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“Work?” I ask sharply, unable to even out my tone. “How old do they have to be?”

“Eight is old enough for some jobs.” His nonchalance stings like a slap.

“Eight…” I murmur, horrified. “That’s just a baby.”

“Life’s not a charity,hermana.” Juan’s voice is pure steel. “They’ve got debts too.”

“Where do these kids work?” I ask, my heart pounding a furious rhythm against my ribs.

“Textile factories,” he says, his gaze skimming the lot as he avoids my stare.

“Here? In New Orleans?”

“Sure. We have them in another warehouse here in town.”

“Could you… show me around the factory?” The question tumbles out before I can reconsider it. He may read it as either dangerous curiosity or as a desperate bid for intel. Either way, he won’t be pleased.

A grin breaks across Juan’s stern features, surprising me. “I’m glad you’re taking an interest, Bella. It’s good to see you want to learn about all aspects of the business.”

The praise curdles my stomach.

“Of course,” I lie through clenched teeth. “It’s important to understand the whole operation.”

“Right.” His eyes glint with something akin to pride. “We’ll set up a time to visit the factory soon.”

“Great.” I force a smile, hating myself for playing his game. But I need to keep up the façade to make him believe I am still his loyal sister, content under his rule. Inside, though, rebellion simmers and I make a silent promise to those innocent children that I will find a way to help them. Somehow.

A subtle vibration against my thigh pulls me back from the precipice of my dark thoughts. I slip my hand into my pocket to hold it still, grateful for my earlier decision to silence the ringer. Juan doesn’t seem to notice my subterfuge.

“I should get back inside,” I say, keeping my voice even, betraying none of the turmoil that churns within me. Somehow, I just know the text came from Ice. I don’t even have to look at my phone because I can feel it in my bones. I can’t get rid of Juan fast enough.

“Good chat,hermanita.” Juan claps my shoulder hard enough to leave a red mark. “Keep up the good work. We’ll talk about that factory visit soon. I’ve got places to be.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, watching as he gets in his SUV and is driven away.

Alone now, I pull out my phone, the screen illuminating a new message. It’s from Ice. My heart jolts, not just from surprise but also from something else, something dangerous and exhilarating.

“What time do you get off work?” Ice’s words flash across the screen.

“In four hours,” I type back, quick and concise.

As I wait for a reply, the seconds tick by. I can’t stay out here long without arousing Pedro’s suspicion. If he doesn’t text back soon, I’m going to have to wait until I’m off work to respond.

“Meet me at Velvet,” comes his next command, stark and simple.

“See you soon,” I type.

My thumb hovers over the send button for a split second before I press it. I’m already in too deep with Ice and there’s no going back now. Also, I want to see him again. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the last time, and I already want him.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, grateful to have a secret lifeline to another world. Ice’s club is just as deadly as Juan’s cartel, but somehow Ice’s realm feels more like freedom. Ice is waiting, and despite every rational thought screamingcaution, I can’t deny the anticipation curling within me—dangerous and potent, like the cocaine lining the warehouse shelves.

Back inside, I pace the warehouse floor. The soles of my boots scuff against the concrete as I weave through the rows of workers. My thoughts are a tangled mess, each one a thread pulling me toward Ice. I remember his touch, the way my name sounded like a prayer on his lips in the hushed secrecy of Velvet’s VIP room. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, like a whisper of silk over bare skin.

Shaking my head, I try to banish the images that flood my mind unbidden. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not here. Not now. Not when every corner of this place echoes with my brother’s voice and with the weight of the Vasquez legacy. But it’s no use. Ice has seeped into my veins, intoxicating and inescapable.

“Get a grip, Isabella,” I mutter under my breath as I grab a clipboard off the table. “You can’t afford to be distracted.”

Still, the thought of seeing him again sends my heart hammering against my ribs, betraying my resolve.