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As the song ended, reality smacked me in the face, and gently, I pushed her off my lap, my better judgment returning. I croaked out my thanks as she practically purred in disappointment. With a sultry saunter, she walked away, hips swaying back to the stage, leaving me to breathe and regroup.

I couldn’t deny the rush of pure, carnal lust that had surged through me during our little impromptu lap dance, but I had Eva on my mind – constantly.

Eva’s face was seared into my brain, those smoldering eyes and full lips promising untold pleasures. But what about the mystery surrounding her, the secrets I knew she was keeping?

That little slip-up the other night, her casual reference to my business with Javier Cruz, caught my attention, and I was already planning to do something about it.

The shrill ringing of my phone cut through the thumping bass, shattering my reverie. I snatched it up, not even glancing at the caller ID before barking a curt, “Yeah?”

“Hey, Boss.” Marco’s gruff voice crackled through the line. “We’re still good for our little surveillance op tomorrow?”

A slow grin spread across my face. The prospect of finally getting answers about the woman consuming my thoughts lit a fire inside me.

“Absolutely,” I said, leaning back in my chair as I motioned for the dancers to take five. “Pick me up in the morning.”

I ended the call and leaned back in my chair. Part of me felt like a sleazebag, putting my girlfriend under such intense scrutiny. But a bigger part of me, the part that had been raised in the cartel world, knew this was necessary.

Trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford, not when there were so many unanswered questions surrounding Eva. And if she was somehow involved with Javier Cruz in a scheme against me, against my family... well, let’s just say that would be a shame.

A sharp whistle from the stage jolted me from my thoughts. The dancers had reassembled, their bodies poised and ready to continue the rehearsal.

“Alright, ladies,” I called out, pushing aside my concerns. “Let’s take it from the top. And this time, I want to see some heat.”

The tinted windows of the Escalade provided a one-way mirror into the glitzy, upscale side of Miami's streets. My eyes narrowed as I watched Eva slip out of a fancy apartment complex, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. It was not what I’d expected after always seeing her in heels and dresses, but maybe it was her work clothes.

I ducked in the seat, signaling Marco to start the engine as she emerged.

“What do you make of it?” Marco asked, his gruff voice slicing through the tense silence.

I shook my head slowly, my jaw clenched. “I don’t know, man. But something about Eva just ain’t sitting right with me.”

We followed discreetly as Eva’s sleek Porsche merged onto the highway towards the city’s heart.

“What’s the plan here, Dante?” Marco’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “We can’t just tail her forever. Eventually, she’s gonna catch on.”

I exhaled slowly, raking a hand through my hair. He was right, of course. But confronting Eva head-on, demanding answers, and showing my hand too early was not an option. There had to be a more discreet way to find some answers.

“Let’s go back and check out that apartment she left. I have a hunch about that place.”

Marco nodded and turned the car around.

We stopped out front and waited a few minutes, watching her apartment windows for any movement. When we were sure nobody was inside, we made our move.

The lock on the apartment door was no match for Marco’s skilled hands. He grinned at me as he showed me a tiny piece of clear tape between the door and the frame, creating a makeshift seal. Yep, something was up with Eva, alright.

Marco opened the door, and we were inside, stepping into the opulent living room.

As we moved through the rooms, it all felt a little staged—hardly any pictures or personal touches.

But it was the closet that caught my attention. It was filled with boxes stacked haphazardly on top of each other. I pulled them aside.

Hidden in the back was a large black duffel bag.

With trembling hands, I unzipped the bag. I gasped, my breath hitching in my chest as I saw what was inside. Police riot gear, heavy and black, with the word “DEA” emblazoned across the back.

Suddenly, the memories came flooding back. The raid on the warehouse, the chaos and gunfire, and the woman I had encountered, the one I had let live—the woman in the gear.

Eva.