"I'm just saying," Camila declared, gesturing dramatically at the TV screen with a handful of popcorn, "If you really wanted to take down someone untouchable, you'd have to get close. Like, really close. Seduce them, make them vulnerable, then strike!"
Reina barely registered her best friend's words, her phone clutched in her lap as she checked it for the hundredth time that morning. Still nothing from Franco. No texts, no calls, no reassurance that last night's disastrous phone conversation hadn't completely blown up in both their faces.
Her parents were at the pack meeting right now. What if Oliveira had told the entire council what she'd done? What if was currently painting her as some reckless human girl who'd violated the supernatural treaty by attempting to murder a human connected to one of Sao Paulo's most powerful families? The stupid treaty was sacred. Werewolves, vampires, and other supernatural beings had agreed a century ago to handle conflicts with humans through proper channels, to never expose their nature through violence that would draw unwanted attention. Breaking it meant exile at best, execution at worst.
Her stomach churned. She typed out another message to Franco:
Please just tell me if the meeting is about me! I need to know how to defend myself—to defend us!
She hit send, knowing it would probably go unanswered like the other five messages she'd sent since breakfast.
"Ray, are you even listening?" Camila threw a piece of popcorn at her. "I'm providing valuable strategic insight here."
"Strategic insight," Reina repeated flatly, finally looking up from her phone.
Camila Marques sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch, a vision of effortless beauty that she wielded with the confidence of someone who never had to think about their appearance twice. Where Reina hid under Aldo's oversized clothes, Camila embraced every curve and color.
She was petite, barely five-foot-two, with rich brown skin that seemed to glow even in the dim light of the living room. Her hair was her crown—a mass of tight, dark curls that she'd pulled into a high puff today, secured with a bright yellow scrunchie that marched her crop top. The top showed off her flat stomach and the delicate gold belly button ring that caught the light when she moved. Her jean shorts were probably shorter than Reina's parents would approve of, but Camila had perfected the art of looking simultaneously adorable and dangerous.
Her face was heart-shaped, with full lips that were always either smiling or talking—usually both. She had her mother's Portuguese features softened by her father's Afro-Brazilian heritage—high cheekbones, a small nose, and enormous dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes. Three gold studs climbed up each ear, and she wore a simple cross necklace.
Right now, those enormous eyes were narrowed at Reina with playful suspicion.
"Yes!" She sat up straighter on the couch, warming to her subject. "Think about it. After what happened at the club—and don't think I didn't hear about that shooting on the news, by the way—getting to Ruiz any other way is basically impossible now. He'll have security, he'll be paranoid, erratic, he'll—
"Cami—"
"But you know what he won't see coming?" Camila continued, ignoring the warning in Reina's voice. "A beautiful girl. And Ray, I love you, but you hide all that—" she waved vaguely at Reina's face and body, "—under Aldo's clothes like you're trying to cosplay as invisible. Imagine if you actually tried, if you put on a dress, and styled your—"
Reina's phone buzzed in her hand, and her heart leaped. She snatched it up, but it was just another notification from Instagram. Not France. Never Franco.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the panic rising in her chest. What was happening at that meeting right now? Was her father defending her actions or learning about them for the first time? Was Oliveira telling everyone how she'd roped his son into being an accessory to attempted murder?
"I'm getting water," Reina cut Camila off, standing abruptly. "Do you want anything?"
Camila blinked at the sudden dismissal, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "More popcorn? I think I left the bag on the counter."
Reina escaped to the kitchen, pressed her palms against the cool countertop and took a steady breath. She pulled out her phone again, stared at Franco's name in her contacts, and considered calling him directly.
But what if his father answered again? What if Oliveira has taken his phone completely? What if—-
A sudden, firm knock on the front door shattered her spiralling thoughts.
"I'll get it!" Camila called from the living room, but Reina was already moving, some instinct propelling her forward.
"No, I've got it, check on the popcorn," she said quickly, beating her friend to the door.
She pulled it open without checking the peephole—a mistake she realized the instant her eyes landed on the person standing on her doorstep.
Ruiz Souza.
The world tilted sideways. All the air left her lungs in a rush, and for a heartbeat, she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare.
He looked different in the daylight. Less like the untouchable prince of the underworld and more like... a person. He wore fresh clothes—a simple black T-shirt and dark jeans that probably cost more than her family's monthly groceries. His hair was still artfully disheveled, falling into those dark, calculating eyes that she'd last seen as he pressed a gun to her forehead.
The only evidence of last night was the sling cradling his left arm.
"Hello, Reina," he said, his voice low and smooth as smoke.
She should slam the door in his face. She should scream, sucker punch him, scratch his eye out, anything but stare like a deer caught in headlights.
He stepped forward, and she found herself moving backward on instinct, her body making room even as her mind screamed at her to stop him, to push him out, to do something.
Ruiz walked into her house like he'd been invited. He closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
"I liked the adjustments you made to my car," he said conversationally as his gaze swept the modest living room before landing back on her face. "Very... thorough. Very violent. My insurance company had some questions about how all four tires managed to slash themselves."
Reina's hands curled into fists at her sides as she finally overcame the shock. "Get out."
"We need to talk." He said it like a fact, like something already decided.
"I said get out of my house." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, laced with venom.
"Last night, at Club Pita." He took another step closer, and she held her ground even though every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. "That was you."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced it out anyway.
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Don't insult both our intelligence. Those eyes—" his gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle, "—I'd recognized them anywhere."
"Good for you. Get. Out." She moved toward him, intending to somehow physically remove him from her house, but he didn't budge.
"Tell me," his voice dropped lower, colder, "why do you think I killed your brother?"
The words hit her like a physical blow. White-hot rage exploded in her chest, consuming every rational thought.
Her hand flew up before she could stop it, palm connecting with his cheek in a crack that echoed through the room. His head snapped to the side from the force. For a moment, he stayed like that, perfectly still as Reina's heart hammered so hard she could hear it in her ears.
She was mad with rage. So mad that hot angry tears began to gather in her eyes. When he turned back to face her, there was a red handprint blooming across his cheek, but his expression remained eerily calm. Controlled. Those dark eyes studied her with a detached, clinical curiosity that was more unnerving than any anger.
"Except you're giving a confession," she breathed, her voice shaking with fury. "Don't you DARE speak to me about my brother. Don't even say his name. Not in this house! Not to me!"
"I'm trying to understand—"
"Understand?" She laughed, high and bitter. "You want to understand what? How you and your sick friends hunted him down? How you left behind his head, what did you do with the rest of him, Ruiz. What are a fucking zombie?"
"I didn't—"
"LIAR!" She shoved at his chest, and he stumbled back a step, more from surprise than force. "You're a liar! You killed him and now you show up here, to my house, pretending—what? Pretending you don't remember? Playing games?"
"I'm not playing anything," Ruiz said, and something in his voice made her falter—it was too steady. "I'm trying to figure out what happened that night."
"You're sick." The words came out as a whisper. "You're actually sick. Is this funny to you? Coming here, asking me why I think you murdered Aldo when you know—you KNOW—"
"Ray? Is everything okay?" Camila's voice drifted from the kitchen, followed by the sound of the microwave beeping.
Reina closed her eyes briefly, dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and took a deep breath as she tried to rein in on her temper. She'd completely forgotten about Camila, about her sweet Nona who'd gone back to bed after breakfast that morning. This conversation wasn't helping.
"Leave," she said, her voice hollow. "Or I'll call the cops."
"Not until you tell me—"
"Ray, I burned the popcorn, can you believe—" Camila rounded the corner from the kitchen, bag of smoking popcorn in hand, and stopped dead.
The bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thump. Her mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.
"Holy shit," she whispered, her eyes wide as saucers. "Holy shit, that's—you're—"
"He was just leaving," Reina said firmly, not taking her eyes off Ruiz.
But his attention had shifted to Camila, assessing the new variable with a single sweeping glance.
"We're not done," he said quietly, turning back to Reina.
"Yes, we are."
"You tried to kill me." His voice was soft, almost conversational, but there was steel underneath. "You destroyed my car. You broke into one of my family's establishments with a gun and shot me in a room full of people."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She insisted with venom.
"I let you go." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of expensive cologne and the faint sterile smell of antiseptic. "I recognized you, and I let you walk out of that club when I should've—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening.
"Should've what?" Reina challenged, her voice daring. "Killed me? Made away with my body parts? What are you, a fucking vampire?"
"Called the police," he finished, but something in his eyes said that wasn't what he'd originally meant to say.
"Then why didn't you?" The question escaped before she could stop it.
For a long moment, they stood there, locked in a stare that crackled with violence and something else, something unnervingly intense.
"I'm still trying to figure that out," he admitted, and the honesty in his voice caught her off guard.
"Ruiz Souza," Camila's voice broke the moment, high and slightly hysterical. "There is Ruiz Souza in your living room, we were just talking about—"
"I know," Reina snapped, yanking her phone from her pocket. "I'm calling the cops. I'm going to say you broke in here to attack me."
"Wow."
"I'll corroborate the story!" Camila volunteered, raising her right hand as if taking an oath.
"How cute," Ruiz drawled dryly at Camila as he stepped back and finally moved toward the door. "Whatever you think happened that night—whatever your brother told you before he died—we're going to talk about it."
"We have nothing to talk about."
He paused with his hand on the doorknob, looking back at her over his shoulder. The morning light caught his face at an angle, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the bruise already forming where she'd slapped him.
"You keep telling yourself that," he said softly. "But we both know you'll try again. When you do, I hope you'll be thinking of your parents because—" his eyes darkened, "—I won't be so merciful."
"Is that a threat?!" Reina rushed after him as he stepped outside. Camila grabbed her arm, holding her back as she hurled profanities into the sun-drenched air.
He walked towards a sleek black Mercedes idling by the curb, ignored the waiting chauffeur, and slid into the passenger seat. The driver got in and started to drive away until Reina wrenched herself free from Camila's grip, her vision blurring with rage. She snatched up a loose piece of gravel from the garden and flung it with all her strength.
CRACK.
The stone struck the passenger side mirror, splintering the glass.
The car screeched to a halt.
Her heart pounded, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. She stood her ground, chest heaving, half-expecting, half-hoping he would get out.
But after a heartbeat that stretched into an eternity, the car simply pulled away, leaving her standing there, trembling and more bitter than ever.