Page 17

Chapter 16

Seanna

I’m already in the outfit I picked up from the Organization, every line of the sleek black ensemble designed to scream power, control, and zero tolerance for bullshit. It hugs in all the right places and conceals everything else. Samantha—the cartel queen I’ve become for this operation—doesn’t walk into clubs. She owns them.

I sit in the passenger seat of Matteo’s sleek black car as we glide through the late-morning traffic, the sun glaring off the windshield in bold, blinding streaks. The Silver Orchid isn’t far now. The meeting with Sebastián Cruz is set for noon, and we’re right on schedule.

We haven’t spoken much since I got in. No need. The team’s already locked in. Focused. Our comms are live, transmitting every breath, every shift. Words become distractions when the mission is this tight.

Still, a few blocks out, Matteo finally breaks the silence.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes still on the road. “You seem… tense.”

I don’t look at him. Just keep my eyes on the approaching skyline. “I’m fine,” I reply flatly. “I’ll be a hell of a lot better once we get to Reyes.”

He nods once, no follow-up, no unnecessary sympathy. That’s why I like working with Matteo—he doesn’t push. He just shifts gears, fingers tightening subtly on the wheel as the car hums smoothly beneath us.

Three minutes later, we’re pulling up to the side entrance of the Silver Orchid—Cruz’s little playground disguised as a high-end club. Even in daylight, it looks expensive and dangerous. Tinted windows. Discreet security. Clean lines and sharper secrets.

Matteo steps out first, already slipping into his cover role. He circles around the front of the car and opens my door like it’s second nature. His whole posture shifts, becoming the perfect picture of a man who works for me . Loyal. Submissive. Armed to the damn teeth beneath that suit.

I step out of the car with deliberate grace, every movement calculated to exude bored indifference. My dress clings to every curve, the thigh-high slit offering tantalizing glimpses of skin with each step. Matteo falls into step just behind me, the picture of a deferential employee escorting his demanding, disinterested boss.

As we approach the entrance to the Silver Orchid, the bouncer's eyes widen fractionally, sweeping over me in an obvious onceover before snapping back to professional neutrality. I pretend not to notice, barely sparing him a glance as I breeze past and into the dim interior of the club.

The place is deserted except for a few of Cruz's inner circle lingering near the bar, sipping drinks and watching our entrance with thinly veiled curiosity. I lock eyes with a brutish-looking man built like a brick shithouse, his gaze lingering just a little too long in a way that suggests he's picturing me on my knees. I arch an eyebrow coolly, letting my disdain show.

"Miss Delgado," a smooth voice greets. I turn to find Cruz emerging from a hallway, dressed to the nines in an impeccably tailored suit. He obviously looked into me and found the fake identity set up for ‘Samantha’, like we knew he would. "I’ve been expecting you."

His eyes rake over me with naked appreciation, and I fight the urge to roll my own in response. Men—so predictably easy to manipulate when you give them a tempting target for their lust.

"Cruz," I reply flatly, making no effort to return his overly familiar greeting. "I trust discretion won't be an issue? I don't like surprises when it comes to business matters."

His grin widens a fraction, clearly enjoying my brusque manner. The arrogant bastard probably thinks my dismissive attitude is all part of some coy act. Little does he know I have zero interest in playing demure little games—I'm here for one thing and one thing only: information to take him and his entire operation down.

"Of course, of course," he assures me easily, gesturing toward a secluded booth tucked away in a shadowy corner. "We have complete privacy. Please, make yourself comfortable."

I saunter toward the booth, hips swaying with just a hint of exaggerated swagger. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man from before nudge one of his buddies, murmuring something that makes them both snicker crudely. Pathetic. Like they've never seen a woman who knows exactly how appealing she is before.

Matteo follows a few paces behind, slipping into the role of silent bodyguard with ease. I slide into the booth while he takes up a position a few steps away. I cross my legs intentionally to allow the slit in my dress to gape open even wider. Cruz's gaze darts downward, tracking the motion like a horny teenager, before he forces his eyes back to my face.

"Drink?" he offers with a wolfish grin, signaling to one of his men before I even have the chance to respond.

"Whiskey," I say coolly, tilting my chin up and letting a chill settle over my words. "Neat." It's what Samantha Delgado would drink. Strong and sharp—like poison dressed in silk.

Cruz seems delighted by this answer, barking out something in rapid Spanish that sends one of his lackeys scurrying behind the bar like an eager little rat fetching scraps for their master. Meanwhile, he leans back against the booth's plush leather with all the ease of a man who thinks he's untouchable.

The lackey returns quickly, placing a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid in front of me. The glass clinks softly against the table, the sound barely registering over the thrum of my pulse. Cruz watches me expectantly, that arrogant grin still plastered across his face as he gestures toward the drink.

I let my gaze linger on the glass for a long, deliberate moment, considering it carefully. The whiskey swirls invitingly, the dim light glinting off the surface. Part of me is tempted to simply pick it up and take a sip, let the smooth burn of the alcohol slide down my throat and settle in my belly. But I know better. This is Cruz's domain, his playground - I can't afford to let my guard down, not even for a second.

Instead, I lean back against the plush leather of the booth. I let my fingers trail along the rim of the glass, tracing the edge with a feather-light touch as I hold Cruz's gaze.

“Shall we get down to business?"

Cruz nods, the playful glint in his eyes hardening into something more calculating. "By all means. You mentioned you were looking to expand your supply chain?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he regards me intently. "What kind of quantities are we talking about?"

I hold his gaze. "Significant. My client base is growing, and they demand reliability as well as volume." I pause, letting my eyes drift over to where his men are still loitering near the bar, pretending not to watch our exchange. "I trust your operation can handle that kind of demand?"

Cruz chuckles, the sound low and confident. "My dear Samantha, you underestimate us. We have the resources and the connections to supply even the most...discerning of clientele." He leans back, spreading his arms in a gesture of casual authority. "But I must admit, I'm curious. What made you seek us out, specifically?"

I allow a faint smile to curve my lips. "Word on the street is that your product is the best in the business. And I've grown tired of dealing with...unreliable sources." My gaze narrows slightly. "I need someone I can trust to deliver, no matter what."

Cruz's eyes gleam with something that looks dangerously close to triumph. "Well then, I believe we have the beginnings of a mutually beneficial arrangement," Cruz says, his lips curling into a predatory smile. He signals to one of his men, who hurries over with a leather pouch. "Here is a sample of our finest product. I think you'll find it exceeds even the lofty standards you've heard about."

Matteo steps forward and takes it, slipping it into his pocket without a word. I don't bother with it, simply observing the exchange. "I have no doubt your product is top-notch, Mr. Cruz. But as I said, I need reliable quantity and consistent delivery. Anything less and this partnership won't work for me."

Cruz nods, his expression turning thoughtful. "Of course, of course. Rest assured, my organization has the resources and the connections to meet your needs. All I ask is that you come back tomorrow with a firm order and the capital to back it up. Then we can discuss the details of an ongoing arrangement."

I arch an eyebrow. "I don't like to be kept waiting, Mr. Cruz. My client base is...impatient. I was hoping we could finalize the terms today."

He chuckles, clearly amused by my impatience. "Ah, my dear Samantha, good things come to those who wait. I must insist on taking the proper precautions. Tomorrow, with the funds in hand, we can hash out the specifics to both our satisfaction."

I press my lips into a thin line, feigning reluctant acceptance. "Very well. I'll return tomorrow, as you request." I pause, allowing a hint of warning to creep into my tone. "But I won't be kept waiting much longer."

Cruz's grin widens, clearly taking my veiled threat as playful banter. "I look forward to our continued negotiations, Ms. Delgado." He leans back, signaling to his men. "Gentlemen, please see our guest out."

As I stand from the booth, Matteo quickly steps up to my side. I catch the hungry looks the other men are sending my way and resist the urge to roll my eyes—these pathetic excuses for henchmen are nothing compared to the true predators I've faced. With a toss of my hair and a sultry sway of my hips, I lead the way out of the Silver Orchid, secure in the knowledge that I have Cruz exactly where I want him.

Once we're safely back in Matteo's car, I let out a long, slow breath, the tension in my shoulders finally starting to unwind. "Well, that went about as well as expected," I mutter, glancing over at Matteo.

He nods, his expression unreadable. "Cruz seems to have taken the bait. We've got him curious, at least."

"Curious, but still suspicious," I point out.

Matteo's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he navigates the winding roads, putting as much distance between us and the Silver Orchid as possible. We take the long drive through various streets and even a cemetery to make sure we aren't being followed. I glance periodically in the rearview mirror, searching for any sign we're being followed, but the streets remain clear. Good. The last thing I need is Cruz's goons catching wind of this little covert op.

I know that somewhere behind us at a safe distance are Jensen and Eli.

But, I can't help but feel like we're being watched. My skin prickles with the familiar sensation of eyes following our every move. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, knowing it'll only feed that paranoia.

Instead, I turn my attention to the intel we've gathered so far. Cruz is intrigued, no doubt about that, but he's still playing it cautious. Typical cartel behavior—size up the new player, test their mettle, and then decide if they're worth the investment. I knew going in that it wouldn't be as simple as waltzing in, batting my eyelashes, and walking away with a direct line to Reyes.

But dammit, a girl can dream.

I clench my jaw, ignoring the faint throbbing in my temples. The last twenty-four hours have been a fucking whirlwind, from Rule's ‘visit’ then to the charged meeting with Cruz. And now, the constant awareness of being watched, hunted even, is wearing me down. I should be laser-focused on the task at hand, not letting my mind get sidetracked by twisted stalkers and their games.

"You're brooding," Matteo observes mildly, his eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to the road.

"I'm not brooding. I'm thinking."

The comms in my ear crackle to life, and Eli's voice filters through, dripping with his usual smug amusement. "Hey, Seanna, do you have that adorable little crease between your eyes right now? You know, the one that shows up when you're plotting someone's murder?"

"I swear to God, Eli, I will shoot you in the fucking kneecap," I snap, my fingers instinctively reaching up to smooth the space between my brows.

Eli's laugh echoes in my ear, unbothered by my threat. "You're not in the car with me right now, so my kneecaps are currently perfectly safe. Besides, that little furrow is cute. Makes you look all intense and deadly."

"I don't do cute," I growl, glaring out the window at the passing buildings.

"Everyone, focus," Jensen's voice cuts in, all business as usual. "We're approaching the rendezvous point. Let's keep the chatter to a minimum. Matteo, take the next right and follow the access road behind the industrial complex."

I straighten in my seat, grateful for Jensen's intervention. The playful banter evaporates instantly, replaced by the sharp, electric tension that always precedes an operation's critical phase. Matteo follows Jensen's directions without comment, taking the turn with smooth precision.

The warehouse district looms ahead, a sprawling maze of corrugated metal and concrete. Most of the buildings look abandoned or barely operational—perfect for our purposes. No prying eyes, no nosy civilians, just the quiet isolation we need to regroup and plan our next move.

We pull into the open garage of a nondescript building with faded numbers on its side, the paint peeling away like dead skin. Matteo kills the engine, and we sit in silence for a moment, scanning our surroundings with practiced vigilance. The air feels charged, heavy.

Behind us, Jensen and Eli pull their vehicle into the warehouse next. The rumble of the engine cuts off as Jensen steps out and moves to a control panel by the entrance. He presses a button, and the massive garage doors begin to close with a mechanical groan, sealing us in.

The moment the doors thud shut, the tension breaks. Time to debrief. And time to decide what the hell comes next.