Chapter Three

The crackle of fire whispered death.

Inés staggered back from the door, the scent of burning fabric and flesh clawing at her throat. The shriek from the hallway still echoed in her ears, followed by a deafening silence that made her knees weak. Smoke slithered through the crack beneath the door like a serpent, hungry and relentless.

She backed into the room, clutching the folder tight beneath her apron, the sharp corner digging into her ribs grounding her in reality. Her breath came in short gasps, but she forced herself to think. Fire meant destruction, but also distraction. If she could just find a way out….

A loud click.

She spun.

The door behind her creaked open.

Not the hallway door.

The panel behind the bookcase.

A man stepped through the narrow passageway, dark curls damp with sweat, a gun in one hand, blood on the other. His shirt clung to his sculpted torso, open down to the middle of his chest, smeared with soot. But it was his eyes, those ice-blue eyes that rooted her to the floor.

Alonso.

But something was different.

His usual flirtatious grin was gone, replaced by something colder, darker. As if the mask he wore had slipped.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said, voice low and controlled. "You should've run."

Inés stepped back. "What is this? Where does that passage lead?"

"Someplace safe," he replied, though the edge in his voice said otherwise. "Come with me."

She shook her head, pulse pounding. "Who screamed? Was it Thaigo? Alejandro?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a slow step toward her. "The fire isn’t what you should be worried about."

Her gaze dropped to the blood staining his hand. "You're hurt."

"Not mine."

Something inside her snapped.

She rushed to the fireplace, grabbed the heavy poker from its stand, and pointed it at him. "Stay back. Tell me who you are."

He stopped. His eyes locked onto hers. "Put that down, Inés. You don’t know what you’re playing with."

"Neither do you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Alonso Delgado wouldn’t know about secret passages. Wouldn’t lie about who screamed. Wouldn’t come out of a wall with blood on his hands."

He said nothing.

She moved toward him, poker still raised. "Who are you?"

Silence stretched between them.

And then he smiled.

But it wasn’t Alonso’s smile.

It was colder. Crueler. More dangerous.

"You’re clever, cara mia. I’ll give you that."

Her stomach dropped.

He stepped into the light, shadows dancing across his face. "Alonso Delgado never made it past his twentieth birthday. I did."

She couldn’t breathe. "What?"

He moved closer, until the poker nearly touched his chest. "I’m Esteban. Esteban Gallego."

The name struck her like lightning. The Gallegos; rivals of the Delgados. Ruthless. Vicious. Responsible for the massacre in Medellin.

Inés’s knees buckled, but she held her ground. "You're lying."

He grabbed the poker, pushed it aside gently. "I wish I was. But I’ve been hiding for a long time, Inés. Wearing my cousin’s name. Living among my enemies."

"Why tell me now?" she whispered.

His eyes softened, just barely. "Because you saw too much. And because I’ve seen you. Truly seen you. Since the first moment you walked into this house, all fire and fury hidden beneath a maid’s uniform. I knew I’d have to choose between my mission and..."

He touched her cheek, his fingers rough and warm.

"...and you."

Inés’ breath hitched.

The fire roared outside the door, but the only heat she felt now was his proximity. His lips hovered near hers, hesitation tightening his jaw.

"Kiss me," she breathed, shocking even herself.

His mouth crushed against hers, wild and desperate, like a man starved for oxygen. She dropped the poker, fingers clutching at his shirt. Their bodies collided, and Esteban lifted her effortlessly, backing her against the wall.

Clothes burned away as quickly as the flames devouring the mansion. Her apron hit the floor. His shirt followed. Skin against skin, heat meeting heat. She arched into him, moaning his name, Esteban, like a sin.

But sins had consequences.

The folder.

Her hand brushed against it on the floor, and the reality of what she was doing slammed into her.

She pushed him away, chest heaving. "I can’t."

He looked wrecked. Hair tousled, lips red, eyes stormy. "You already did."

She grabbed the folder, clutching it to her chest like a shield. "You lied to me. You’re one of them. The ones who took everything from me."

He stepped forward, but she backed away. "You don’t understand. I’m not like them. I came here to destroy them. I’ve been planning it for years. I didn’t know about your family, Inés. I swear."

"How can I trust anything you say now?"

"Because I’m the only one who can help you get out alive."

A bang shook the door.

Esteban spun. "They’re coming. We have to go."

But Inés wasn’t looking at him.

She was staring at the folder.

It had slipped open.

Inside were more photos. Old ones. A younger Esteban. Her father. Together.

A letter with her name on it.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled it out, heart galloping.

“If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the truth. Esteban can be trusted. He’s your only ally. Protect him. The future depends on it.”

Her father’s handwriting.

Before she could react, the wall behind Esteban exploded inward, sending them both crashing to the floor. Smoke poured in, and shadows loomed in the haze.

Gunfire.

Esteban shoved her behind the overturned desk. "Run!"

"Not without you!"

"They’ll kill you!"

She kissed him, fast and fierce, then slipped the folder into her apron and sprinted for the bookcase. Shots whizzed past her, one grazing her arm. She cried out but didn’t stop.

She dove into the secret passageway and yanked the lever. The panel slammed shut.

Darkness. Silence.

Then,

A voice.

"You shouldn’t have trusted him."

She froze.

The voice came from ahead.

Familiar. Velvet-smooth.

Thiago.

He stepped into view, holding a lantern, gun in his other hand.

"Now come with me, Inés. We have a lot to talk about."