Page 111 of Convenient Vows

The call connects quickly. Viktor’s voice cuts in, sharp. “I’m done with the meeting and already on my way.”

That’s all he says. That’s all he needs to.

Fifteen minutes later, we hear the quiet tread of his arrival. Viktor steps into the room like a storm walking on legs. He barely glances around.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

I don’t speak. I step aside and let him look through the scope. He exhales once through his nose. That sound means it’s worse than he thought.

“Let us discuss our mission,” he says, pulling away from the scope.

We discuss guard rotations, blind spots, and entry points. The shift schedules Lev managed to intercept from one of Cristóbal’s hacked communications are laid out. We spread the intel across the floor and begin plotting every angle of attack.

This isn’t just brute force. This is precision.

Every move must be clean, coordinated, and absolute.

Cristóbal may have built himself a fortress. But he didn’t build it strong enough to keep me out.

I peer into the scope and see the car start to move. The gate slides open as their vehicle rolls out. My pulse tics as I track it, every muscle in my body wired tight.

I grab my comm. “Anton,” I say, voice calm but firm. “Target just left. Follow them carefully. Stay two vehicles back. If anything changes, you pull out. Don’t engage. We still need the boy inside.”

Anton replies with a crisp, “Copy that.”

Cristóbal thinks he’s untouchable. That he’s the one in charge, but he forgot one thing.

He’s not dealing with a soldier.

He’s dealing with a predator.

And I don’t look away from prey.

42

Chapter 33

Xiomara

The blacked-out SUV turns onto the familiar private drive of my parents' estate, tires crunching over the gravel that once led to safety, warmth, and home. I clutch my purse like it’s the only thing tethering me to sanity.

Cristóbal lounges beside me, one arm draped along the backseat like he owns the air I breathe. And maybe he does now. He certainly owns the silence between us.

My eyes are sharp and alert because I have no choice but to force them to stay that way. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in them—not now, and hopefully not ever.

The wrought-iron gates creak open, just like they used to, but the sound doesn’t comfort me. Instead, it scrapes and grates on my nerves. Two guards step forward to wave the car through—men I grew up seeing in this very courtyard. Men whose families used to eat from our kitchen, whose wives sent birthday cakes just to stay in my father’s good graces.

One of them now gives a tiny nod meant not for me, but for Cristóbal.

I don't flinch. I don’t blink. But my stomach knots so tightly I think I might choke on it. Not all of my father’s men are loyal anymore. Some have flipped. And worse—they’re comfortable enough to show it.

Which means they are certain that power has shifted from father to this sick bastard.

I swallow down the fear and rage at the crushing realization that, even here under my father’s roof, Cristóbal’s reach is longer than I thought.

“I forgot how grand this place is,” Cristóbal murmurs beside me, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored blazer like he’s preparing to sign ownership papers.

My fingers dig into my purse.

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