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1: Tori

You're a badass bitch.

You're a badass bitch.

You're a badass bitch.

Saying things three times makes them true, right? Or is that just for memorizing things?

I'm doing my best to remind myself why I decided to do this—to take the criminal route, the risky life, but my heart is pounding and my nerves are shot as we pull into one of Diablo's estates. So instead, I've made a song, and it goes:

I'm a badass bitch.

That's all I got.

Diablo has estates. Plural. Because why have one gigantic, intimidating house when you can scatter a handful across the country like oversized Monopoly hotels? And this one is the one he’s decided we’ll be living in.

The car bumps along the cobblestone driveway, and I try to convince myself that the twisting in my stomach is excitement.

It's totally not.

“Do you think this one has a secret basement?” Ryder says, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“If it does, you’ll be the first one in it,” Blaze replies flatly, tucking his phone into his pocket. He’s been in hyper-focused mode all morning, like he’s bracing for whatever fresh hell Diablo has planned for us .

The car rolls to a stop in front of the main entrance. I take a breath, the song in my head looping back.

I’m a badass bitch.

I don’t feel like one.

“Tori.” Thorne’s voice is low, grounding. He’s watching me from across the car, his dark eyes quiet but knowing. He doesn’t say anything else—doesn’t have to.

He knows. Of course he knows. Fucking mind reader, this one.

“I’m fine,” I lie, pushing the door open before I can second-guess myself.

The manor is sprawling, all sharp angles and towering windows. Ivy crawls up the stone like it’s trying to escape, and the fountain out front burbles obnoxiously, as if to say, ‘This is wealth. Suck it.’

The doors swing open before we can knock, revealing one of Diablo’s well-trained staff members. “Welcome, Senorita Victoria. Your father is waiting for you,” he says, moving aside.

We step in, and the foyer is exactly what I expected—marble floors polished to a shine, walls lined with gold-framed mirrors, and a chandelier so massive it could probably take out a small car. My boots squeak against the floor as we walk in, and I fight the urge to cringe.

Ryder leans in, glancing around. “This place brings back memories of getting yelled at for leaving fingerprints on mirrors.” He stands straight again, wiggling his eyebrows at me before he speaks from the side of his mouth. “Feels like home.”

Blaze gives him a pointed look. “Do us all a favor and don’t touch anything.”

“Relax,” Ryder says, his grin widening. “I know better now. No fingerprints. Just smudges.”

I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitch. “Can we just focus? The last thing we need is to give my father a reason to change his mind about having you guys here. ”

Before anyone can respond, Diablo steps into view at the top of the staircase. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him—sharp suit, colder-than-ice expression, and a presence that makes my pulse jump even when he’s not saying a word.

“You’re late,” he says, his tone clipped as he starts to descend the stairs.

“Nice to see you too,” I reply, forcing a smile. My voice doesn’t crack, so I’m calling that a win.

His eyes flick to the guys, lingering just a second longer than necessary on each of them. I don’t miss the slight downturn of his mouth.

“Well,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, “let’s address a few things immediately. First, this will be the last time you’re late. I expect punctuality as a standard, not a courtesy.” His words are directed at everyone, but his sharp eyes land on me last, like a hammer coming down. “Since my time is valuable, I won’t be at your side every moment. I’ve assigned trusted workers to handle the smaller details. You’ll meet with me once a day. Sundays excluded. That day is for rest.”

“Trusted workers?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Images of Juan flit through my mind. He wasn’t terrible, but the vibe was...strained.

“They, unlike you, arrived on time,” he replies coolly. “They’re waiting in the den. Follow me.”

He pivots and strides down the hall with the kind of confidence that makes the rest of us look like amateurs. We follow, the soft click of his shoes against the floor the only sound until he stops in front of a set of white French doors. With a motion so smooth it’s almost theatrical, he pushes them open. Inside are four people.

Not one. Nope. Not two, but four. Four fucking people.

The room itself is a modern den that feels entirely out of place with the rest of the estate. Sleek furniture, clean lines, and soft neutral tones make it look like something ripped from a catalog. It’s too perfect. No one actually lives in spaces like this.

The four standing near the far wall, however, look like they belong here—perfectly poised. My stomach tightens.

“These are the individuals I’ve assigned to assist you,” Diablo announces, gesturing toward the group like he’s presenting a prize-winning team. “Each has been chosen for their specific skill set and will be indispensable to your training.”

“Indispensable,” Ryder mutters under his breath. “Fancy word for ‘babysitters.’”

I shoot him a warning look, but I know he’s not wrong. I turn my attention back to the group as they step forward one by one, and it’s immediately clear Diablo isn’t playing around.

The first is a tall woman with sharp features and an even sharper suit. Her hair is pulled into a severe bun.

She’s got to have a massive headache all the time with that thing.

It’s practically giving her a face lift.

Her gaze lands squarely on Blaze, sizing him up like she’s preparing a report. “Eve Harper,” she says curtly. Her voice is smooth but clipped, no-nonsense.

Next is a petite brunette clutching a folder so tightly it looks like she’s afraid to drop it. Her wide eyes dart nervously to Thorne, and I can practically see the damsel-in-distress act unfolding in real time. “Mia Delgado,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Then there’s the blonde. She steps forward with a confident air about her that radiates mischief. Her gaze locks onto Ryder, and her smirk deepens. “Lila Carter. Looking forward to working with you.” Her tone drips with easy charm, and I want to gag.

My gaze narrows on her. I recognize a Sadie type anywhere.

She’s going to be a problem.

Finally, Diablo gestures to a man lingering slightly behind the others. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a sharpness in his light blue eyes that makes my skin prickle. His dark hair is split down the middle, loosely hanging down either side of his head. “This is Gabriel Morales. He’ll be working as your personal guard.”

“Guard?” I say, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice.

“Yes, guard,” Diablo replies, his tone curt, as though the question itself is an offense. “Clearly, these three can’t be trusted with your safety, given what happened with Nico.” His gaze sweeps over Blaze, Ryder, and Thorne, lingering long enough to make it clear he doesn’t hold any of them in high regard.

Heat rises in my chest, but before I can shoot back, he continues.

“Gabriel is also to help teach you, but now I’ll be able to rest easy knowing my only daughter is safe with him.”

The statement lands like a hammer. My only daughter. There’s something unsettling in how easily he says it, like he didn’t just meet me last month.

I clench my fists, trying to keep my expression neutral, but I can see this for what it is...a way for him to try to tear us apart. I mean come on, how are these three girls supposed to teach the guys anything? I’m all for woman power, but Mia here looks as fierce as a kitten, Eve looks more like a business major than a gang affiliate, and Lila, well, she might fit the bill—conniving. “That’s...thoughtful of you,” I manage to grit out.

Gabriel steps forward, his movements fluid, almost predatory. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senorita Victoria.” His voice is smooth, polite, but there’s a weight to it that makes me uneasy.

“Tori,” I correct automatically, not missing the faint smile that tugs at his lips.

Diablo claps his hands once, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “Now that introductions are done, you’ll begin familiarizing yourselves with your roles. I've decided to use your natural talents to my benefit.”

Natural talents, huh ?

I'm not sure I have any of those. Unless getting yourself into life-or-death situations is one.

“Blaze,” Diablo continues, his gaze cutting to him sharply, “you’ll be working with Eve to audit one of my logistics operations. Ensure everything runs like clockwork.”

Blaze gives a curt nod, his face unreadable.

“Thorne,” Diablo says, shifting his focus. “You and Mia will investigate a warehouse where I suspect there’s been some...pilfering. ” His tone makes it clear what dealing with it entails.

Mia’s eyes dart to Thorne, who doesn’t react beyond a slight narrowing of his gaze.

Am I expected to believe that Mia's natural talent is fixing these kinds of problems? She's about as intimidating as a basset hound puppy.

“Ryder,” Diablo continues, “you’ll accompany Lila to a negotiation tomorrow with potential allies. Charm them, convince them to see things my way.”

“Charm,” Ryder echoes. “That, I can do.”

Diablo’s expression doesn’t change. “Don’t mistake this for a game.”

Ryder’s grin falters a bit, but he recovers quickly, nodding. “Got it. Serious charm.”

“And you, Tori,” Diablo says, turning his full attention to me. “You’ll be with Gabriel. He’ll take you through the finer points of managing operations from the top. Consider this a crash course in leadership—something you desperately need.”

Ouch. I thought dads were supposed to be encouraging.

“Leadership,” I repeat, my voice flat.

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, as if my tone doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “You’ll be reviewing schedules, inspecting my businesses, and ensuring everything runs as it should. Gabriel will teach you what to look for—and what to eliminate.”

“Eliminate?” The word slips out before I can stop it .

His gaze sharpens, and his lips curl into something resembling a smile. “I trust you’ll understand the implications when the time comes.”

Fantastic. Nothing vague and ominous about that.

I mean, come on, Tori. You've already killed someone. Maybe it gets easier?

Yeah, no. That's never going to be a thing.

Diablo steps back, clasping his hands behind his back. “These tasks begin tomorrow morning. You’ll report to me with your progress each evening. And remember, failure is not an option.”

Because nothing motivates like a thinly veiled threat.

Before any of us can respond, he turns on his heel and strides toward the door. Gabriel moves to follow, but Diablo pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Gabriel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep a close eye on her.” His gaze flicks to me, cold and calculating. “I don’t trust anyone else to ensure her safety.”

Gabriel inclines his head. “Understood.”

The door clicks shut behind Diablo, leaving an almost oppressive silence in his wake.

Gabriel clears his throat, stepping into the center of the room. “Well,” he says, his tone calm but firm, “it seems we have our work cut out for us.”

Ryder snorts. “Yeah, no pressure or anything.”

Blaze glares at him, but Ryder doesn’t seem fazed.

Eve speaks up next, her sharp gaze cutting to Blaze. “We’ll start with a detailed review of the supply chain first thing tomorrow. I expect you to be ready by eight.”

Blaze nods, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be ready.”

Mia hesitates, clutching her folder like it’s a shield. “Thorne,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll prepare the documents we’ll need for the warehouse investigation. I can meet you here at—”

“Seven,” Thorne interrupts, his tone calm but final. “We’ll go early.”

Her cheeks flush, but she nods quickly. “O-okay.”

Lila leans casually against the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on Ryder. “I’ll prep you tonight,” she says, her voice laced with teasing. “Gotta make sure you’re not totally hopeless at diplomacy.”

Ryder smirks, the kind that screams trouble. “Hopeless? I wrote the book on charm.” His gaze flicks my way, a glint of hunger sparking in his eyes. “Besides, I’ll be a little busy tonight.”

Heat shoots straight to my core, and I’m instantly regretting the fact that I didn’t prepare myself for Ryder being...well, Ryder.

“So,” he adds casually, still holding my gaze, “I’ll see you in the morning. Nine sound good? I like my sleep.”

Lila raises a brow, her lips tightening, but she shrugs. “Nine it is. Don’t be late, Prince Charming.”

Ryder chuckles, leaning back into the couch with a self-satisfied air that makes me want to smack him—and maybe kiss him, depending on the moment.

Blaze exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed, but says nothing. Thorne, ever the watchful one, shifts his gaze between Ryder and me, the faintest crease in his brow giving away his thoughts.

The girls all exit the room then, heading for the door, but Gabriel lingers.

He steps forward, commanding attention without a word. His eyes meet mine, calm but unyielding. “Senorita Tori, we’ll begin at six tomorrow morning. I'll be sure to wake you. There’s much to cover.”

“Wake me?” I arch a brow, leaning back a little. The bodyguard does wake-up calls ?

“Yes, wake you,” he says evenly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “The girls won’t be living here, but as your bodyguard, I will. I can’t exactly leave your side if I’m meant to protect you.”

The air shifts. Blaze’s shoulders go rigid, Ryder’s grin evaporates, and Thorne—oh, Thorne—takes on that too-calm demeanor that sets my nerves on edge.

“Living here?” Thorne’s voice is quiet, measured, but there’s no mistaking the sharp undertone. His dark eyes narrow a bit, his entire stance screaming danger.

“Yes,” Gabriel says simply, unaffected. “It’s necessary.”

Blaze steps forward, his chest puffed as he fixes Gabriel with a hard stare. “Necessary? Or convenient?”

Gabriel turns his attention to Blaze, his posture steady. “Both. Your track record with Senorita Tori’s safety isn’t exactly flawless. Nico proved that.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Ryder shifts, his fists clenching as he glances at me. Thorne’s expression doesn’t change, but the tension in the room feels like it’s seconds away from snapping.

“That’s enough,” I cut in, holding up a hand before the storm brewing between them has a chance to break. “There’s nothing we can do about it. Diablo put him here, and we’re not going to let it change anything.” I stare at each of them, meeting their eyes with an unflinching, reassuring glance.

Ryder is the first to break, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he lets out a breath. “Fine,” he mutters, though his tone is anything but happy. “But I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” I reply sharply, moving my gaze to Blaze. He doesn’t speak, but the tightness in his jaw makes it clear he’s holding back.

Comments like Gabe’s affect him the most. No matter how many times I tell him it wasn’t his fault Nico took me, he still blames himself. That guilt is eating him alive, carving into him piece by piece, and I don’t know how to fix it.

I hold his gaze a moment longer, hoping he can see what I can’t say right now—that I don’t blame him, that I never have. His shoulders ease an inch, but the weight in his expression doesn’t lift.

“Let’s just deal with it for now.”

Finally, I turn to Thorne, who’s still standing there—too calm, too serious. His dark eyes meet mine, but there’s a fury behind them that is unmistakable. After a long pause, he nods. “For now.”

The words settle over the room, easing the edge of tension but not breaking it entirely.

Gabriel turns and leaves us, his voice carrying faintly from the hall, polite and conversational as he speaks to one of the staff. He might as well have shouted, ‘I’m staying here, deal with it.’

We’re all silent again until Ryder shifts his weight, and opens his mouth. “Well, this is shaping up to be a cozy little arrangement. Nothing like a live-in stranger to keep things interesting.”

Blaze shoots him a glare, but Ryder’s grin doesn’t waver. If anything, it grows wider.

“Come on,” Ryder says, throwing up his hands. “If we don’t laugh, we’ll spiral into a rage. And I’m not in the mood for group therapy.”

Thorne’s gaze flicks to me again, questioning. “You sure about this?”

I sigh, letting some of the frustration bleed into my tone. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

Ryder claps Blaze on the shoulder. “You heard the lady. We’re shit out of luck. For now. So how about we go find some food before the bodyguard decides to assign us curfews.”

Blaze shrugs off Ryder’s hand, but he doesn’t argue. He turns toward the hall with a sharp exhale, and Ryder follows, chuckling behind.

Thorne lingers, his eyes still on me .

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is gentler now, low enough that only I can hear.

“Not at all,” I admit. “But I’ll handle it. I always do.”

His gaze softens, and he gives a short nod. “You’re not alone in this. Remember that.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “Thanks.”

He hesitates a moment longer before following the others.

You wanted this, Tori. You wanted to learn from your father. Well, here you go.