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Anton moves to the comms hub, already pulling up decryption software. “We’ll scrub the call for audio layering,” he says. “Voice stress analysis. Static. Background noise. Anything out of place.”
Viktor lowers the phone. “Get it done.”
I take a breath that feels like swallowing glass.
Cristóbal has her. And he’s spinning a story to turn her father into a mouthpiece, making Mara lie to protect herself and the boy.
I step back to the table, stare at the screen again—at Mara’s blurred image frozen mid-stride, at the boy whose face is too damn familiar.
No. This isn’t about rescuing her anymore. This is about ending the man who took her.
And if Cristóbal thinks he didn’t just start a war by stealing what is mine? Then he hasn’t met me yet.
40
Chapter 31
Mara
I dab the corner of my eye with a tissue, careful not to smudge the shadow I’ve spent the last ten minutes perfecting. My bruises are fading—Cristóbal made sure of that. Not because he regrets hitting me, but because he wants to parade me without raising questions. He prefers his cruelty to be hidden.
I gaze at myself, at the smooth facade I’ve created from powder and polish. The woman in the reflection resembles a cartel princess: elegant, composed, untouchable. But I know better. The girl beneath the sheen is crumbling.
Today, I’ll see my parents. Today, I look at some of my parents men and try to read how far Cristóbal’s rot has spread into hiskingdom. My mother’s words come back to me like static in my brain: “Disloyalty reeks in the cartel now, even in our own house.”
She’d spoken with a pained tone, expressing disbelief at how swiftly the very cartel members they had once defended betrayed them at the first sign of vulnerability. Mom told me this when I was in Spain, and now, after witnessing the extent of power Cristóbal has amassed, I begin to wonder how much deeper the decay has gone now.
I’m not sure if I can trust anyone within the organization anymore.
Tears sting behind my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying is a luxury. So is honesty. I’ve learned to trade both for survival.
And Maksim—
My stomach twists.
I press a hand flat against the vanity to keep myself grounded. This isn’t just about me. I’m going to get him out. Whatever it takes. I’ll smile and kiss arses and pretend to be a devoted wife if it buys me the time to save my son.
I reapply my blood-red lipstick because it's bold enough to hide how pale I feel.
Then the door opens without a knock, and the sense of control I’d been clinging to disappears like smoke.
Cristóbal walks in like he owns the walls around me—and maybe he does. He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches me through the mirror like I’m his favorite painting.
“You look perfect,” he says finally.
My shoulders stiffen, but I don’t turn. “I’m ready.”
“You’re beautiful when you behave,” he adds, stepping closer. His tone is smooth, but I feel the edge beneath it. Like always.
I manage a polished and empty smile.
“I’ll go get Maksim ready,” I say evenly.
That’s when he laughs. A soft, mocking sound that lands like a slap.
“Do you take me for a fool, Mara?”
The smile fades from my lips.