Page 107 of Desperate People

My finger hovers over the intercom button before pressing down on it.

“How did you get past security?”

The driver blinks, surprised by my tone. “Uh, the guard signed off?—”

The intercom crackles to life. “Mrs. Cruz? The driver checked out. We sent the delivery through. Is that okay, ma’am? Do you need assistance?”

The deep voice of our gate guard comes through clearly, calm and professional.

The delivery guy stiffens. He looks ready to bolt.

I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

“No, I’m fine,” I manage to say, first to the guard, then, more gently, to the poor delivery man who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Thank you,” I add, and he practically shoves the bouquet into my arms before retreating.

The intercom buzzes again.

“Mrs. Cruz, your guests are here.”

I pause, heart still pounding, before glancing back at the ridiculous bouquet. Something pale and rectangular peeks from between the petals.

An envelope.

I tug it out with unsteady fingers, my gut already churning.

Congratulations on your wedding, Bella.

But you and I both know, the story’s not over.

Enclosed is the demo for the next song.

“Ella es de él, pero yo la quiero”

– R

There’s a QR code at the bottom, but I don’t dare scan it. My fingers are numb. My brain is buzzing.

And that signature—R. I don’t need a full name to know who it is.

El Tigre.

“Hey!!” Clementine’s voice cuts through the haze.

She’s coming up the path, waving, dressed in a flowy sundress and sandals.

Her bright energy is a balm.

Normally. But not today.

Something is off. It’s this delivery. This garish bouquet of flowers.

I didn’t expect them. And I don’t want them.

But here they are.

Clementine breezes past the fleeing delivery guy without so much as a glance.

---