Page 110 of Desperate People

Or other things like their limbs and breathing.

Uncle Josef once told me—offhand, like it wasn’t a big deal—that Balor single-handedly prevented a software breach in Sigma International’s internal systems.

A glitch that would’ve cost billions.

He said Balor identified the issue, hacked through their firewall, and fixed everything before their own IT department ever suspected a thing.

That’s the kind of man I married.

A man who hides a warlord’s mind behind a calm demeanor and brilliant code.

So yeah.

When Clementine says he’s going to lose it over this?

I believe her.

And here’s the worst part.

I’m not sure if El Tigre is just some fame-hungry pop star with boundary issues and bad timing—or if he’s something darker. Something dangerous.

Someone capable of breaking into my home and scaring the shit out of me.

Because anyone who’d send two dozen tiger lilies to a married woman with a song titled “Ella es de él, pero yo la quiero” isn’t playing around.

He’s making a move.

He’s crossing a line.

And now that he’s stepped into our world—mine and Balor’s—I don’t think he realizes just how catastrophic the fallout could be.

Because my husband may be quiet.

But he’s the kind of quiet that comes right before the storm.

And El Tigre?

That asshole just became his next target.

“So, are you gonna call him?” Clementine asks after we start clearing away the food and we’re all finally seated back at the dining table with glasses of sparkling lemonade.

I run my fingers over the cool tabletop. It really is a beautiful piece—reclaimed wood, heavy wrought iron base, and thick panes of dark glass to protect the top.

It’s the kind of table that says stability, the kind you build memories around.

Like the rest of Balor’s house, it’s stylish and masculine, but not cold. It feels lived in.

Solid. Powerful.

Just like him.

And I’m trying so hard not to let that solidity unravel me.

I stab at my arroz con gandules with my fork, ignoring the nervous flutter in my stomach.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just wait till he comes home?—”

But even as I say the words, something clenches in my chest.

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