Author Note:
We left elegance behind. This chapter peels the silk off cartel etiquette and shows you the steel beneath.
Lucía was supposed to be a memory, a laugh, a bridge.
Instead—she became a bullet.
Breathe deep. And don't blink.
Lucía laughed, tapping her long nails against the wine glass.
"You know, my mother still thinks I'll marry some governor's son back home. Can you believe that?"
Sera raised a brow.
"Is he at least good-looking?"
"Like a boiled potato. With opinions."
They both laughed.
"It's so stupid," Lucía added. "All this power and legacy—and we still get packaged off like ceramic dolls to strengthen alliances."
Sera nodded, swirling her drink.
"Same everywhere."
They clinked glasses with wry smiles, old frustrations finding familiar company.
Meanwhile, Niv was quiet.
Not withdrawn—just observant.
He watched the bodyguard across from them angle slightly. Not toward Lucía.
Toward them.
The waiter's footfall on the slate tile was a beat too light.
Controlled. Not tired like service staff usually were at the end of a long night.
And the driver... his reflection in the glass railing showed him talking into his collar mic.
But there was no mic.
Niv didn't speak. He just exhaled slowly and shifted his posture.
To anyone watching, he looked like he was leaning closer to Sera, maybe about to whisper something.
Instead, his eyes flicked once toward Jaime.
Jaime caught it.
Moved nothing... except to let one arm rest a little differently.
Hand now closer to the inside of his jacket.
Lucía turned, still smiling.
"So, Niv. What's it like dating her? Terrifying yet?"
"Define 'yet.'"
He said it like he was genuinely considering a timeline.
"She threatened me with a fork once. For eating too slow."
She laughed.
"God, you're fun. Okay, you pass."
Then she reached for the bottle to top off her wine—leaning forward, momentarily blocking the line of sight to Sera.
Lucía was still smiling when the bullet hit her.
A wet snap. A pink mist.
She collapsed against the table, wine and blood spilling together.
Niv moved before the sound even registered.
One hand yanked Sera down behind the heavy marble planter near their table—real stone, luxury decor.
The other snatched the wine key from beside Lucía's fallen wrist.
Sera was breathing hard, eyes wide. But she didn't scream.
Another waiter moved fast through the chaos. Too fast.
Tray lowered. Left hand twitching toward something behind the cloth napkin.
Niv's arm snapped forward—
The wine key flew, end-over-end—
And embedded clean through the man's right eye. He collapsed before he could make a sound.
A gun barked. Lucía's last loyal guard spun backward—dead before he hit the floor.
The shooter—one of Lucía's own—turned.
But Jaime was already moving.
Two quick shots.
One to the knee. One to the throat.
The traitor folded.
Another shot rang out.
One of Sera's bodyguards jerked—
A hole in his temple.
The second made it two steps before a bullet tore through his back.
Then the third dropped. Another shot. Different angle.
Two shooters.
"Fuck," Jaime hissed, crouching low, blood spattered across his face.
Sera flinched but didn't break.
It was down to Jaime, Niv, and her now.
The gunfire had paused, but the silence felt louder.
Somewhere above, glass crunched.
A sniper repositioning.
Jaime's eyes flicked upward.
He moved.
Low and fast, weaving between overturned chairs and marble planters.
Another shot cracked out.
His leg jerked mid-stride. A sniper round tore clean through the meat of his thigh.
He dropped behind a steel wine chiller, gritting his teeth, breath ragged.
No sound. No scream. Just a hand pressed hard to the wound.
Then another shot grazed his shoulder—close, too close—from a bodyguard he'd already dropped once.
"Motherfu—"
He turned, raised his pistol one-handed, and shot the traitor twice.
Once in the arm, once in the neck. The body slumped back behind the low railing.
His lips were pale now.
Vision narrowing.
But he kept moving.
Down the last few meters, crawling at one point, dragging himself across a broken table leg and shattered stemware until—
A hand grabbed him.
Niv. Calm as ever.
"Stay low," Niv muttered, pulling Jaime behind the granite-lined planter he and Sera had taken cover behind.
Jaime collapsed against it with a grunt, blood still flowing too fast from the leg wound.
Niv didn't hesitate.
He grabbed Sera's small clutch from where it had been tossed during the chaos, ripped off the leather strap, and began winding it tight around Jaime's thigh.
Niv leaned out just a fraction—eyes sweeping the rooftop.
"They'll move again in ten seconds," he added. "They're changing perches."
"How the hell—"
"They missed. They know they blew the element of surprise. That means they'll shift."
A pause.
His watch glowed faintly.
He turned the dial counterclockwise—one click, two clicks.
A nearly invisible pulse signal was sent through the sapphire housing.
No confirmation returned.
Didn't need one.
They'd be tracking his vitals. The rooftop coordinates. Ambient sound levels.
The ping was a confirmation—escalation acknowledged.
Three minutes.
He exhaled once. Calm. Cold.
"Two on overwatch. Perches shifted. Kill the one on the far deck—silhouette's sloppy. I want the closer one alive."
He spoke through his watch.
Then Niv said quietly, eyes still scanning the rooftop:
"My people are coming."
Jaime didn't ask how.
He reached under his jacket, pulled a pistol from his belt—standard issue, scratched, but loaded.
"Picked it off one of Lucía's traitors. Two mags."
He held it out.
Niv took it, weighed it—then turned and handed it to Sera.
Her eyes flicked from him to the weapon.
"You're serious."
"I need cover fire," he said quietly. "You're the only one left I trust with a clean shot."
Jaime looked at her, then nodded.
"She can handle it."
Sera took the pistol without a word.
She'd never shot a person before—but she'd trained since she was eleven.
Her father insisted. Targets. Drills. No mistakes allowed.
Her hands were steady.
She flipped off the safety.
"Just like practice."
Jaime hissed as he fired a round, reloading with one hand.
"You sure about this, kid? You don't have a weapon."
Niv didn't answer right away.
He was adjusting the makeshift tourniquet on Jaime's leg, tightening it with the broken strap.
Then he stood, taking off his glasses and flexing his fingers once.
"I don't need one."
Sera blinked.
"Niv—"
He glanced back at her, expression unreadable.
"Stay low. Cover me if you can."
Then—almost offhand, almost amused—
"Watch."