Vera's POV

The scent of blood clung to the air, thick and metallic, mixing with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that lingered from earlier. The room still felt tight with the weight of Valeria's presence, her voice still echoing somewhere in the back of my mind.

I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out with my breath, but it settled right back in my ribs.

"You okay?"

Gabriel's voice cut through the quiet, steady, but laced with something edged. I didn't look at him.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I flicked the blade in my hand open, ran my thumb over the edge, then snapped it shut again. The motion was automatic, something to keep my hands busy. Something to keep the thoughts at bay.

Gabriel didn't buy it. "Because that was Valeria," he said plainly. "And you can act like it doesn't matter, but we both know it does."

I scoffed, pushing off the desk and pacing a few steps. "She'll never see me as family, so it doesn't matter."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, then let out a short breath. "Family's more than blood, Vera. You've got people who'd take a bullet for you. The crew—you built this. We've got your back."

I stopped walking. My fingers stilled over the knife, pressing against the cool metal. People who'd take a bullet for me.

My gaze flicked toward Carlos, still sprawled on the floor, blood pooling sluggishly beneath him. He groaned, barely conscious, the gash across his face still fresh from Valeria's handiwork.

Carlos was one of my own. A soldier. Loyal. But if I went down tomorrow—would he throw himself in front of a gun for me?

Would any of them?

A slow exhale. The thought was useless, pointless. And I didn't need the answer. I tilted my chin toward Carlos, my voice smooth, detached. "Get him out of here."

Gabriel gave a small nod, motioning for two of the men to haul Carlos up. The moment they were gone, silence settled back in like a weight pressing against my ribs.

But my mind was already elsewhere.

Valeria.

The way she had walked in here like a storm, all fury and sharpened edges, not for herself—but for Claire.

Claire.

I exhaled through my nose, slow and measured, but my fingers curled into a fist before I flexed them out again. How bad was she hurt for Valeria to come here like that?

I shouldn't care. I didn't care. But the question sat there, heavy and unshakable.

Claire's POV

The slam of the door jolted me awake.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my body lurching forward before pain snapped me right back against the cushions. My shoulder burned, my ribs ached, and my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

But none of that mattered.

Because Valeria was standing in the doorway, chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes dark with something dangerous.

I blinked, still sluggish from the fever and pain, but even in my haze, I could tell—something had happened.

Her knuckles were red. Not just red—split.

Blood speckled the edges of her sleeves, staining the material in small, dark smears. Not hers.

I felt my stomach turn, my voice raw as I rasped, "Jesus, Val, what the hell—"

She cut me off, her voice flat, sharp. "How are you feeling?"

I blinked. "Uh, like I got shot?"

She exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through her hair, fingers clenching tight at the roots. She looked wired, on edge, like she was still running off adrenaline.

I shifted, trying to sit up more, but the movement made my body scream. "Did you—" My throat felt dry. "Did you go after someone?"

Her eyes flicked to me, something unreadable behind them. Then, in that low, controlled voice of hers, she said, "I handled it."

That didn't make me feel better.

I swallowed, trying to shake the fog from my brain. "Val... handled what?"

She didn't answer right away.

Instead, she did what she always did—pushed forward, brushed past it. She crouched down next to me, her sharp gaze scanning my bandages, fingers ghosting over the edge of the gauze. "You need to take it easy. No more moving around."

I stared at her. She wasn't answering me. She was avoiding it.

And Valeria didn't avoid things unless she didn't want me to know the answer.

I inhaled slowly. "Val." My voice was softer this time, but no less firm. "What did you do?"

Her jaw clenched. A long beat passed. Then—

"I went to see Vera."

The words hit like a fist to the ribs.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my stomach knotting instantly.

"What?"

She stood, shaking her head, pacing two steps before exhaling sharply. "She had one of her men watching the house." Her voice was edged with something dangerous. "I made sure she got the message to stay the fuck away."

The pieces clicked into place. The blood on her hands.

The tension in her shoulders.

The way she was avoiding looking directly at me.

I let out a slow breath, my pulse picking up. "And by message, I'm guessing you didn't send a polite text?"

Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unamused. "He'll live."

A slow, disbelieving chuckle scraped up my throat, rough from exhaustion and pain. "I don't want her to stay away, Val."

She ran a hand over her face, exhaling hard. "This isn't funny, Claire."

I sobered, my fingers curling against the blanket. "I know."

Her eyes searched mine, something raw flickering behind them. "Then stop acting like this is a game."

I swallowed. "It's not."

"Then why—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, jaw tight. "Why are you making this harder?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're acting like I had a choice."

Her gaze darkened. "You always have a choice."

I clenched my teeth, anger flaring up through the exhaustion. "Yeah? Mind saying that to my heart?"

Her whole body went still. Silence stretched.

And for the first time since she walked in, I saw it—hesitation.

I took a slow, shaky breath, my voice quiet but steady. "You can be pissed at me all you want, but you don't get to act like you don't understand."

Her jaw tightened. She turned away, ran a hand over her face.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Just... rest, Claire."

I didn't fight it. Because we both knew this conversation wasn't over.

----

The sun was barely up when I stepped back into the studio, the weight of a normal day settling around my shoulders like an old jacket. My arm was still sore, the wound still healing, but I moved like I wasn't fresh off a bullet. Like I hadn't spent the last week stuck in bed, dealing with Valeria hovering over me and Emilia pretending she wasn't worried sick.

The place smelled the same—coffee, fresh paint, the faint lingering scent of expensive perfume. I barely had a chance to take it all in before—

"Finally!"

I turned just in time to get hit by Dani's enthusiasm. She threw an arm around me, squeezing just tight enough to make my shoulder twinge. "Jesus, Dani," I wheezed, "trying to send me back to recovery?"

She pulled back, rolling her eyes. "Oh, shut up. Do you have any idea how boring it's been without you? I had to suffer through normal conversations. Do you know how painful that is for me?"

I smirked, rubbing my shoulder where she'd nearly crushed me. "Sounds awful."

She grinned, but then her gaze flicked to my arm. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." I waved her off, keeping it casual. "I took a nasty fall. Landed wrong, got banged up, but I'm good now."

She scoffed. "You're the most ungraceful person I know, so that tracks."

I nudged her playfully as we made our way further in. The moment we stepped into the main hall, the energy of the place wrapped around me—bustling assistants, the hum of soft chatter, the occasional bark of Emilia giving directions. And then—

"Claire!"

Lucia. Emilia's housekeeper. The moment she saw me, her face lit up. She moved in quickly, hands on my arms, scanning me like a worried mother. "The house was not the same without you," she said, her voice warm and full of genuine relief.

I grinned. "What, you're saying Valeria and Emilia aren't enough entertainment?"

She clicked her tongue. "Those two are exhausting." Then, softer, "It's good to see you up and moving, mija."

Something warm settled in my chest.

The day stretched on, normal in the way I hadn't realized I missed. There was laughter, the occasional complaint, Dani's teasing, Emilia's sharp but affectionate jabs. For the first time in a week, things felt right.

But then—

Later in the evening, when most of the crew had filtered out, I wandered into the kitchen for a drink. Lucia was there, drying her hands on a towel. When she saw me, she tilted her head toward the counter.

"Someone left this for you."

I frowned. "What—?"

Then I saw it.

A bouquet of flowers, dark red roses with edges just slightly curling, like they had been handled too much. Nestled between them was a single, folded note.

I reached for it, my pulse kicking up, fingers brushing against the soft petals before finding the paper. I unfolded it slowly, my breath catching as my eyes traced the words.

"A bullet and a scar—now you wear proof of survival. Don't waste it."

No name. No signature.

But I knew.

A slow, uncontrollable grin pulled at my lips.

Vera.

She was watching.

And somehow—God help me—that made me happy

Vera's POV

Gabriel strolled back into the hideout, tossing his keys onto the table with a careless clatter. His expression was unreadable, but the slight tick in his jaw gave him away. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on me with a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

"So, since when is my job delivering flowers?"

I smirked, amused at his irritation. "Since I told you to."

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Vera, I don't get it. Why are you doing this?"

I leaned back in my chair, the old leather creaking under my weight, and twirled my knife between my fingers. The blade caught the dim light, flickering like something alive. "Isn't it obvious?" I drawled, watching the way his frown deepened. "It pisses off Valeria."

Gabriel let out a dry chuckle, rubbing a hand down his face. "So this is about your sister?"

I tilted my head, my smirk sharpening. "It's about taking control of her perfect little world—the one she left us for." I flicked the knife down into the wooden desk with a dull thunk, my gaze leveling with his. "She threw away everything for her love story—for Emilia. And now? She wants to play the good big sister to her little stray? I'm just... reminding her that she can't keep her hands clean forever."

Gabriel exhaled, shaking his head. "You know this girl—Claire—she's got a crush on you, right?"

The words made me pause. Just for a flicker of a second. But Gabriel was watching for it. His smirk deepened.

Then I let out a laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, that's why this is going to be so easy." I leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "A girl like that? Caught up in something bigger than her, already playing hero? She won't even realize she's in check until the game's already over."

Gabriel's smirk faded. His voice dipped, quieter, but pointed. "No, Vera. It's not going to be easy. Because Claire isn't stupid." His gaze pinned me, sharp and knowing. "She'll see right through you."

Silence stretched between us. I didn't like it.

I didn't like that something about his words itched under my skin, raw and unfamiliar.

"That why you're so interested?" I asked, voice light, but my eyes searching. "Jealous?"

Gabriel snorted, stepping closer, his grin turning slow and wicked. "Should I be?"

The air shifted, something lazy and heated curling between us, but I didn't flinch. We'd played this game before. I exhaled, a slow smirk tugging at my lips.

"Remember," I murmured, my voice low and smooth, "blowing off steam doesn't equal love."

Gabriel tilted his head, considering me. Then his smirk returned, dark and knowing. "Who said anything about love?" His voice dipped, just enough to make the tension hum between us. "I just want to keep blowing off steam."

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head, but the moment stayed, thick in the air.

Claire's POV

The bouquet sat on my nightstand, petals fresh, scent sharp. I wasn't a flowers-in-the-bedroom kind of person, but I hadn't moved them.

Not because I cared. Definitely not because I kept looking at the damn thing.

But because I knew Valeria would see them.

And right on cue—

"You've got to be kidding me."

I didn't even flinch. Just took another sip of coffee and leaned against the doorway as Valeria stood frozen, staring at the flowers like they were some kind of ticking bomb.

"Morning to you too," I said, too casually.

Valeria's fingers twitched at her sides, the sharp exhale through her nose screaming patience—or the lack of it. "Tell me those aren't from who I think they're from."

I swirled my coffee. "You want me to lie?"

Her jaw tightened. "Claire."

Here we go.

I sighed, setting my mug down. "Not in the mood for a lecture, Val. So let's skip to the part where you tell me she's playing me and I say I already know."

Valeria's expression darkened. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does," I said, voice even. "But let's not pretend I don't know exactly what this is."

She took a slow step forward, eyes locked onto mine, like she was trying to pull something out of me. "Then say it."

I sighed. "She's using me to get under your skin."

"Good." Valeria folded her arms, gaze hard, sharp. "So why are you still letting her?"

A sharp laugh cracked from me before I could stop it. "Letting her? That's cute. You think I have control over this? You think I can just return the flowers with a polite 'No thanks, go terrorize someone else'?"

Valeria's silence was her answer.

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. "Look. I get it. You're worried about me. But I'm not stupid, Val. I know what she's doing."

"Then stop letting her win," Valeria snapped.

My lips twitched. "This isn't a game, remember?"

"To you, maybe." Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "But to her? You're nothing but a move on the board."

I didn't flinch. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her.

She stiffened immediately.

Valeria Castillo. The most dangerous woman I knew. The woman who had killed for the people she loved. Who had burned down her own past to build a future she believed in. And yet, a simple hug?

Completely threw her off.

Her muscles locked under my touch, and I felt the second she debated pushing me away. The moment she realized she couldn't.

"Thanks for worrying about me," I murmured. "But I'm fine, Val. Promise."

Her hands twitched at her sides before one of them ghosted over my back, stiff, hesitant.

It was enough.

I pulled back, smirking as I let my hands drop. "You know, for someone who claims I'm not her best friend, you sure act like one."

Valeria exhaled sharply, shaking her head like she couldn't believe me. "You're an idiot."

"And yet, somehow, I'm still your problem," I teased, stepping away, feeling lighter. "Try not to lose sleep over it, okay?"

Valeria muttered something under her breath, too low for me to hear, but I caught the sharp glare she shot at the flowers one last time before leaving the room.

The weight in my chest settled, but something lingered—something I didn't name.

I didn't need Valeria's permission.

But I had it anyway.

Vera's POV

The room stank of sweat and blood, thick enough to cling to my skin. The chair groaned under the weight of the man slumped in it, his breath shallow, wet from the blood pooling in his mouth. His eyes were barely open, unfocused but stubborn. Too stupid to know when to give in.

I rolled the knife between my fingers, its weight familiar, grounding. The sharp edge caught the dim light, a glint of silver slicing through the dark. It was a slow night. The kind that should've kept me focused on business.

But my mind kept circling back.

One damn day. No reaction.

The flowers should've done something. Pissed her off, made her laugh, rattled Valeria at the very least. But nothing. Claire hadn't done a damn thing. No message. No storming into my space, trying to throw her weight around. No playful, reckless attempt to test her boundaries with me.

It was wrong.

Gabriel stood by the doorway, arms crossed, watching. He hadn't said much yet. But I could feel his eyes on me, studying, waiting.

"You sure you wanna keep doing this?" he finally asked, nodding toward the guy in the chair. "He's running out of teeth to spit blood through."

I ignored him, stepping closer to the man in front of me. I grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up. His lips parted, breath ragged, but he still had the nerve to smirk.

"You're wasting your time," he rasped, voice thick with pain. "You think this scares me?"

I sighed, slow, deliberate. Boring.

"You know, I'm actually in a really bad mood," I said, voice smooth, casual. The knife flipped once between my fingers before I pressed the flat of it under his chin. "So why don't you save us both some time and tell me what I need to know."

The bastard grinned, teeth red with blood. "Even if I did, you'd kill me."

"True," I admitted, tapping the blade against his skin. "But I'd make it quick. And right now, quick isn't on the table."

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Still playing tough.

I should've cared more. Should've been focused on getting what I needed out of him. But instead—

Instead, I was thinking about her.

The woman who took a bullet for me. The same one who, apparently, had no problem acting like I didn't exist the next day.

Gabriel had said Claire was smart. That she'd see right through me.

I had played it off. Laughed, even. It'll make the game easier.

But now—

Now, I was starting to wonder if she really was going to be a problem.

The knife in my grip twitched, and before I could think twice, I flipped it, driving the hilt hard into the bastard's ribs. A sickening crack followed—a broken bone, maybe two.

Gabriel shifted, but he didn't stop me. Yet.

"Vera," he warned, more tired than concerned.

I exhaled, slow, trying to focus. "Talk," I told the man in the chair, pushing the blade just enough to press against his throat.

His eyes flickered, but he still held on. "Fuck you," he spat.

My patience snapped.

I didn't think. I moved.

A sharp twist. A brutal snap.

The body slumped forward, dead weight against the chair.

Silence.

Gabriel let out a sharp breath. "You just killed our only lead."

The tension in my body didn't ease. If anything, it coiled tighter, frustration burning hot beneath my skin.

I stepped back, shaking the blood off my hand. "He was wasting my time."

Gabriel scoffed. "Right. Because that's what this is about."

I turned, sharp. "And what exactly do you think this is about?"

His arms were still crossed, expression unreadable. "You're pissed Claire didn't react."

I stilled. The words hit sharper than they should've.

"You thought she'd come running," he continued, smirking now. "Thought you'd get some kind of response. But she didn't bite. And now, you're the one getting reckless."

I could feel the tension in my jaw, the way my grip tightened around the knife without meaning to. I forced a smirk, letting it slip slow and easy onto my face. "You think I care that much about Valeria's stray"

Gabriel's smirk didn't waver. "I think you hate losing control of a game before it even starts."

I turned away, pushing past him toward the door. "Believe whatever makes you feel smart, Gabriel."

"Sure," he said, following me out, too damn amused. "But tell me something—if she's not in your head, why are you the one storming out over her?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't like the answer.

Instead, I stepped outside, the night air hitting my skin—cold, sharp, cutting through the lingering heat of frustration.

Claire thought she could ignore me?

Fine.

But this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.