Page 5

“You know what happens to those who let us down,” he murmurs, the threat clear in his tone.

I swallow hard, knowing full well the fate of those who cross Juan Vasquez. My gaze drifts to the dying light, to the creeping darkness that seems to mirror my predicament.

“Fine,” I relent.

He sniffs and brushes a thumb across his upper lip.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, already dreading the answer, already feeling the shackles of this family legacy tighten around my wrists.

Juan leans against the doorframe, his silhouette casting a shadow that seems to stretch and claw at my very soul. He’s slow to respond, but when he does, he’s using that voice of his that commands obedience.

“I see fear in your eyes,” he begins, his voice rumbling low in his chest, “but there is nothing to worry about. I would never put you in harm’s way. Family doesn’t do that to one another.”

I scoff inwardly. Living a dangerous existence seems to be a birthright in the Vasquez family. But outwardly, I remain still, my expression carefully neutral as I wait for him to continue.

“Here’s what I need. You’ll oversee the workers in the warehouse. Just keep an eye on things, make sure none of them get sticky fingers with the product.”

I blink at him. He can’t be serious. “Juan, I don’t even know what that entails. How am I supposed to supervise something I know nothing about?”

He smirks, that all-too-familiar arrogance lacing his features. “Relax. You won’t be going in blind. Pedro Hernandez will show you the ropes.”

I frown.

“Maria’s husband,” he adds, as if I don’t know who my best friend’s husband is. “He’s my logistics guy, and he’s as sharp as they come.”

“Pedro?” I repeat, trying to process what he’s asking me to do. At least he doesn’t expect me to run the warehouse. Pedro already does that. From what I’ve seen when Maria and I go to bring him lunch, Pedro’s meticulous, reserved, and he always has a clipboard in hand. If anyone knows the ins and outs of the cartel’s operation, it’s him.

“Exactly.” Juan nods, pleased with himself. “He’ll walk you through the process, teach you how to spot any discrepancies. You’re intelligent. You’ll pick it up in no time.”

I let out a slow breath, trying to tamp down the rising panic. My brother’s world—one I’ve tried so hard to avoid—is closing in, and this time, it seems there’s no escaping its grasp. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, not from the Louisiana heat but from the pressure building in my head.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” I say, my voice measured but firm. “Overseeing a drug cutting warehouse isn’t something I can—”

“Comfortable?” He cuts me off, and his tone is like a whip crack, sharp and unforgiving. His eyes narrow into dark slits, and the air between us feels charged, heavy with unspokenthreats. “You think this is about comfort? This is about responsibility, Isabella. Our family’s business. It’s far past time you join it. You live off the money. Now it’s time to work for it. I won’t allow you to continue your lazy existence.”

His accusation stings, a slap to my face without the physical contact.Lazy.The word hangs in the air, an unjust label that doesn’t fit me, but it’s the currency he trades in—guilt and obligation.

“That’s not fair. I’ve always helped with the legitimate fronts, the restaurants, the real estate—” I try to defend myself, but my words falter against his imposing figure.

“Legitimate fronts,” he scoffs, pacing like a predator circling its prey. “It’s time you step fully into the Vasquez legacy. You’re not a child anymore, Bella.”

I want to scream, to unleash the fury clawing at my insides, but I swallow it down, letting it churn in my stomach. He’s right—I’m not a child. But that means I should have a choice, shouldn’t it? Usually it would, but not in this case. If I dared to disobey him, I have a feeling he’d be just as ruthless with me as he is with everyone he’s not related to.

“Fine,” I concede, the word sour on my tongue. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” There’s a hint of triumph in his voice as he strides towards his car. “I’m heading to the warehouse now. You’re coming with me.”

The thought of entering that den of vipers, where the underbelly of our family’s empire thrives, sets my nerves on edge. Yet, what choice do I have?

After taking a moment to put my mole in the fridge and grabbing my purse, I head back outside, not bothering to lock the door. There’s no need since I’m surrounded by my family’s compound, a walled-in plantation that spans many acres.

I approach the sleek black SUV waiting outside. It’s a symbol of power, of freedom—a freedom I feel slipping through my fingers.

“Get in,” Juan orders, pushing the rear door open for me.

I obey, sliding into the back seat next to him. His driver doesn’t spare me so much as a glance as we speed down the plantation’s winding road. When we reach the armed guardhouse, a guard salutes my brother before pushing a button to open the electronic gate.

We continue in silence until the warehouse comes into view. I’ve been here before, but not to work. It’s a sprawling fortress of cold metal and concrete. It’s also heavily fortified with armed guards. We stop at the gate long enough for the guard to spot my brother, then we’re waved through. Parking outside one of the doors, the driver turns off the car and waits.