Todos los capítulos de Bound by blood and silk: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Rayen The sight of my brother’s face scarred, blood-streaked, but unmistakably alive—shattered everything I thought I knew.“Aconcagua…”His name came out as a broken sob.My mind couldn’t catch up.Six months of mourning.Six months of staring at an empty grave beneath the cold Altiplano rain.Six months of feeding my anger until revenge was the only thing keeping me standing.All that grief had been for a dead man who was now breathing in the doorway of my husband’s bedroom.I pushed myself off the bed, but my legs trembled beneath me.“You’re… you’re alive.”“Get back, Rayén!”Aconcagua’s voice cut through the room.He didn’t look like a brother returning from the dead. His face was tense, desperate, almost frightened.“Lautaro, drop the weapon! Drop it now!”Lautaro didn’t move.He stood between us, his broad body shielding me from the doorway. His Sig Sauer remained trained directly at Aconcagua’s chest.“Lower your weapon, Aconcagua,” Lautaro said calmly. “You blew your entry.

RayenThe fall ended in a violent crash of splintered wood, crushed concrete, and a cloud of suffocating grey dust.We slammed into the lower level a dimly lit, reinforced sub-vault hidden deep within the foundations of the estate. The impact knocked the air straight from my lungs in a ragged gasp. My vision swam with static, dark spots dancing at the edges of my sight as I coughed against the burning powder coating my throat.Above us, the gaping hole in the ceiling rained down embers, hot plaster, and jagged shards of glass. The muffled thrum of distant gunfire still echoed through the stone structure above, but down here in the dark, the air was cold, damp, and smelling of ancient earth and gunpowder.I was lying on my back, completely pinned.Lautaro had taken the brunt of the fall. His heavy frame was braced over mine, his forearms planted on either side of my head, shielding me from the heavy debris that had plummeted after us. His face was inches from mine, covered in soot, a t

RAYÉNThe safehouse suddenly smelled of lavender, bleach, and old wood, nothing like the gunpowder and blood from the vault.We were in a secluded penthouse on the edge of the financial district, an off-the-books property Lautaro owned through a shell company. Below us, Santiago carried on as if nothing had happened.Up here, the silence felt suffocating.I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at my reflection. My wedding gown was ruined, its hem stiff with blood that wasn’t mine. My hand still throbbed from gripping the Sig Sauer.Behind me, I heard a leather belt being unbuckled, followed by a sharp breath.Lautaro sat on the dark leather sofa, his tactical vest and ruined shirt gone. My eyes went straight to the angry red gash along his right ribs. The rebar hadn’t gone deep, but it had sliced him badly.He held a needle and thick suture thread between his teeth, his amber eyes fixed on me.“Are you just going to stand there?” His voice was low and rough. “Or are you goin

RAYÉNThe klaxon was a scream that vibrated through the soles of my boots. Red light pulsed against the concrete walls of the tactical room, painting Lautaro’s pale face in flashes of fake blood before he even bled for real.“Air-strike beacon,” Millaray breathed, her hands hovering over the console. “They aren’t coming down the canyon to negotiate. They’re flattening the ridge.”Lautaro moved without a word.It was an ugly, broken movement. His left hand clamped over the soaked bandage at his ribs, his teeth bared in a soundless snarl. He reached for the tactical rig near the doorway, but his knees gave out.I caught him under the arms. His weight slammed into my chest, the metallic scent of blood filling my nose.“Stop,” I hissed. “You stand up right now, you spill your guts on the stone. Look at me.”He turned slowly. His dark eyes were clouded with exhaustion, but that iron inside him still burned.“The ridge,” he rasped. “The high pass tunnel. Millaray, get the drives.”“I’m not

RAYÉNThe gunshot didn’t ring through the terminal speakers.Instead, the screen went black with a violent cut a single frame of static, then complete silence. The tiny red LED beneath the monitor flickered once and died.The silence felt heavy and suffocating. It was as if the air had been sucked from the room, leaving even our breathing unnaturally loud.My hand was still locked in Lautaro’s.Mateo.The name sat on my tongue like broken glass.Six years. Six years of mourning a boy whose casket had been closed because my mother claimed his face was too ruined by Altiplano bullets for a proper farewell. Six years of placing white lilies on cold marble. Six years of carrying a hollow space in my chest that I tried to fill with blood and vengeance.He wasn’t dead.He was alive, standing in a stone cell near the high passes with a silenced gun pressed against my father’s head.“Rayén.” Lautaro’s voice broke through the stillness, low and gravelly. His fingers twitched inside my grip, si