CHAPTER 5: SANDRO

A sharp, violent hammering against my apartment door nearly caused me to drop my half-filled glass of wine onto the rug. I threw off the throw blanket, stood up, and marched toward the entryway, scowling at the deadbolt.

"Sandro, open up! Please!"

My brother’s breathless voice scraped through the thick wood, and my chest instantly tightened with confusion. I set the glass down on the side console.

"Sandro!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the frame like a maniac.

"I'm coming, damn it!" I muttered, sliding the latch free.

The moment the lock clicked, the door was shoved violently inward, and my brother’s heavy frame practically tumbled into the foyer. He slammed the door behind him, engaged every lock, and leaned back against the wood, his chest heaving as if he’d sprinted ten miles through the city.

His dark rain jacket was smeared with grey cement dust, and when he pulled back his hood, a cluster of ugly, purple bruises ringed his neck. My heart plummeted. Kauã looked like he was fleeing a hit squad.

"Kauã... what is this?" I asked, a wave of cold panic washing over me.

Instead of answering, he stepped forward, grabbing me in a tight, desperate embrace that knocked the air from my lungs. I froze, my arms slowly coming up to wrap around his shoulders. It had been nearly two months since I’d last seen him, and he felt gaunt, wild, and completely off-balance.

"Thank you," he breathed into my hair.

"Are you followed?" I demanded, pushing him back.

He brushed past me into the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator open and grabbing a bottle of cold water, draining half of it in one long gulp.

"Kauã, speak to me! You're losing your mind!" I snapped, my tone rising.

My brother was my only remaining family, but he had a toxic habit of dragging his messes into my orbit. It was the sole reason I kept a concealed 9mm in my nightstand and knew how to throw a punch.

He turned, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. He looked entirely cornered. "I need your car keys."

"My car? What are you talking about?"

He closed the distance between us, his hands coming down hard on my shoulders. "You don't understand, Sandro. I need the keys to the sedan, right now."

"Why do you—"

"And your piece," he cut in, his grip tightening enough to bruise my collarbone.

I shoved his hands off me, taking two steps back, my expression hardening into absolute disgust.

"You're hiding from someone," I said softly, the realization settling in like ice. "And you brought them directly to my address. Where I live alone. I cannot fucking believe you, Kauã."

He looked down, the defensive posture melting into pure shame. He was older than me, but in moments like this, he felt like a child playing with fire.

"I had nowhere else to turn!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "You're the only person in Porto Alegre who won't turn me over to the street! I have no options!"

"Do you ever think about the fallout?!" I shouted back, shaking my head. "Tell me what you did so we can figure this out, but you are not taking my vehicle, and you are not taking my weapon. If those show up at a scene, they trace back to my name."

"It was worth a shot," he muttered, dropping onto my couch and burying his face in his palms.

Seeing him collapsed like that—utterly broken—made the rage in my chest turn into a dull, aching bleed. "How much do you owe?"

He hesitated, looking up slowly. "Twenty thousand."

I inhaled sharply. "To who?"

"It doesn't matter who," he rasped. "I was running a consignment through the north docks. I got jumped near the rail yard, and the crates were seized. They gave me twenty-four hours to produce the cash. That was two days ago. I've been sleeping in abandoned garages ever since."

"What was in the crates?"

"Chemical precursors," he admitted with a quiet nod.

I leaned my head back against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. An absolute nightmare.

"Were they trailing you tonight?" I asked, glancing nervously toward the bolted door.

"No," he assured me quickly. "I took three different transit lines and cut through the residential alleys. I'm clear. I just need a place to catch my breath."

I let out a slow exhale, relief temporarily dulling the edge of my anxiety. I couldn't just throw my brother to the wolves, no matter how stupid his choices were. Guilt gnawed at me as I weighed my options.

"I'm sorry, Sandro," Kauã whispered, his shoulders slumping. "I shouldn't have brought this to your door."

"Shut up," I said softly. "I'll make you something to eat. You look like you haven't swallowed real food in three days."

I walked into the kitchen, boiled a pot of water, and prepared a quick bowl of broth and rice. When I set it down in front of him, he ate like a starving animal.

"Kauã..." I started gently after a few minutes. "I still have mother's silver watch in the safe. It won't cover twenty thousand, but—"

"No," he cut in sharply.

"Kauã, listen to me—"

"I said no."

I clamped my jaw shut, turning away to hide my frustration. Stubborn to the end.

He finished the bowl, stood up, and walked over to the waste bin in the corner. As he tossed the spoon in, a low, deliberate knock echoed down the hallway outside.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Kauã froze instantly, his eyes wide with sheer terror. My stomach plummeted to my feet. I stepped forward and landed a solid, furious punch against his upper arm.

"You absolute idiot," I hissed under my breath, the pity vanishing instantly, replaced by white-hot rage.

"Shh! Maybe they'll pass," he whispered back, staring paralyzed at the entryway.

We stood frozen. The rhythm of the knocking changed—the dull thud of wood replaced by a heavy, metallic clack-clack-clack against the center panel. Someone was tapping the frame with the receiver of a heavy firearm.

"That's steel," Kauã breathed out, turning pale.

Without a word, I slipped backward into my bedroom, reached into the bottom drawer, and pulled out my small black revolver.

"Anyone home?" a smooth, mockingly pleasant voice called out from the hall, accompanied by another tap of steel against wood.

We were on the fourth floor. No fire escape. No secondary exit.

Before I could form a plan, the door frame shattered in a burst of splintered oak. I gasped, grabbing Kauã’s coat and yanking him back into the kitchen as a man stepped through the wreckage.

He was dressed in tailored black tactical wear, his cropped silver hair contrasting wildly with the dark clothes. In his left hand, a heavy pistol was already leveled straight at Kauã's chest.

"Put the piece down, sweetheart, or I put a bullet through his jaw before you pull the trigger," the silver-haired man warned smoothly. His accent was distinct—thick, southern Brazilian, holding the exact same cadence as Thiago’s.

My teeth ground together, but I slowly set my revolver down on the counter next to my half-empty wine glass.

"Good girl," he said, gesturing for me to move away from the counter. "Now take three steps to the left."

I raised my hands, stepping away from the weapon. My blood was boiling, every instinct screaming at me to tackle him, but the barrel of his gun never wavered.

A wide, dark grin spread across his face as he looked at my brother. "Kauã! What a pleasant surprise. I fully expected to spend the next two hours breaking your sister's fingers to find out where you were hiding. You saved me a terrible amount of work."

"Iago," Kauã said, his voice trembling slightly as he stepped in front of me. "I'll get the money. Give me forty-eight hours. Don't touch her."

"I don't make the policy, friend," Iago replied casually, flailing the pistol around with terrifying ease. "My brother wants a brief conversation with you. So you can walk out on your own feet, or we can haul you down the stairwell in a canvas sack."

Two more men stepped through the ruined door behind him, built like brick walls and clad in identical dark jackets. Syndicate operatives.

One of the men behind Iago let his eyes slide down my frame, lingering on my bare legs beneath the oversized tunic. A sick, arrogant smirk touched his lips.

I clenched my fists inside my pockets, staring directly into his blue eyes with unadulterated venom. Keep looking at me like that, and I'll gouge your eyes out.

"I'll come quietly," Kauã said, taking a step forward. "Just leave her out of it."

"Not an option," Iago interrupted lightly, waving a hand toward the door. "Go put some shoes on, Sandro."

Kauã instantly bristled. "She has nothing to do with this!"

CLICK.

Iago cocked the hammer of his weapon, the playful expression vanishing from his eyes in a fraction of a second. "I wasn't initiating a debate."

"Kauã, stop," I said, speaking for the first time since they had breached the apartment. "It's fine."

We had no leverage. None.

I spotted my leather boots resting near the shattered doorframe. Iago noticed my glance, gesturing casually to the man who had been staring at me. "Hand the lady her boots."

The operative picked them up and shoved them toward me. I snatched them from his grip, pulling them over my socks and tying the laces with cold, deliberate precision.

It was surreal. Iago was standing in my destroyed living room threatening to execute my brother, yet he had the manners to ensure I wasn't walking across broken wood barefoot. Who the hell were these monsters?

"Let's move," Iago ordered once my laces were tied.

The two operatives grabbed Kauã by his shoulders, hauling him out into the dimly lit hallway. Iago didn't put a hand on me; instead, he stepped aside and let me walk out ahead of him, his gun lowered but ready.

My mind raced as we descended the quiet stairs of the apartment complex. It was midnight, the building dead silent, not a single neighbor peeking out from behind their doors.

Outside, a black armored SUV sat idling at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the streetlights.

"Get in," Iago commanded softly, holding the rear door open for me. "And keep your mouth shut."