Santiago Torres Mendoza.
He stood with the same composed stillness he always carried, as though he had stepped into the room long before she noticed, as though nothing in the world could truly catch him off guard. There was no visible tension in him, no urgency, no reaction to the gun still in her hand, only that quiet, controlled presence that made it impossible to tell what he was truly thinking.
Daniella held his gaze for a brief moment before letting her lips curve faintly. "Who knows," she replied lightly, lifting the gun and pointing it at him for just a second, her eyes narrowing with something unreadable.
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even serious.
Because they both knew the truth: before she could ever pull that trigger with real intent, she would already be dead. A man like him did not stand unguarded, and even if the guards remained invisible, she had learned enough to know they were always there.
