Claire's POV

From the way Vera had looked at me. The way her fingers had traced my skin—not forcefully, not violently, but deliberately. The way she had leaned in, letting silence stretch until my body betrayed me.

I knew what she was doing.

She was using me. Testing me. Playing with me like I was some pet she was training.

And yet—

My body didn't hate it.

That made me want to claw my skin off.

I needed to get away. From her. From myself.

I turned sharply, forcing my steps to stay steady as I stormed out of the room. I made it to the hallway, past the noise, past the walls that smelled like her, into the open air at the front of the warehouse.

It was cooler here, quieter. I sucked in a sharp breath, pressing my palms against the metal railing, trying to steady myself.

I barely had a second to process before I heard footsteps behind me.

I knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Not running away, are you?"

I didn't turn. Didn't need to. Gabriel.

I exhaled through my nose, my grip tightening on the railing. "Not in the mood, Gabriel."

He hummed, stepping up beside me, leaning against the railing. He was quiet at first, but I could feel him watching me.

"You're shaking," he finally said.

I clenched my jaw. "No, I'm not."

"You think I don't see what's happening?"

I turned then, meeting his gaze with a glare. I was already pissed. He was just fuel to the fire. "And what exactly do you think is happening?"

Gabriel didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate.

"You're getting too close."

A cold, sharp weight settled in my stomach.

I scoffed, forcing a laugh. "To who? You?"

His expression didn't change.

"You don't get it yet, do you?" His voice dropped, calm, too calm. "She's breaking you down. Testing you. Seeing how far she can push before you bend to her will."

I scoffed again, shaking my head. "I'm not some weak little thing she can control."

Gabriel studied me, and for the first time since meeting him, I saw something close to pity in his eyes.

"You say that now."

The words sank in deeper than I wanted them to. I hated that part of me wasn't sure if he was wrong.

I turned away, looking out at the empty streets, trying to steady my breathing. Trying to tell myself he was wrong.

Gabriel sighed. "Just don't let her turn you into something you're not." I turned to him, my frustration bubbling over. "Why do you hate me?"

Gabriel barely reacted, his expression unreadable. "I don't hate you, Claire."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Could've fooled me."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before finally looking at me. "It's not you, it's what you represent."

I frowned, arms crossing over my chest. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Gabriel turned slightly, leaning against the railing. "Ever since Vera found out about Valeria, she's been trying to prove herself—trying to be better than Alacrán. The infamous killer. The legend."

I narrowed my eyes. "Valeria was no killer."

Gabriel's gaze snapped to me, sharp. "No?"

I held my ground. "She did what she had to survive. And when she gained that reputation working for Dominic, it wasn't because she wanted it. She was trying to protect Emilia."

Gabriel's jaw ticked as he let out a slow breath. Then he turned to me fully.

"Exactly." His voice was quiet, but edged with something bitter. "And now Vera is doing the same. Not because she cares about you, Claire. But because she's trying to beat Valeria at everything. To prove she can be just as ruthless, just as feared—and still have some rich girl loving her no matter what."

The words hit harder than I expected. A sick feeling curled in my stomach. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That Vera wasn't using me to win some twisted competition with Valeria. But wasn't she? Hadn't she pushed me, tested me, broken me down piece by piece—just to see how far I'd bend for her?

Hadn't I let her?

I hated the way Gabriel was looking at me. Like he had already decided I was just another piece in a game I didn't even know I was playing.

I swallowed hard, my voice quiet but steady. "I'm not Emilia."

Gabriel studied me for a moment before nodding. "No, you're not."

His eyes darkened.

"But you're still a rich girl willing to bleed for someone who wouldn't do the same for you."

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

I walked back inside, my thoughts still tangled, Gabriel's words still cutting into me like something I couldn't shake off.

Vera was using me. Or maybe she wasn't. Or maybe she was, but it wasn't about me at all. I hated that I didn't have an answer.

As I stepped deeper into the warehouse, I spotted Antonio near the back, talking with one of the guys. His eyes flicked up the second he saw me.

His brows furrowed, concerned. "Claire, are you okay?"

I stopped in front of him, my hands tight at my sides, my breath uneven. I hadn't planned to ask. I hadn't planned to say anything at all. But the words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Why did you do it, Antonio?" My voice was quieter than I expected. "How could you pull the trigger?"

I saw the shift in his face. The flicker of something unreadable. He knew exactly what I was talking about.

His jaw tensed, but he didn't look away. "Because Vera told me to."

I shook my head. That wasn't enough.

"That's not an answer," I said, stepping closer. "I saw you, Antonio. You didn't hesitate. You didn't flinch. You just... pulled the trigger. Like it meant nothing."

Antonio exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at me again. Softer, but still unshaken.

"It's not about what it means to me, Claire." His voice was even, steady. "It's about what it meant to Vera."

Something tightened in my chest.

"So you'd kill for her. No questions asked."

Antonio's gaze didn't waver. "I did."

Antonio didn't break eye contact, didn't shy away from the weight of my question. He had killed Hector without hesitation. Because Vera told him to.

I swallowed hard, the realization settling into my bones like ice.

"So that's it?" I forced out, my voice low, unsteady. "That's all it takes? Vera says a name and you pull the trigger?"

Antonio exhaled slowly, looking at me like I didn't get it. I hated that look.

"It's not about the name," he said. "It's about loyalty."

"Loyalty," I repeated, my throat tight.

He nodded. "Vera gave the order. That was enough."

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "And if she told you to shoot me?"

Antonio didn't blink. Didn't hesitate.

"She wouldn't."

"But if she did?" Another pause.

He held my gaze, his expression unreadable. "She wouldn't."

That should have reassured me. It didn't. Because he hadn't said no.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. "Jesus, Antonio."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I get it. You don't belong in this world. You don't understand it. But I do. I grew up in it. I survived because of it. And you?" He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "You're either gonna figure out how to survive in it too, or it's gonna chew you up and spit you out."

My stomach twisted. "That's what you think I am? Some rich girl playing gangster?"

Antonio's lips pressed together, like he didn't want to say what he was thinking. That was worse than if he had just said it.

"I think," he said carefully, "that you need to decide who you're really fighting for."

I stared at him, something hot and ugly building in my chest. "And what if I'm fighting for myself?"

Antonio's expression flickered—something like disappointment, something like knowing.

"That's not how this world works, Claire," he said, voice quieter now.

I hated the way he sounded like he had already decided my fate. Like he knew something I didn't. Like he already knew I wasn't getting out of this untouched.

Vera's POV

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the cigarette burning between my fingers, the glow dimming and flaring with each slow inhale. The air was thick with smoke, curling lazily in the dim light. I should have been asleep by now. I should have closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take over, but my mind wouldn't shut off. Restlessness crawled under my skin.

Everything from tonight played on a loop. Gabriel's words. His doubt. His challenge. The way he had looked at me, like I was slipping, like I was losing my grip. I should have put a bullet in him just for thinking it. I wasn't losing control. I had done what needed to be done. Hector had dared to defy me, had questioned my authority in front of everyone, had looked at Claire like she was nothing but a crack in my armor. So I corrected that assumption. He had no place in my world if he couldn't understand his own. And yet, something about tonight wouldn't settle.

She still didn't understand. She still thought this world made space for things like hesitation and mercy. That was why she didn't belong here. But she was still here, wasn't she? That was interesting.

I had expected her to break by now. To run. To realize that whatever curiosity or pull she thought she had toward me was nothing but self-destruction wrapped in false promises. Instead, she was learning. Changing. Or maybe I was the one changing.

That thought made my fingers tighten around the cigarette. I exhaled sharply, my free hand dragging over my stomach, tapping against my skin as I tried to push the thought away. Claire had looked at me differently tonight. Not just with anger. Not just with fear. There was something else, something unspoken, something I should have ignored. But I hadn't. And now it was creeping in at the edges of my mind, making a home where I hadn't given it permission to exist.

I sighed, bringing the cigarette to my lips again, letting the smoke fill my lungs. The problem wasn't her. The problem was me.

I had let her get under my skin.

Claire's POV

The morning was quiet. Too quiet.

I sat at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. The warehouse wasn't fully awake yet—just the distant hum of movement, the occasional voice from another room, but nothing loud, nothing that demanded my attention.

For once, I wasn't being watched.

I took a slow sip, staring at the dark liquid, my mind drifting back to a different morning. A different kitchen.

Emilia's kitchen.

Bright, filled with the scent of fresh bread, fresh coffee. The sound of Claire and Dani bickering, Lucia laughing, Emilia rolling her eyes but smiling.

I could almost hear it, feel it—the way things had been before all this. Before I had chosen to walk into Vera's world, before I had stepped over a line that I wasn't sure I could come back from.

Was it even a choice?

I had told myself it was. That I wasn't like Emilia, that I wasn't like Valeria. That I hadn't been dragged into this world the way they had. But now, sitting here in Vera's kitchen, in a house built on violence and control, I wasn't sure anymore.

A sigh slipped from my lips as I set the cup down, pressing my fingers against my temples. Was this really my life now? Did I even have a way back?

"Well, someone looks grumpy."

My head snapped up so fast I almost knocked over my coffee. That voice. That voice.

I turned toward the entrance, my brain still catching up, and there she was—Claudia.

For a second, I thought I had finally lost my mind. Maybe I had inhaled too much secondhand smoke from Vera's constant chain-smoking. Maybe lack of sleep had finally done me in. Because there was no way Claudia was standing in front of me, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

I blinked. Still there.

"Huh," I muttered. "Hallucinations usually don't come with this much attitude."

Claudia smirked, arms wide open. "Aren't you going to run into my arms dramatically? Maybe shed a tear?"

I shot up from my seat and practically launched myself at her, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. "Claudia?? Oh my god!"

She chuckled, patting my back before pulling away just enough to assess the damage. Her hands went to my face, tilting it slightly as she gave me a once-over.

"Oh wow. What did they do to you?"

I scoffed. "Nothing. This is just my new aesthetic. Tired and traumatized."

Claudia snorted. "Yeah, well, it's not working for you."

I exhaled, still trying to catch up to reality. "How—what are you doing here?"

Claudia's grip on my face tightened for just a second before she dropped her hands. "Valeria sent me."

Valeria. That name alone knocked the air out of my lungs.

Before I could even process what that meant, another voice sliced through the room like a knife. "And why exactly did she send you?"

The temperature seemed to drop. Vera's voice was sharp, controlled, too controlled. I turned, already feeling the tension thickening around us. I knew that tone.

Without thinking, I stepped between Claudia and Vera, heart hammering. "Vera—"

"Move, pastelito."

Not a request.

My pulse spiked, my body caught between every terrible decision I could possibly make. I knew that tone too. The one that told me that if I didn't move, I wouldn't like what happened next.

Before I could decide whether to push my luck, Claudia shoved me aside herself.

"I'm not here to fight, Vera."

Vera didn't move, didn't even blink. "Is that why two of my men are unconscious outside?"

A flicker of movement behind her caught my eye—Gabriel, stepping in, silent but with his hand resting on his gun.

Claudia barely spared him a glance. "They wouldn't let me in," she said, adjusting her jacket like she hadn't just wrecked two people. "I just gave them a light beating. Nothing they can't handle."

Vera's expression stayed unreadable, but I knew her well enough to recognize the almost invisible flicker of fury.

She didn't like surprises. She didn't like being caught off guard. And she sure as hell didn't like anyone touching what was hers.

"I'll ask again." Vera's voice was steady, cold, dangerous. "Why did Valeria send you?"

Claudia's smirk didn't waver. "For Claire." She met Vera's gaze without hesitation. "Obviously.

The tension in the room was suffocating, a slow-building storm that had finally reached its breaking point. Vera and Claudia stood across from each other, neither willing to back down, neither willing to blink first.

Claudia's voice was even, but the sharpness in her tone cut like a blade. "Valeria sent me to make sure Claire is well. To make sure she doesn't want to leave."

Vera exhaled slowly, tilting her head slightly, the smirk on her lips not quite a smile. "She doesn't want to leave. Actually I don't care what she wants. She belongs to me now."

I stiffened.

Claudia let out a short, humorless laugh, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Claire isn't yours, Vera. She's Valeria's crew. Her familia." She stepped forward, gaze steady, unflinching. "She'll never be yours."

Vera's fingers twitched, and then she moved. In a flash, she grabbed Claudia by the collar, dragging her in close, her voice low, furious, breaking.

"I am Valeria's familia too!"

Her shout rattled the room, an unspoken truth she had never dared to say aloud before.

For a second—just a second—Claudia's face shifted. Something flickered there. A shadow of something that might have been understanding, or pity, or recognition.

Then it was gone. And just as quickly, Claudia yanked Vera's hands off her, shoving them aside with ease. Vera didn't step back, but the meaning was clear.

A rejection. A reminder. A challenge.

The air between them felt charged, too tight, too dangerous. I should step in. I knew I should step in. But neither of them moved. Neither of them broke.

And I had a feeling—if one of them did, there'd be no going back. I didn't think. I just moved.

Before this could spiral further, before Vera did something she wouldn't take back, before Claudia pushed one word too far, I stepped between them, reaching out and grabbing Vera's hands.

Her skin was warm, her pulse quick beneath my fingers. She froze.

I met her eyes, trying to see past the rage, past the need to prove something, past the sharp edges she carried like a shield.

I thought about what she told me that night. "Who said I hate Valeria?"

She didn't hate her. She never had. She just wanted to matter to her. Vera's hands twitched in mine. A hesitation. A moment.

And then, she ripped away. Like my touch burned. Like she didn't want to be seen like this.

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. "Claudia," I said, turning away from Vera, feeling the exhaustion in my own voice. "Tell Val I'm okay."

Claudia's eyes stayed locked on Vera, unreadable.

I squared my shoulders. "Vera is keeping me safe. For her sake."

The words were for Claudia, but I needed Vera to hear them too. To understand that Valeria wasn't her enemy.

That this war she was waging wasn't against her sister—just against the ghost of who she thought she had to be.

Claudia exhaled, then nodded once. "I'll tell her."

Claudia turned, her face softening as she wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight.

"We're one phone call away, Claire," she murmured near my ear. "If you change your mind."

I barely had time to process the warmth of her embrace before Vera's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"She won't."

The next second, I was yanked away. Vera's grip was firm, unrelenting, pulling me to her side as if she was physically claiming me.

Claudia's gaze flicked down to Vera's hold on me.

She didn't smirk this time. She just gave Vera one last look, something quiet but knowing, before turning and walking away.

The second she was gone, Vera turned her head slightly. "Leave us."

Gabriel hesitated for half a second. Then he nodded once and left without a word. The door closed behind him. Silence.

I inhaled sharply, trying to pull my arm free. "Vera—"

Her grip tightened. And I stilled.

Her eyes were dark, unreadable, burning into me with something I couldn't place. Something dangerous.

My pulse spiked.

"Vera... my hand." She looked down.

The bandage she put there was seeping red, the blood staining the gauze, leaking through where Hector had cut me.

She let go immediately. For a second, she just stared at it. Then, her voice cracked through the silence—sharp, furious. "Why did you say that?"

I blinked, pulse still hammering, trying to keep up. "Say what?"

Vera's jaw clenched. "That I'm keeping you safe."

I exhaled, tilting my head slightly. Testing her. "Well... aren't you?"

I took a slow step forward.

Vera's POV

She was still standing there. Still choosing me.

I had given her every opportunity to walk away. Claudia had given her an out. Valeria had made her a promise. And yet, Claire stood here—close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin, close enough that she wasn't just testing my patience, she was testing me.

I should've ignored it. I should've let her see the truth—that this wasn't her place, that I wasn't her savior, that whatever naive idea she had about me wasn't real. But instead, I found myself pushing back.

"Do you think I'm protecting you?" I asked, my voice slow, deliberate. "Or are you just too proud to go back to Valeria, as if you failed your little rehabilitation experiment?"

She blinked, the slightest crease forming between her brows. Not hurt. Just... caught off guard.

"What experiment?"

I laughed. Low. Dark. Cold. "Me," I said, tilting my head slightly, watching her reaction. "You think whatever voodoo Emilia did to my sister, you can do to me?"

Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, but I didn't let her.

I moved before she could process it, grabbing the front of her shirt and yanking her forward, my grip firm, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Don't you dare hold my hand like that again in front of my crew."

I felt her breath catch. For the first time, she hesitated.

I saw it. That flicker of something I couldn't quite name—like she wasn't expecting this, like it got under her skin in a way she wasn't prepared for.

But it was only for a second. Because then, she did something she shouldn't have.

Her fingers curled around my wrist, prying my hand off of her slowly, deliberately, like she was letting me know I wasn't the only one with control in this moment.

Then, instead of pushing me away, she did the opposite. She took my hand again. On her terms. Her touch was steady. Intentional. Not desperate, not weak—just sure.

And when she spoke, it wasn't just a question. It was a challenge.

"So I can hold your hand when your crew isn't around?"

The air shifted. Tightened. My stomach twisted. My grip faltered. For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to say.