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“It’s not for sale,” she says, her voice catching slightly. “It’s the only thing I have left of myabuela. It’s… priceless.”

Sid’s expression softens. “I understand completely, my dear. Perhaps I could clean it for you instead? Preserve it for years to come?”

Isabella hesitates, her hand tightening around the watch. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the desire to protect this last link to her past warring with the need to care for it properly.

“Sid’s the best,” I reassure. “He’ll treat it like it’s made of glass.”

“It is partially glass,” Sid offers, smiling at Isabella.

After a moment, she nods, carefully handing it to Sid. “Just be careful, please.”

“Of course.”

As Sid disappears into the back of the shop, I guide Isabella through the maze of antiquities, hoping to distract her from her worry. We pause in front of a display of old weapons. I can’t help but grin at them.

“Now these,” I say, gesturing to a set of ornate dueling pistols, “make our Glocks look downright boring.”

Isabella laughs softly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I bet they’re not nearly as accurate, though.”

“True,” I concede, my mind drifting to the weight of my own gun, hidden in my cut. “But sometimes it’s about the statement you’re making, not just the damage you can do.”

We continue our exploration, pausing to admire delicate porcelain figurines and weathered leather-bound books. I watch Isabella carefully, seeing how she gravitates towards items that speak of home and family. She stops to inspect a hand-embroidered tablecloth before moving on to a set of intricately painted Mexican tiles.

“You miss it, don’t you?” I ask quietly. “Your life before you left Mexico.”

She turns to me, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Parts of it,” she admits. “The simple things. Sunday dinners with myabuela, the smell of her cooking…” She trails off, lost in memory.

I want to pull her close, to promise her that everything will be okay. But in our world, promises like that are as fragile as the antiques surrounding us. Instead, I simply nod, letting her know I understand.

“Ice and Isabella, if you could join me at the counter, please,” Sid calls, excitement in his voice.

My instincts prickle as we approach. Sid’s face is a mask of professional calm, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that sets me on edge. He places the tray on the glass countertop with a soft clink. Isabella’s watch gleams under the overhead lights, looking innocuous enough. But next to it sits a small black piece of metal, no bigger than a fingernail. My stomach drops.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Sid meets my gaze, his voice low. “It’s a tracking device. State of the art, from what I can tell.”

I’m immediately on high alert, scanning the windows for any sign of movement outside. My hand instinctively moves towards my weapon.

“Isabella,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “did Juan ever have access to this watch?”

She pales, her hand flying to her mouth. “He took it to be cleaned a few years ago.” Her eyes widen with the realization. “Oh God, Ice. I had no idea.”

“That explains it,” Sid says in an offhand manner.

“What?” I ask.

“Earlier today, a guy came in asking about antique watches. Seemed… off.”

“We need to see your surveillance footage. Now.”

“Follow me,” he says grimly, leading us to a back room.

In the cramped space, Sid pulls up the security feed on an ancient computer. The grainy image flickers to life, showing a man I don’t recognize prowling through the shop.

Isabella’s sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know. “That’s Miguel,” she whispers. “One of Juan’s top men.”

My jaw clenches. This is bad. Really bad.