Dawn bled through the single, high window of Ramón's spare room, painting stripes of pale grey light on the rough plaster wall. Kara hadn't slept. She'd sat on the edge of the thin mattress, the revolver a cold, heavy presence in her lap, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the city waking up – distant traffic, a barking dog, the clatter of shutters opening somewhere nearby. Rosa slept fitfully beside her, twitching, small whimpers escaping her lips. Kara watched the light grow, each minute stretching into an eternity of waiting. Ramón's words echoed: *I'll talk to him. Paco. The guard.* The fate of Dante, perhaps her own, hung on the greed of a corrupt prison guard and the believability of her desperate lie about her father's records.
The bolts on the courtyard door scraped open just as the first weak rays of sun touched the window. Kara was instantly on her feet, revolver hidden but ready beneath her poncho. Rosa jolted awake, eyes wide with fear.
Ramón's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. He entered the apartment, his face grim, etched with lines deeper than before. He carried a paper bag smelling faintly of warm bread and coffee. He tossed it onto the table without a word.
"Well?" Kara demanded, her voice tight.
Ramón poured himself a mug of water from the sink, drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Kara, his expression unreadable. "Paco is… interested."
Relief, sharp and sudden, flooded Kara, followed immediately by a wave of suspicion. "Interested? What does that mean?"
"It means your story about Kecent's records pricked his ears," Ramón said, his voice low. "Greedy bastard. He sees a lottery ticket." He sat down heavily at the table. "He confirmed Dante is alive. For now."
Kara's knees almost buckled. *Alive.* The word was a lifeline. "Where? How is he?"
"Hurt," Ramón stated bluntly. "Badly. Lorenzo's men inside… they got to him last night. Before Paco could intervene. Tried to make it look like a fall down some stairs in the intake block. Broken ribs, maybe internal injuries. Concussion. He's in the infirmary." Ramón's fist clenched on the table. "Paco says he's tough. Conscious. Barely. But he won't last long. Lorenzo will try again. Soon."
The fragile relief shattered, replaced by icy dread. Dante, broken and vulnerable in the prison infirmary. Lorenzo's reach was terrifyingly long. "What did Paco say? What does he want?"
"He wants proof," Ramón said, fixing Kara with a hard stare. "Proof the records exist. Proof they're worth risking his neck for. He's not stupid. He knows promises are cheap."
Proof. Kara had nothing. No map, no key, no location beyond a vague memory of her mother whispering about a box under an orange tree in a villa now occupied by enemies. Despair threatened to choke her. "I… I need time. To get it. To retrieve it."
Ramón snorted. "Time is the one thing Dante doesn't have, *niña*. Paco won't wait. He wants something tangible. Now." He leaned forward, lowering his voice further. "But… he offered a meeting."
"A meeting?" Kara echoed, hope warring with terror.
"With Dante," Ramón confirmed. "Briefly. Under heavy guard. In the prison chapel. Midday. Paco can arrange it. For a price."
"What price?"
"Five thousand euros. Cash. Up front. For the… *logistical difficulties*." Ramón named the sum as if it were pocket change. It might as well have been a million. "And," he added, his gaze sharp, "he wants *you* there, Kara Kecent. He wants to see the Kecent heir. The source of this mythical treasure trove. To judge if you're worth the gamble."
Kara felt the blood drain from her face. Walk into Granada Central prison? Voluntarily? Into Lorenzo's domain? It was suicide. It was also the only chance to see Dante, to know he was alive, to maybe… somehow… plant a seed of hope. And Paco seeing her, seeing the desperate determination in her eyes – that might be the only "proof" she could offer.
"Can you get the money?" Ramón asked, though his expression said he already knew the answer.
Kara shook her head mutely. The Zippo lighter was gone. She had nothing.
Ramón sighed, a long, weary sound. He looked from Kara's desperate face to Rosa's terrified one. He rubbed his temples. "Paco is a snake. But he's our only snake." He stood up abruptly. "I have… something. Not five thousand. But enough to make him listen. Enough to buy the meeting." He didn't elaborate on what the "something" was. Kara didn't ask. It was another debt, added to the mountain she already owed.
"You'll take me?" Kara asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"*We* go," Ramón corrected grimly. "Me, you, the girl stays here. Locked in. Safe." He gestured towards Rosa. "Paco only wants you. The girl is… complication."
Rosa looked like she wanted to protest, but one look at Kara's face silenced her. "Be careful," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Lock the door behind us," Ramón instructed Rosa, handing her the heavy key. "Don't open it for anyone. Not even me, unless I give the signal." He showed her a specific pattern of knocks. Rosa nodded, clutching the key like a talisman.
The journey to Granada Central prison was a blur of tension. Ramón drove an ancient, rattling Renault van – likely used for laundry deliveries – its back filled with sacks of linens, providing a thin veil of anonymity. Kara crouched low in the passenger seat, the grey poncho hood pulled forward, the revolver a cold weight against her skin. Ramón drove in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The imposing, grey-stone fortress of the prison loomed larger with every turn, its high walls topped with razor wire, watchtowers like malevolent eyes surveying the city.
Ramón parked the van in a delivery bay at the rear of the complex. He flashed a worn ID badge at a bored-looking guard in a booth, muttering about a linen delivery for the infirmary. The guard waved them through with barely a glance. Kara's heart hammered against her ribs. They were inside the lion's den.
They navigated a maze of bleak, echoing corridors, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant, sweat, and despair. Guards patrolled, keys jangling, their faces impassive. Ramón moved with purpose, nodding curtly to a few, ignoring others. Kara kept her head down, her senses screaming. Every corner felt like an ambush. Every closed door hid potential enemies.
Finally, they reached a heavy, arched wooden door. The prison chapel. Ramón pushed it open.
The space inside was small, dimly lit by high, stained-glass windows depicting stern-faced saints. Rows of plain wooden pews faced a simple altar. The air was cool, smelling of old wood, candle wax, and dust. And blood.
Near the front, flanked by two hulking prison guards in ill-fitting uniforms, sat Dante.
Kara's breath caught. He was slumped forward on the pew, his hands cuffed in front of him. His face was a mask of brutalized flesh – one eye swollen shut, lips split and crusted with blood, deep bruises mottling his jaw and temple. His knuckles were raw and scraped. He held himself stiffly, favoring his left side where broken ribs would scream with every breath. He looked diminished, broken, a shadow of the lethal force she'd known. But his one visible eye, when it slowly lifted and focused on her as she entered, still burned with a fierce, defiant intelligence. Recognition flared in its depths, followed by a flicker of something like… fury? Despair?
Standing beside the altar, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that seemed grotesquely out of place, was Lorenzo Márquez.
He turned slowly as Kara and Ramón entered, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips. He looked relaxed, in control, like a collector about to acquire a prized specimen. His dark eyes swept over Kara, taking in her worn poncho, her shadowed face, the tension radiating from her.
"Ah," Lorenzo purred, his voice smooth as silk, echoing slightly in the hushed chapel. "The elusive Kara Kecent. How kind of you to join us. And Ramón… still playing the loyal dog, I see. Fetching the lost puppy." He gestured dismissively towards Dante. "I trust you find our mutual friend… comfortable?"
Kara ignored him. Her gaze was locked on Dante. His one good eye held hers. A message flashed in its depths: *Why? Why are you here?*
Lorenzo chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Sentimental. How touching. The protector and the protected. Reunited in the house of God." He took a step towards Kara. "But let us dispense with the theatrics. You cost me time, Kara. And men. A nuisance." His voice hardened. "But your usefulness is at an end. Dante here…" He glanced dismissively at the battered figure, "…has outlived his. He will die slowly. Painfully. As penance for his master's sins. And you…" He smiled again, chillingly. "…you will disappear. Permanently. A fitting end for the Kecent line."
Ramón shifted slightly beside Kara. "Lorenzo," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We have business."
Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Business? With you, Ramón? What possible business could I have with a laundromat owner?"
"Information," Ramón said, stepping slightly in front of Kara. "Kecent's records. Hidden. Names. Dates. Your operations. Everything."
Lorenzo's smile vanished. His eyes turned cold, reptilian. "Records?" he hissed. "Kecent was paranoid, but meticulous. Where?"
"That," Ramón said, "is Kara's secret. She retrieves them. For a price. Dante walks free. Unharmed."
Lorenzo stared at Ramón, then at Kara, his expression calculating. A flicker of genuine interest warred with suspicion. "And why," he asked slowly, "would you betray the girl, Ramón? Dante was your… friend."
Ramón met Lorenzo's gaze steadily. "Friendship doesn't pay the bills, Lorenzo. Or protect against men like you." He gestured vaguely around the chapel. "This… life Dante chose? It ends in places like this. I chose different. I want out. For good. This is my ticket." His voice was convincing, layered with weary pragmatism. Kara held her breath, praying Lorenzo bought the act.
Lorenzo studied Ramón for a long, tense moment. Then, his smile returned, colder than before. "How delightfully mercenary." He turned his attention back to Kara. "So, little Kecent. You hold the keys to your protector's cage? And your own survival?" He took another step closer. "Where are the records?"
Kara forced herself to meet his gaze, channeling every ounce of Dante's taught control. "Seville," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Buried. At the villa. Only I know where. I retrieve them. You get them when Dante is free. On a plane out of Spain."
Lorenzo laughed, a short, sharp bark. "You expect me to let Dante Vázquez walk out of here? After what he did? After what *you* did?" His gaze swept over Dante's broken form. "No. The deal is this: You tell me where the records are buried. Now. Exactly. My men retrieve them. If they are what you say… *then* we discuss Dante's future. Perhaps a quicker death." His eyes bored into hers. "Or perhaps I let him watch what I do to you first."
Kara's blood ran cold. It was a trap. He had no intention of letting Dante live. Or her. She needed to stall. To create chaos. Her hand tightened on the revolver beneath the poncho. *Anger is better. Focus it.* She focused it on the guards flanking Dante. On Lorenzo's smug face. On the debt that demanded payment.
"You think I'd trust you?" Kara spat, letting her voice rise, injecting a tremor of fear mixed with defiance. "After what you did to my mother? My grandmother? Mateo? You're a liar and a butcher! The records stay buried until Dante is free!" She took a step back, towards the door, pulling the hood tighter as if frightened. It was a signal.
Lorenzo's expression darkened with fury. "Enough games!" he snapped. "Guards! Take her!"
The two guards beside Dante moved towards Kara. Ramón, as if reacting instinctively, stepped forward, placing himself between them and her. "Easy! Lorenzo, be reasonable! She needs incentive!"
Chaos erupted. As the first guard reached for Kara, Ramón shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back into the second guard. In the same fluid motion, Ramón spun, his hand darting beneath his flannel shirt. Not towards Kara, but towards the altar.
Lorenzo, momentarily distracted by the scuffle, turned. "Ramón! What—?"
Ramón didn't hesitate. He pulled out a small, dark object – not a gun, but a compact cylinder. A flashbang grenade. He pulled the pin.
"DOWN!" Kara screamed, not at Lorenzo, but at Dante. She dropped to the stone floor behind a pew, yanking her poncho over her head.
Dante reacted instantly, despite his injuries. He threw himself sideways off the pew, curling into a ball, covering his head with his cuffed hands.
Lorenzo's eyes widened in shock and fury. "YOU TRAITOR—!"
The flashbang detonated with a deafening **CRACK** and a blinding, searing white light that filled the small chapel. The concussion wave slammed Kara against the pew, rattling her teeth. She heard shouts of pain and disorientation – the guards, Lorenzo.
The world dissolved into blinding white and deafening ringing. Kara fought the disorientation, clawing the poncho off her head. Her vision swam, full of dancing spots. She saw blurred shapes staggering – the guards clutching their eyes and ears, Lorenzo stumbling back against the altar, cursing violently, one hand shielding his face.
Ramón was already moving. He lunged towards Dante, pulling a key from his pocket. Not towards Kara. He was freeing Dante!
Kara scrambled to her feet, the revolver finally clear in her hand. She didn't hesitate. She didn't aim for center mass. She aimed for the knee of the nearest staggering guard. *BANG!* The shot echoed painfully in the confined, ringing space. The guard screamed, collapsing.
The second guard, partially recovered, fumbled for his sidearm. Kara swung the revolver towards him. "DON'T!" she screamed, her voice raw.
Before she could fire, a figure blurred past her. Dante. Despite the cuffs still dangling from one wrist, despite his injuries, he moved with terrifying speed. He slammed into the second guard, driving his shoulder into the man's gut, then brought his cuffed hands down in a vicious arc onto the back of the guard's neck. The man crumpled, unconscious.
Lorenzo, his vision clearing, his face contorted with rage, drew a sleek, black pistol from a shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket. "ENOUGH!" he roared, leveling it first at Ramón, who was trying to finish unlocking Dante's other cuff.
Time seemed to slow. Kara saw Lorenzo's finger tighten on the trigger. She saw Ramón's back exposed. She saw Dante, still half-cuffed, turning towards the threat. Her mind screamed: *The debt. Mateo. Her mother. Abuela Rosa. Dante.* The cold fury crystallized into pure instinct.
She raised the revolver, not at Lorenzo's body, but at his head. *Focus the front sight. Squeeze, don't pull.*
*BANG!*
The shot was impossibly loud. Lorenzo jerked violently. Not a headshot – Kara's aim, compromised by the disorientation and the desperate speed, was off. The bullet grazed his temple, drawing a bright line of blood, and slammed into the stained-glass window behind him, shattering the serene face of a saint. Lorenzo stumbled back, clapping a hand to his bleeding temple, his pistol wavering.
It was the opening Dante needed. He lunged, a feral snarl tearing from his throat. He slammed into Lorenzo, driving him back against the stone altar with bone-crunching force. Lorenzo's pistol clattered to the floor. Dante, ignoring his own pain, brought his knee up viciously into Lorenzo's gut, then drove his forehead into the bridge of Lorenzo's nose with a sickening *crunch*.
Lorenzo howled in agony, blood streaming from his nose and temple. He lashed out blindly, but Dante, fueled by adrenaline and fury, was a whirlwind of brutal efficiency. He hooked his still-cuffed hand behind Lorenzo's neck, yanking him forward, and drove his elbow down onto the base of Lorenzo's skull.
Lorenzo collapsed like a sack of stones onto the chapel floor, unconscious, his face a bloody ruin.
Silence descended, broken only by the harsh, ragged breathing of Dante and Ramón, the groans of the wounded guard, and the frantic ringing in Kara's ears. Smoke from the gunpowder and the flashbang hung in the air, mingling with the scent of blood and shattered glass. Dante stood over Lorenzo's prone form, swaying slightly, his one good eye blazing with a feral light, blood dripping from his split knuckles onto Lorenzo's expensive suit.
He turned that gaze on Kara. It held no gratitude. Only a savage, exhausted intensity. He saw the revolver still smoking in her hand. Saw the shattered saint behind him. His gaze locked onto hers.
Ramón finished unlocking the remaining cuff. He looked from Kara to Dante to the unconscious Lorenzo. Sirens began to wail in the distance, growing rapidly closer – drawn by the gunfire and grenade blast.
"We have seconds," Ramón rasped, grabbing Dante's arm. "The van. Now!"
Dante didn't move. He stared at Kara. "You shouldn't have come," he growled, his voice thick with pain and something else Kara couldn't name. "Stupid."
Kara lowered the revolver, her hands trembling now that the adrenaline was fading. She met his furious gaze. "The debt," she said simply, her voice raw. "It's mine now."
Dante's eye narrowed. Before he could respond, Ramón yanked him hard. "MOVE! Or we all die here!"
Dante stumbled, allowing Ramón to pull him towards the chapel door. He cast one last, burning look back at Kara – a look that held fury, condemnation, and a terrifying, unspoken challenge. Then he lurched after Ramón, vanishing into the corridor.
Kara stood alone for a heartbeat in the desecrated chapel, amidst the groaning guards, the shattered glass, and the bleeding form of Lorenzo Márquez. The sirens were deafening now, right outside. The debt had been paid in blood and violence, but the reckoning was far from over. She turned and ran after Dante and Ramón, plunging into the chaotic prison corridors, the sounds of shouting guards and slamming doors echoing around her. Granada Central was erupting, and Kara Kecent, revolver in hand, was at the heart of the storm. The hunt was far from finished. Lorenzo was down, but not out. And Dante… Dante was free. The real battle was just beginning. She sprinted towards the delivery bay, towards the rattling van, towards the only allies she had left in a world that wanted her dead. The reckoning was here.