Claire's POV

The second Vera stepped into the room, the air changed. I felt it before I even looked up. Antonio tensed beside me, his hands stilling where he had just finished tying the bandage around my arm. The faint tug of gauze digging into my skin was nothing compared to the sudden weight pressing down on the room.

I forced myself to meet her eyes.

Her gaze moved over me, slow and deliberate. The bandage. The blood. Antonio. She didn't ask what happened. Didn't demand an explanation. She didn't even move at first.

And that? That was worse than if she had yelled.

Antonio shifted beside me, like he wanted to speak but knew better. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until finally, Vera exhaled. It was low, quiet, dangerous.

"Who?"

One word. That was all.

Antonio hesitated. Too long. And that half-second of silence was all Vera needed.

Her fingers flexed at her sides. Then, without another word, she turned and walked out.

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

I shot up from my seat, ignoring the sharp pull in my arm. "Vera—wait."

She didn't. She was already moving, already gone, and every instinct in me screamed that I knew exactly where she was heading.

I pushed past Antonio, but he caught my wrist, not hard, but firm enough to stop me. "Claire—don't."

I ripped my arm free. "Like hell I'm letting her kill him." Antonio let out a sharp breath, but he didn't try to stop me again. He knew better.

I ran after her. And I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what I found when I caught up.

Vera's POV

I walked in, and the first thing I saw was blood. It wasn't much, just a stain on Claire's sleeve, a smear on Antonio's fingers as he wrapped the bandage, but it was there. And it shouldn't have been.

Something twisted deep inside me, sharp and immediate, but I didn't react. Not yet.

Antonio was focused, hands steady as he tied the bandage, his touch careful, almost too familiar. And Claire—she was letting him. She was sitting there, letting him take care of something that should have come to me first.

I kept my expression blank, but I felt it. The shift. The crack forming beneath my feet.

I had claimed her under my protection. Made it clear. She wasn't just some outsider hanging around—she was mine to keep safe. And yet, one of my own had challenged me.

Hector had defied me. And Claire—whether she realized it or not—had gone to Antonio instead of me.

She hadn't run to me. She hadn't trusted me to handle this. Instead, Antonio was the one wrapping her up like she was his to protect.

I inhaled slowly, keeping my breathing steady, even, but beneath the surface, the fire was already burning.

"Who?" My voice was calm, cold.

Antonio hesitated.

I didn't need an answer. I already knew.

I turned and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Claire move, heard the urgency in her voice when she called my name. "Vera, please!"

Too late. I wasn't stopping.

Hector was in the middle of the crew, laughing, acting like he hadn't done a damn thing. He hadn't even bothered to leave. Hadn't even thought he needed to.

That was his first mistake. The second? Thinking there wouldn't be a third.

Claire's footsteps rushed behind me, breathless, desperate. "Wait—"

I caught Claire's arm before she could take another step, pulling her close enough that she had no choice but to look at me. She tensed, her breath unsteady, but I wasn't looking at her. My eyes were on the crew, on him.

"I made it clear," I said, my voice steady, even. "Claire is under my protection. And yet, someone decided to test that."

The warehouse fell silent. No one moved. No one spoke. They had felt the shift, just like I had. A challenge had been made, and now, there was only one way to answer it.

I let go of Claire and pulled out my gun, slow and deliberate. Hector was standing in the middle of the crew, his stance too relaxed, as if he still thought this wasn't going to touch him.

I counted. Five men stood around him. Five people who had seen what happened and done nothing.

I turned my head slightly. "Gabriel."

He was already watching, waiting.

"Six bullets."

He didn't hesitate. He reached into his pocket and placed them in my palm, one by one. I looked back at the crew, rolling the bullets over my fingers, making sure they understood exactly what I was about to do.

I loaded the gun, slow and methodical, and let my gaze sweep over them, giving them time to realize what I was insinuating.

If I wanted, I could take all of them out.

One by one.

Even though I knew who the real problem was.

The shift was immediate. The men around Hector stepped back, creating space, distancing themselves, making it clear they weren't willing to die for him.

Smart.

I hummed in approval and took five bullets back out, leaving only one in the gun. I held it out to Claire.

She didn't take it.

Her hesitation was immediate, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "No."

My patience snapped. "Take it."

She flinched at the sharpness of my tone, but I wasn't interested in softening it. I pushed the gun into her hands. Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around it, her grip weak, uncertain.

I turned away from her and walked to Hector, closing the space in two strides before slamming my fist into his ribs. He grunted, doubling over, his knees hitting the floor as he landed right in front of Claire's feet.

He groaned, holding his side, but I wasn't looking at him anymore. I was looking at her.

I stepped behind Claire, lowering my head slightly, my voice just above a whisper.

"I'm giving you permission to put a bullet in his head," I murmured. "What will you do now, Pastelito?"

I watched as Claire's grip on the gun wavered, her knuckles white from how hard she was holding it. But it wasn't conviction that made her hands tremble. It was fear.

She turned, her eyes darting toward Antonio like she expected him to save her.

A mistake.

"Eyes on me!" My voice cracked like a whip through the air, sharp, unyielding. Claire flinched, her breath hitching, but she obeyed. Her wide eyes snapped back to mine, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to say something, but nothing came.

I took a slow step closer, watching her fingers tighten around the gun, her whole body trembling under the weight of this moment.

"I... no..." she finally stammered, shaking her head once.

I tilted my head, intrigued. "No?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to Hector, then back to me. She shook her head again, firmer this time, the denial settling in her bones.

I hummed, taking another step, closing the distance between us. Then I moved behind her, my hands sliding over hers, steadying her grip on the gun. Claire sucked in a sharp breath, her body going stiff as I leaned in, my lips brushing just close enough to her ear.

"All you gotta do is aim and pull the trigger, mi vida," I whispered.

She shuddered.

The smallest movement—but I felt it.

She tried to shake her head again, but it was weaker now, her breath uneven. "I... I don't want to..."

I let out a quiet hum, low and teasing, letting it vibrate against her skin. She felt it. I knew she did.

Her breathing grew unsteady.

I let her go.

Stepping around her, I took the gun from her trembling hands, running my fingers over the cool metal before lifting my gaze to Hector.

"Okay, so Claire here forgives you," I said, calm, steady. "But do you think I forgive that you defied me, Hector?"

Hector's shoulders tensed, his body coiled tight like he already knew the answer.

"Vera, please—" Claire's voice broke through the moment, raw and desperate.

I turned to her, staring. That was enough. She shut up. This wasn't her turn to speak.

I lifted the gun, my grip firm, my finger resting lightly against the trigger. Hector didn't move. He knew better. He had already accepted what was coming, the inevitability of it.

The room felt too still, too quiet, waiting for the sound of a gunshot to break the silence.

But then, Claire looked at me. Not at Hector. Not at the gun. At me. Wide-eyed, unguarded, something raw and pleading. Something that shouldn't have been there. Something that made my stomach twist in a way I didn't like.

I clenched my jaw, my muscles tensing. What the fuck was that?

I had seen fear before. I had seen desperation. I had seen people beg for their lives.

But this— This wasn't fear. This wasn't terror at seeing someone die. It was about me.

I lifted the gun, my grip steady, my finger resting lightly against the trigger. Hector didn't move. He knew what was coming, understood the weight of his mistake. The room was too quiet, suffocating in its silence, waiting for the moment the shot would break it apart.

Then Claire moved. Not toward me but away from me. She took a step back, her breath shaky, her body instinctively retreating—not from the violence, not from the inevitability of Hector's death—but from me. And worse, she moved toward Antonio.

Something in my chest twisted, sharp and immediate, an ache that felt too much like rage.

I didn't react, not outwardly. But I felt it.

Claire hadn't run from the blood, hadn't run from the power I held in my hands. She had run from me. I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the gun. She thought Antonio was safer. Thought he was where she needed to be right now.

That? That fucking stung.

Valeria had said I wouldn't be able to handle Claire. That she would run from me, that she would go to her instead. That in the end, she'd pick her world, not mine.

And now, I saw it happening.

Claire had stepped toward Antonio, away from me, like she had already made her choice.

But I knew how to shatter that.

"Antonio." My voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and demanding.

He was beside me in an instant. Always loyal. Always ready.

I tossed him the gun without a second thought. "He's not worth my time. Finish him."

Claire gasped, and before she could open her mouth to stop him, I yanked her by the wrist, pulling her with me as I strode toward the exit.

She stumbled at first, her body resisting, but I didn't let go. The sound of the gunshot rang out behind us. Claire flinched, her breath hitching, but I kept walking.

She had nowhere else to go.

Claire's POV

Vera didn't say a word as she dragged me through the hallway, her grip firm, unrelenting. My heart was still pounding from the gunshot, from the way she had yanked me away like my protests didn't mean a damn thing. We reached her room, and before I could think, she pushed me inside. I stumbled forward, catching myself just as she stepped in behind me, shutting the door with a slow, deliberate click.

I turned, the words already burning in my throat. "Why did you do that?"

Vera stood there, watching me, expression unreadable.

I took a step forward, my breath uneven. "How—how is it so easy for you? To kill someone you called family?"

She still didn't answer. Didn't blink.

Her silence only made the anger build inside me, twisting and clawing its way out. "You didn't even hesitate, Vera! He was your own—"

She moved.

A few slow steps toward me, her gaze dark and focused, like she was sizing me up, like she was deciding something. I barely had time to process it before she reached for her knife.

The flash of steel made me freeze, a sharp inhale catching in my throat. I didn't have time to flinch. With a quick, effortless motion, she gripped my sleeve and sliced through the fabric, ripping it clean off my arm.

I gasped, stumbling back, my pulse jumping. "What the—"

Vera grabbed my wrist and pushed me down onto the chair behind me before I could resist. I barely had a second to react before she pressed the tip of the knife against the bandage Antonio had wrapped around my wound. The blade didn't touch my skin, but the threat of it was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

She didn't look at my face, didn't react to the way my breathing hitched. Her focus was only on the bloodied fabric as she cut it away with careful precision, peeling off the bandage Antonio had made like it meant nothing.

Then, without a word, she stepped away, moving toward her drawer.

I exhaled shakily, my muscles still locked in place, unable to move as I watched her pull out a first aid kit. She didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge the way my body was still tense, like what just happened was nothing at all.

Vera set the first aid kit on the table, flipping it open with the same quiet efficiency she did everything else. She didn't glance at me, didn't acknowledge the way I was still gripping the edge of the chair like I needed something solid to hold onto. Like I needed something to ground me after whatever the hell that was.

My sleeve lay in shreds on the floor, the exposed skin of my arm prickling under the cold air. The wound was still fresh, raw, but it wasn't what was making my hands shake. It was her. The way she had done it without hesitation, the way she had pressed the blade close to me like she knew exactly how much control she had, how much I would let her get away with.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to work. "You didn't answer me."

Vera unscrewed the cap of a bottle, dampening a cloth with disinfectant like I hadn't spoken.

I gritted my teeth. "How is it so easy for you? To kill people like they don't matter? Like they never did?"

She finally looked at me then, just a flick of her gaze before she knelt in front of me, pressing the cloth against my arm. The sting hit instantly, sharp and burning, but I refused to react.

"It's not hard," she said simply, her voice calm, like she was talking about the weather. "It's necessary."

I let out a short laugh, but it came out hollow. "Right. So that's it? Necessary?"

Vera didn't answer. She wiped away the blood, the warmth of her hand steady against my arm as she worked, like she wasn't just patching up something she had let happen.

I watched her, trying to understand. Trying to figure out if she ever even thought twice about what she did. I wanted to believe she did. That there was something beneath all of it, beneath the cold, the control, the violence.

That there was something in her that could be shaken.

She reached for a fresh bandage, wrapping it tight, securing it with the same hands that had put a gun in mine just minutes ago.

Vera tightened the bandage around my arm, securing it with a final tug. Her fingers were warm against my skin, steady, unshaken, like she hadn't just dragged me out of that room, like she hadn't just handed someone else the gun meant for me.

"You gave yourself to me," she said, her voice even, matter-of-fact. "That means when something happens, you come to me. And if you come to me, that means you get a say in how it ends."

I swallowed, my throat dry. "So if I had gone to you, you wouldn't have killed him?"

She exhaled slowly, like she was debating whether I was worth answering. "The moment they think I'm weak, that bullet is in my head." Her fingers brushed against my wrist as she adjusted the bandage. "That's why it's necessary. It's kill or be killed."

I shook my head, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. "You're going through all this just to spite a sister you hate."

Her hands stilled.

Then, in a voice calm enough to make my skin prickle, she asked, "Who said I hate Valeria?"

I looked at her, caught off guard by the shift, by the sudden weight behind her words. "I just thought..."

She sat back slightly, looking at the bandage like she was making sure her work was done, but I could see the tension creeping into her shoulders. "I'm angry at her." The words were measured, controlled, but not indifferent. "She's my older sister. She took away Ignacio, the only family I had. I thought when she found out I existed, she'd come find me... calm my storm." Her jaw tensed for half a second before she muttered, "But she never did."

I hesitated, my anger slowly unraveling into something else. "Why didn't you say that to her?"

Vera's fingers brushed over my arm, not in a lingering way, just in a thoughtless movement as she checked the tightness of the wrap, but the contact made my breath catch.

She finally looked at me. "Valeria picked a life I don't know how to belong in," she said simply. "She won't leave Emilia to be by my side."

I didn't push.

And she noticed.

The silence stretched between us, the weight of the conversation settling as she finished patching me up.

She cleared her throat, as if that would erase what had just come out of her mouth, as if she hadn't just cracked open something she hadn't meant to. Then she shifted back, recomposing herself, her mask slipping neatly back into place.

Like none of this had ever happened.

Vera's POV

I couldn't believe I had said that out loud. The words still hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Claire didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. I could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was looking at me like she had peeled something back, like she had found something I hadn't meant to give. Like she had won something just by getting me to admit it.

I hated that feeling.

I turned away from her, my hands moving to the first aid kit, rearranging the supplies even though they were already in order. It was pointless, but I needed something to focus on, something to keep me from acknowledging what had just happened. The air felt too thick, too charged with something I refused to name.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice back to something neutral, controlled. "Why are you here, Claire?"

She blinked, like she hadn't expected the shift, like I had pulled her out of something she was still caught up in. I met her gaze, not letting her look away.

"What are you trying to find?"

Claire hesitated, her lips parting like she had an answer, but then she closed them again. She wasn't expecting the question, or maybe she didn't know how to answer it. That alone told me more than whatever excuse she was about to give.

I leaned back against the table, arms crossing over my chest, waiting. She wasn't good at hiding things. Not from me.

She let out a slow breath, her fingers curling against the edge of the chair like she needed something solid to hold onto. "I don't know," she finally admitted, voice quieter than before.

I scoffed. "That's bullshit."

Her eyes snapped up, narrowing slightly, like she wanted to argue, but she didn't.

"You're here," I said, watching her carefully. "Not because you don't have anywhere else to go. You could have gone back. To Valeria. To that life." I tilted my head slightly. "But you didn't."

Claire's throat bobbed as she swallowed, her grip tightening. I could see it now, the way the question rattled her. Like she had never really let herself think about it before. Like she had convinced herself it wasn't something worth questioning.

I took a slow step forward. "So I'll ask again," I murmured. "What are you trying to find, pastelito?"

"Myself," Claire whispered, her voice barely there, like she was admitting something she hadn’t even let herself say out loud before.

I frowned slightly. "Yourself?"

She nodded, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. My purpose. Emilia was my family, and I worked hard to be where I was, but when she found Valeria... it made me wonder. Where do I belong?"

I watched her, studying the shift in her expression, the hesitation in her voice. She meant it, but I didn’t believe that was all there was to it. There was something deeper, something she wasn’t saying. Claire was lost, sure—but people don’t throw themselves into this world just because they’re lost.

She must have felt my scrutiny because she suddenly scoffed and rolled her shoulders back, forcing a smirk onto her lips. "But hey, maybe I’m just here for the snacks."

I exhaled through my nose, unimpressed, but I didn’t push.

Silence stretched between us, thick and full of unspoken weight. She fidgeted, shifting in her seat, then glanced at me, something unreadable flashing across her face before she asked, "Are you and Gabriel together?"

I stilled, my focus snapping to her fully now.

I hadn’t expected that.

The amusement curled at the edge of my mouth before I could stop it, because suddenly, I was remembering the way Gabriel had casually mentioned it before. She has a crush on you, you know. At the time, I had brushed it off, assumed it was —flirtation without weight, just something she threw around.

But now?

Now, she was looking at me like she was trying to figure something out.

And for some reason, I wanted her to push.

I didn’t know why it amused me. Maybe because I could see the way she was waiting, holding her breath like my answer mattered more than she wanted to admit.

So I leaned in slightly, tilting my head, letting my voice drop into something lower, slower. "Why? Would that bother you?"

Claire blinked, her throat bobbing in a swallow.

Interesting.

She shifted, trying to play it off, but I caught the flicker of something behind her eyes.

I smirked. "Or are you asking because you’re hoping it’s not true?"

Her jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought she was going to fire back with one of her usual sarcastic remarks, but nothing came.

I watched her, waiting.

Let’s see how far she was willing to go.