?"

Antonio nodded. "Vera's right hand."

I hummed, watching him carefully. "That's not all he is."

Antonio's brows lifted slightly. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

I turned my gaze back to my cigarette, feigning nonchalance. "Are they dating?"

Antonio barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Vera doesn't date."

I rolled the cigarette between my fingers, taking my time before responding. "That's not what I saw."

Antonio's smirk faltered—just for a second.

His amusement didn't vanish completely, but I caught the slight flicker of something behind his expression.

Curiosity. Or maybe caution.

I watched Antonio out of the corner of my eye. He wasn't what I expected. I'd assumed most of Vera's people were cut from the same cloth—cold, efficient, detached. But Antonio had patience, a casualness that made it easy to forget the world he worked in.

"Why do you trust her?" I asked, watching the cigarette burn between my fingers.

Antonio didn't answer right away.

"She's never given me a reason not to," he finally said. "Vera doesn't lie. Doesn't pretend to be something she's not. There's honesty in that, even when she's ruthless."

I let his words settle, rolling them over in my mind.

Ruthless, but honest. I wondered if Vera had ever extended that same honesty to herself.

I sighed, tossing the cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under my heel. "I should go."

Antonio arched a brow. "And yet, you're still sitting here."

I gave him a lazy smile. "Maybe I just like your company."

He grinned, shaking his head. "I'll take that as a compliment."

I stood, stretching my arms over my head before shoving my hands into my pockets.

Antonio watched me for a moment before speaking again, his voice lower, more serious. "Be careful with her, Claire."

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.

"I thought you just said she was honest," I said lightly.

"She is," Antonio said. "That doesn't mean she won't destroy you if she thinks she has to."

His words sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. Not because I didn't believe him. But because I already knew.

Vera's POV

The safehouse was dim, the air thick with smoke and gunmetal. A single bulb flickered above the table where plans turned into executions.

Dominic wouldn't leave this alive. Leo would just be the fool who handed him to me.

Gabriel tapped a spot on the blueprint, voice steady. "We don't hit them during the breakout. Too chaotic. Too many moving parts. We wait until they think they're in the clear."

He was right.

Prison breaks were loud. Messy. Unpredictable. But if we let Leo do the work for us—let him break Dominic out, let him feel safe—then we controlled the battlefield.

"He'll need a safe house," I said, scanning the marked locations. "Somewhere secure, but not obvious. We cut him off there."

Gabriel nodded. "No backup. No escape."

I flicked my lighter open, watching the small flame before snapping it shut. "We hit fast. No hesitation."

There was no need to say what was already understood.

No survivors. A voice cut through the focus.

"What about Claire?"

I didn't turn immediately. Hector leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Waiting. I let the silence stretch, controlled and deliberate, before answering.

"She's not part of this."

Hector scoffed. "Why not?"

The flicker of irritation was immediate, sharp. "Because she's not."

Hector exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "She's staying, she should be useful."

Before I could respond, Antonio spoke.

"She's not trained for the front line."

I turned my head, leveling him with a look. I didn't need anyone speaking for me.

Hector raised a brow, unimpressed. "So we're just protecting her?"

I snapped my lighter shut. "That a problem?"

Hector held his hands up. "I just don't get it. We take bullets for each other, but we're keeping someone safe who's not one of us? You tell us to keep her out of things, but you don't say why. You don't give her orders, but you don't send her away. So what exactly are we protecting her from?"

Silence.

I set my lighter down on the table, leaning forward just enough that Hector felt the shift.

"Don't mistake my patience for permission," I said, voice calm, steady. "You don't need to understand my decisions. You just need to follow them."

Hector clenched his jaw, but I didn't blink. Didn't waver.

Antonio, quiet until now, let out a breath, shaking his head. "Just let it go, man."

Hector didn't, not right away. He held my gaze a second longer before finally exhaling sharply and leaning back.

Gabriel, still watching, finally spoke. "Enough."

Hector rolled his shoulders before stepping back completely. I flicked my lighter open one last time, watching the flame dance before snapping it shut.

"Get back to the plan," I said.

Gabriel's eyes lingered on me for a second before he spoke again.

"Leo won't know what hit him." And just like that, we moved on.

But the tension in the air?

It stayed.

Claire's POV

I wasn't looking for trouble.

I had just stepped into the room, minding my own business, when I caught Hector watching me. Arms crossed, expression tight, like he had been waiting for me.

I sighed. "Something you need?"

He scoffed, pushing off the wall. "Yeah. You to stop pretending you belong here."

I rolled my eyes and kept walking, but he moved faster, stepping in my way.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice was low, laced with something sharp. "You think just because Vera hasn't thrown you out, that makes you one of us?"

I exhaled through my nose, already tired of this conversation before it had even started. "I don't think about it at all, actually."

He let out a humorless laugh. "That's the problem."

I didn't see the knife until I felt it.

A sudden sting tore across my arm, sharp and fast, and before I could process what had happened, warm blood was already sliding down my skin. I hissed, stepping back, my free hand clamping over the wound as I stared at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Hector didn't flinch. Didn't even look sorry. He just held the knife at his side, casual, like he hadn't just cut me for no goddamn reason.

"You don't belong here," he said, voice steady, like he was explaining a simple fact. "You don't know the rules. You don't know what it takes to survive in this world. But you walk around like you do, like Vera's protection makes you untouchable."

I clenched my jaw, ignoring the burn in my arm. "You could've just said that instead of stabbing me."

Hector shrugged, completely unfazed. "Talking doesn't seem to work with you."

I took a step toward him, my pulse still pounding. "You're pissed because Vera lets me stay."

He didn't deny it.

"You think I haven't seen what people say behind her back?" he continued, tilting his head. "That she's getting soft? That she's distracted?"

I stilled.

"That's what you are," he murmured. "A distraction. A weakness."

Before I could fire back, Antonio's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

I turned just as Antonio stepped between us, his expression dark, jaw clenched. His hand hovered near his gun, like he was one second away from pulling it.

Hector didn't even blink. "Making a point."

Antonio exhaled hard, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm about to make one too."

For a second, I thought Hector might push it further. Thought he'd really test his luck. But then he flicked the knife shut and took a step back.

"You should've left when you had the chance," he said, looking at me like I was the biggest mistake Vera had ever made. Then, just like that, he walked off.

I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers harder against my arm, trying to ignore how warm and slick they felt with blood.

Antonio turned to me, his eyes flicking to the wound before meeting my gaze.

"I'm telling Vera."

"No."

His brows pulled together. "Claire—"

"No," I repeated, firmer this time. "She doesn't need to know."

Antonio scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Right, because she's not gonna notice when you start bleeding through your damn shirt?"

"I'll handle it."

He muttered a curse under his breath but didn't argue. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him. "Come on."

I didn't argue either.

A few minutes later, I was sitting on a crate while Antonio wrapped my arm with an old bandage he had pulled from a first-aid kit. His hands worked fast, his movements efficient, but he was quiet.

I was quiet too.

Because even though the cut was already starting to sting like hell, it wasn't what Hector did that got under my skin.

It was what he said. The sound of a door opening snapped me out of my thoughts.

Antonio stilled.

I looked up—and Vera was standing in the doorway. Her gaze flicked from me to the bandage, to Antonio, then back to me. The air shifted, heavy, suffocating.

She didn't say anything at first. She didn't have to. Because I could already see it in her expression. The slow, quiet rage settling behind her eyes.

I swallowed hard. Shit.