Vera's POV

The room smelled like antiseptic and gunpowder, the sharp scent of blood still lingering in the air. Gabriel was in bed, his shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages, his face tight with pain, but his eyes—those were steady. Watching me.

I stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, my own wound throbbing beneath the bandages, but I didn't let it show. Unlike him, I wasn't wincing.

The silence stretched thick between us, neither of us willing to break it first.

Finally, I exhaled, slow and measured. "You second-guessed me," I said, voice calm but edged with something sharper. "And it got you shot."

Gabriel's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "I wasn't the only one who second-guessed something."

I hummed, nodding slightly. "That so?"

His breathing was heavier than usual, but his tone was firm. "You pulled us back at the last second."

I tilted my head, watching him. "Yeah. I did."

His eyes darkened, waiting for more.

I took a slow step forward, arms still crossed. "Because my gut told me to." My voice was even, controlled. "And if you'd listened instead of charging forward, you wouldn't be in this bed right now."

His lips pressed into a tight line.

I scoffed. "But that's not what you really want to say, is it?"

The silence stretched, thick and unspoken.

I let out a low chuckle. "You think I pulled back because of Claire."

He didn't say anything, but the flicker in his expression was all the answer I needed.

I smirked, shaking my head. "You're fucking unbelievable."

Gabriel exhaled sharply. "I thought you were hesitating because of her."

I scoffed, stepping closer to the bed, letting my shadow stretch over him. "No, Gabriel. You were hesitating because of her." My voice was smooth, cold. "You're the one who keeps bringing her up. You're the one letting her live in your damn head."

His fists clenched slightly over the blanket. "I don't trust her."

I let out a slow, amused breath. "And yet, it wasn't Claire who got shot today. It wasn't Claire who disobeyed orders. It wasn't Claire who ignored her instincts." I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "It was you."

His jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

I moved even closer, lowering my voice. "I don't need Claire to tell me when something's wrong. My gut told me before she even opened her mouth. You didn't trust me. You pushed forward instead of listening, and now you're lying in this bed instead of walking out of that ambush."

Gabriel inhaled slowly, like he wanted to argue, but stopped himself.

I leaned in slightly, making sure he heard every word. "You're the one who second-guessed me. You're the one who thought I was hesitating because of her." My voice dropped lower, sharper. "So tell me, who's really the one hung up on Claire?"

A long silence.

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching at his side, but he didn't answer.

I straightened, letting the moment stretch before I stepped back. "Rest up," I said, my voice smooth again, dismissive. "Next time you disobey me, I won't be the one pulling you out."

I turned on my heel, walking toward the door without another word.

I didn't need to look back to know he was still watching me.

----

The warehouse was silent.

I stood at the center, my crew gathered before me, their faces unreadable, their postures tense. The scent of gunpowder and metal still lingered in the air, the weight of the last mission pressing against all of us. Gabriel wasn't here—he was still in bed, nursing a wound he could have avoided if he'd just listened to me.

I let the silence stretch, let them feel the weight of my presence, the unspoken tension settling in their bones.

Then, finally, I spoke.

"What happened to Gabriel should be a lesson to all of you." My voice was smooth, sharp. Controlled. "He second-guessed me. He hesitated when I didn't. And because of that, he got shot."

Some of them shifted slightly, eyes flickering between each other, but no one spoke.

I took a slow step forward, letting my gaze drag over each of them. "I don't tolerate weakness. I don't tolerate hesitation. I don't tolerate disobedience." My voice was steady, cold. "Hector defied me. Gabriel questioned me. You all saw what happened to them."

Another pause. I could hear the slight shuffle of boots against the floor, the way some of them inhaled a little too sharply.

I tilted my head, smirking slightly. "Gabriel is still breathing because I allow it. But next time, I won't be so generous."

That got a reaction. A flicker of unease, of understanding.

I let it sit, then continued. "We are not a weak crew. If I give an order, it is law. If I say we go left, we don't fucking go right." I stepped forward again, voice dropping slightly. "If any of you—any of you—think for a second that you can challenge me and walk away untouched, then you are fucking mistaken."

Silence.

A long, heavy pause.

Then Antonio spoke. "We know that, Jefa." His tone was careful, measured, but there was something else beneath it.

I turned my gaze on him. "Do you?" Antonio didn't look away.

I held his stare for a moment longer before shifting my gaze back to the rest of them. "If you are not strong enough to follow me, leave now. Otherwise, don't ever make me remind you of your place."

The tension was suffocating.

I watched, waiting, daring someone to step forward, to challenge me, to push against what I had just laid down.

No one moved. No one spoke.

I exhaled slowly, satisfied. "We're done here."

The crew started to disperse, murmurs quiet as they filtered out. But one person stayed.

Claire.

She hadn't said a word, hadn't moved from her spot against the far wall. But she had watched everything. And I could feel her eyes on me now.

I turned, meeting her gaze. She wasn't scared. She wasn't angry.

She just... looked at me. Like she saw something beneath all of it.

I hated it.

Claire's POV

The warehouse was empty now, but the weight of Vera's voice still lingered. The crew had taken her words seriously—no hesitation, no disobedience, no questioning her authority. They listened, and they left.

But I didn't.

I stayed.

I watched her.

Vera stood motionless, back straight, shoulders squared, like she wasn't just carrying the weight of an entire empire on her back. Like she wasn't bleeding underneath that forced composure.

I had seen her ruthless before. Had seen her sharp edges, her control, her mercilessness.

But today was different.

Because today, I saw past it.

Beneath the cold mask, beneath the unwavering confidence, beneath the threats—I saw something deeper. Something she didn't want anyone to see.

I took a slow step forward, hands in my pockets. "That was quite a show," I said, keeping my voice light. "What's next? You gonna make them kneel and kiss your ring?"

Vera exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Not in the mood, pastelito."

"Since when are you ever in the mood?" I teased, stopping beside her. My eyes flicked down to her arm. She had moved stiffly during her little speech, but no one else would have noticed. I did.

"How's your arm?" I asked, nudging my chin toward it.

Vera barely looked at me. "Fine."

I scoffed. "Fine?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh." I crossed my arms. "And does 'fine' mean it's throbbing, bleeding, or you're too stubborn to admit it hurts?"

Vera shot me a look. "Do you have a point, Claire?"

I grinned. "I think you like when I worry about you."

Vera rolled her eyes, turning away. "I don't have time for this."

"Sure you do," I shot back, falling into step beside her. "You just don't want to admit that I'm right."

She exhaled, shaking her head like she was seconds from throwing me out a window. But she didn't leave.

I watched her for a second longer before shifting my tone. "I mean it, though," I said, voice quieter. "You shouldn't have been the one pulling Gabriel out of there. You took a bullet for him."

Vera's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything.

I sighed. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

She gave me a dry look. "I'm not trying to prove anything to you, pastelito."

I smirked. "Sure you aren't."

Before she could fire back, footsteps echoed from the entrance. Antonio stepped in, his usual smirk absent, his expression tight.

"Jefa," he said, looking straight at Vera.

She frowned. "What?"

"You need to see the news." The air shifted.

Vera's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

Antonio hesitated for half a second before exhaling.

"Dominic escaped."

Vera's POV

The moment the words left Antonio's mouth, the air in the warehouse turned suffocating.

I felt it like a sharp crack against my ribs.

Dominic escaped.

No. No, that wasn't possible. That wasn't supposed to happen. I had planned for every scenario, every fucking variable—except this.

A slow, cold rage burned through me, tightening in my chest, coiling around my spine like a vice. My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms, and then—

I moved.

The sound of glass shattering split through the silence as I grabbed the nearest bottle and threw it against the wall. The crash was deafening, sharp pieces scattering across the floor like fragments of my control.

Antonio didn't flinch. He had seen me like this before.

Claire did. She took a small step back, her brows furrowing, but she didn't speak. Not yet.

I barely registered the movement before my arm swung again. Another crash. Another object hurled across the room, colliding with the desk, knocking over papers and supplies.

My breathing was sharp, ragged, out of control.

Dominic. That bastard. That ghost I thought I had buried. He wasn't supposed to come back.

He was supposed to rot. He was supposed to be in prison.

I turned, slamming my hands against the desk, feeling the sharp sting ripple up my arms. My chest rose and fell in shallow, furious breaths. I was unraveling, and I hated it.

Antonio shifted slightly. "Jefa—"

"Get out," I snarled.

He hesitated. "Vera—"

"I said GET OUT." He didn't argue. He knew better. He turned, stepping out without another word, the door creaking behind him.

But Claire didn't leave.

I could feel her watching me, her presence like a weight pressing against my back. My fists were still clenched, the room a mess of broken glass and overturned furniture, but she didn't move.

She should have left. She should have walked away. But she didn't.

I forced my breathing to slow, dragging a hand through my hair. My fingers trembled slightly. I clenched them again, forcing them still.

Then, without another word, I turned and walked out, heading straight to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

I needed space. I needed to breathe. I needed to figure out how the hell I was going to kill Dominic before he got to me first.

Claire's POV

I hesitated for all of two seconds before following her.

Vera's door slammed shut ahead of me, rattling on its hinges, but I didn't stop. I wasn't thinking. Or maybe I was thinking too much. All I knew was that I couldn't let her sit in that rage alone, let her self-destruct with no one to stop it.

I pushed the door open without knocking.

Vera stood with her back to me, her hands braced on the dresser, shoulders rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, stretching out the space between us.

She didn't turn.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice low, dangerous.

I swallowed. "Yeah, well. I'm not exactly known for doing what I should."

Her head lifted slightly, but she still didn't look at me. "Claire," she warned.

"I know you're pissed," I said, stepping in cautiously. "I know you want to break things, hurt things, throw everything in this room against the wall. But none of that is going to change what happened."

Vera exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers twitching against the wood. "I don't need a fucking lecture."

"I'm not giving you one," I said softly. "I just—"

She turned so fast I barely saw it coming.

Her hand wrapped around my throat, and before I could react, she slammed me back against the wall. The breath rushed out of me, my spine hitting solid concrete, and for the first time in a long time—I felt real fear.

Her grip was tight, firm—not choking me, not cutting off air, but holding me there. Containing me.

I stared into her eyes. They weren't cold. They weren't blank.

They were wild.

Unhinged.

And yet, beneath all that fury, I saw something else. Desperation. I forced myself to breathe.

"I'm not leaving," I whispered.

Vera's fingers twitched against my throat, just the slightest movement, like she was considering whether to tighten her grip or let go.

She didn't. Her jaw clenched, her breathing ragged, her pupils blown wide, but I didn't move. I didn't fight. I didn't flinch.

Instead, slowly, carefully, I lifted my hand. And I touched her arm. Not to pry her off. Not to shove her away.

Just a gentle stroke of my fingers, a soft, deliberate motion against her skin. A silent plea.

Her eyes flickered—just for a second.

I kept my touch feather-light, my voice steady. "Vera." She swallowed, her throat working, her hold faltering just barely. I didn't give her a chance to push me away again.

With one careful movement, I reached forward, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her toward me. She resisted for half a second, her body tensing, but I didn't let go.

I didn't let her go. And then—I wrapped my arms around her.

For a moment, she didn't react.

She froze. Her breath hitched, her fingers still twitching like she couldn't decide whether to shove me off or let it happen.

I felt her rigid against me, her muscles locked, unyielding. Like she didn't know how to accept it.

But I held on.

I buried my face into her shoulder, feeling the way her body remained coiled tight, every inch of her resisting the contact, resisting the comfort.

Then, after what felt like forever—she exhaled.

A slow, uneven breath. Her grip loosened on my throat. Her fingers uncurled. She didn't hug me back. But she didn't push me away.

And for now—that was enough.

Vera's POV

I should have pushed her away. I should have shoved her out of the room, slammed the door shut, and let myself drown in my own rage.

But I didn't.

Claire was still holding onto me, her arms wrapped around my back, her head pressed against my shoulder. She wasn't moving. She wasn't forcing me to hug her back, wasn't saying anything, wasn't trying to fix anything.

She was just there. And I didn't know what the fuck to do with that.

My hands hovered at my sides, fingers twitching, my whole body still locked like a weapon ready to fire. This was foreign. This wasn't how it worked.

People didn't hold me. People didn't touch me unless I let them.

And yet, she did. And I let her.

A sharp breath slipped out before I could stop it. My chest was still too tight, my mind racing, screaming at me to end this.

But my body? My body wasn't listening.

I should have shoved her off, but instead, I stood there, still as stone.

Her fingers curled slightly against my back, her breath warm against my skin, steadying. Not for herself. For me.

I clenched my jaw, my mind still spinning, the chaos inside me fighting against the quiet she was forcing into the space.

This was dangerous.

This was unfamiliar.

I hated that she wasn't scared of me. I hated that she stayed.

I hated that I didn't want to move.

I didn't hug her back. But I didn't break away, either. Instead, I let my eyes close just for a second.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to just breathe.