Chapter 21: The Blade Drawn

RAYÉN

The frantic beep-beep-beep of the digital override outside the double doors shattered the silence.

Lautaro’s attention shifted toward the lock for half a second.

That was all I needed.

Six months of grief, betrayal, and rage surged through me at once.

My left hand slipped through the hidden slit in my wedding gown, my fingers closing around the cold steel hilt.

I didn’t think about the ballistics report.

I didn’t think about his warnings.

I didn’t think about the warmth of his hand at my waist only moments ago.

I saw only the man I believed had destroyed my life.

He was close enough to kill.

I drew the stiletto.

The blade flashed in the dim fireplace light as I drove it toward his throat.

Lautaro moved before I could even blink.

His left hand snapped up, his scarred fingers clamping around my wrist just inches from his skin.

The sudden stop sent pain shooting through my arm and into my shoulder.

“Rayén.”

His voice was low and dangerous.

“Let go of me!”

I threw my weight against him.

I slammed my free hand into his chest, trying to force the blade forward. The tip hovered dangerously close to his exposed neck.

Lautaro didn’t strike me.

He didn’t reach for his gun.

He simply held my wrist, his grip unbreakable, his breath coming hard against my face.

Pushing against him felt useless. He was too strong.

But I didn’t care.

I had spent six months carrying this hatred.

I wasn’t going to let him take it from me.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

“I looked at you while you destroyed my family!” I shouted.

Tears burned my eyes.

“I looked at you while my brother rotted in the dirt!”

Something in Lautaro’s expression changed.

“Your brother is dead because your own people wanted him dead!”

His voice thundered through the room.

For the first time, his control cracked.

He twisted my wrist downward and inward, using my momentum against me. My legs struck the edge of the bed.

I lost my balance.

We went down together.

The mattress caught us in a tangle of white silk and black wool. Lautaro moved quickly, pinning my right arm above my head and forcing the stiletto flat against the dark sheets.

His other hand caught the side of my neck.

I froze.

His palm was hot against my skin, his thumb resting over the frantic pulse in my throat.

I couldn’t move.

“Do it, then,” I choked out.

I stared straight into his amber eyes.

“Kill me. Execute me like you did Aconcagua. Finish the job, Don Lautaro.”

He didn’t move.

His hand didn’t tighten.

Instead, he leaned closer until his jaw brushed mine. The roughness of his stubble scraped against my skin.

His breathing was uneven now.

So was mine.

“I don’t execute my wife,” he whispered. “And I don’t kill women who are being used as live bait.”

“I’m not bait.”

“You are a weapon.”

His eyes held mine.

“Beltrán loaded you and pointed you at my chest, hoping I’d lose control the moment you pulled that blade.”

My stomach tightened.

“He wanted you dead, Rayén.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re still the rightful heir to the Altiplano throne. As long as you’re alive, he can’t take complete control of your father’s syndicate.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I couldn’t breathe properly.

For six months, I had believed Lautaro was responsible for my brother’s death.

I had built my entire hatred around that belief.

Now he was telling me everything I knew might have been a lie.

“You’re lying,” I whispered.

My voice cracked.

“You’re saying this because you want to break me.”

“I have never lied to you.”

His voice was quieter now.

“Not about the war. Not about your brother. And not about what will happen if you stay with me.”

His thumb moved slowly along my jaw.

The tenderness of the gesture confused me more than his anger had.

I hated him.

I had every reason to hate him.

Yet with his body pressed against mine and his face inches from mine, something else moved beneath that hatred.

Something I didn’t want to feel.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Lautaro…”

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.

His grip on my wrist loosened slightly.

“If you want to drive that steel into my chest,” he murmured, “do it now.”

My fingers tightened around the hilt.

“Because if you don’t…” His voice dropped lower. “I’m taking you to the bottom of this truth with me.”

Silence filled the room.

I could feel the blade between us.

I had the angle.

If I twisted hard enough, I might break his hold.

I might still kill him.

But for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Then the override finally cleared.

BANG!

The double doors burst open, slamming against the walls.

Lautaro reacted instantly.

He rolled away from me and placed himself between me and the doorway. His Sig Sauer appeared from beneath his jacket almost before I realized he had moved.

The gun pointed directly at the intruder.

I pushed myself upright.

A man stood in the doorway.

For one terrible second, I expected an assassin.

Instead, I saw a man wearing torn tactical gear.

Mud covered his boots and clothing. Dried blood stained one side of his uniform. In his trembling hand was a cracked encrypted radio.

He lowered his weapon when he saw Lautaro’s gun aimed at his chest.

Then he slowly removed his tactical helmet.

I stopped breathing.

I knew that face.

I had dreamed about it.

I cried over it.

Seen it every night since the day I was told he was dead.

My fingers went numb.

The stiletto slipped from my hand.

It hit the hardwood floor with a sharp metallic clatter.

My lips parted, but barely any sound came out.

“Aconcagua…”

The man in the doorway looked at me.

Alive.

My brother.

Alive after six agonizing months.

And suddenly, the entire world I thought I understood came crashing down around me.