The Gala

Carlos's POV

Three days had passed since Elena signed her life over to me in blood and ink, and the change in her was… interesting. She still glared at me like she wanted to carve my heart out with a butter knife, but the fight had settled into something sharper.

I'd spent the last two days in the basement range with her, teaching her to shoot. She was gifted, scary gifted. Turns out her father had put a gun in her hand when she was sixteen, back when he still pretended to be a decent man. She picked up the Glock like it was an old friend, adjusted her stance without me having to correct her twice, and by the second afternoon she was landing tight groupings at twenty-five yards while I stood behind her, chest pressed to her back, whispering instructions against her ear.

She hated how much she liked it. I could see it in the way her breath caught every time I praised her with a low "Good girl." I liked that even more.

Tonight, though, there would be no targets, just wolves in tuxedos.

We rode in the armored Maybach, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows like blurred warnings. Elena sat beside me in the blood-red gown I'd chosen for her. silk that clung to every curve, neckline low enough to remind every man in the room she was mine, but high enough at the back to hide the thin gold chain I'd locked around her throat. My ring flashed on her finger whenever she moved. She looked every inch Mrs. Carlos Hernandez, even if her eyes still burned with rebellion.

I leaned back against the leather seat and spoke calmly, eyes never leaving her face.

"Stay by my side at all times. Do not wander. Do not stare at other men for longer than two seconds. Yes, I will be counting. Remember you are my wife. Nobody at that gala is your friend. Smile when you're spoken to, laugh when I laugh, and for the love of God, Elena, do not act out of line. One wrong move and those bastards could tear us apart."

She rolled her eyes so hard I almost laughed out loud. That little spark of defiance shot straight to my groin. I loved the fight in her. It made me want to break her slowly, beautifully, until she was begging me to put her back together.

"Something funny, wife?" I asked, voice low.

She turned her head, those green eyes flashing. "Just wondering how many times you're going to remind me I'm property before we even get there."

I reached over and caught her chin, thumb brushing her lower lip. "As many times as it takes for it to sink in."

The car rolled to a stop outside the glittering waterfront mansion that hosted the syndicate gala every year. Valets in black uniforms opened our doors. Cameras flashed. I stepped out first, buttoning my tuxedo jacket, then offered her my hand. She took it because she had no choice, and I pulled her close, tucking her against my side like she belonged there.

We walked in through the grand double doors to a sea of crystal chandeliers, black ties, and dangerous smiles. The room smelled of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and old blood. Heads turned. Whispers rippled. The Devil had brought a wife.

We hadn't even made it past the first marble column when the air changed.

A woman cut through the crowd like a blade. She was tall, lethal, gorgeous in a backless black dress that showed off toned arms and the faint scar along her collarbone. Dark hair tumbled down her back, red lips curved in a smile that promised pain. Raquel Vargas. My ex-fiancée. The one I'd left standing at the altar two months ago after a misunderstanding that she clearly wasn't aware of.

She didn't hesitate.

Her hand cracked across my face so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. The entire ballroom went dead silent. Every conversation died. Glasses paused halfway to lips. Security hands twitched toward hidden weapons.

Elena stiffened beside me, stunned, her body coiling like she was about to lunge. I felt her shift forward and caught her wrist in a steel grip before she could move.

"Easy, wife," I murmured, never taking my eyes off Raquel. A slow smile curved my mouth as the sting bloomed across my cheek. "Raquel. It's been a while."

"Don't you dare say my name like we're old friends," she hissed, voice low and venomous. "You broke the contract we signed. My father is going to make sure you understand exactly what that means. Tonight."

I rubbed my jaw once, still smiling, tasting the copper of a split lip. "Tell your father I'll be waiting. I always enjoy a good family reunion."

Raquel's eyes flicked to Elena for the first time, assessing her like a cat picking its prey. Elena was beautiful, more than Raquel, and that was probably the only reason she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the crowd without some derogatory word. The whispers erupted again like a dam breaking.

I barely had time to loosen my grip on Elena's wrist when another figure approached. Tall. Broad shoulders. Same black hair, same sharp jawline, but older by three years. A woman in emerald silk clung to his arm, beautiful but clearly nervous. The man moved like he owned the room, and in many ways he once had.

He stopped in front of us, dark eyes identical to mine locking onto my face with something between amusement and warning.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice carrying that lazy authority I'd grown up hating. "If it isn't my little brother playing house with his new toy."

I felt Elena's surprise through the hand still holding her wrist. I didn't let go. My older brother, Marco Hernandez, had finally decided to show his face.

And from the look in his eyes, he hadn't come to congratulate me or my wife.