Page 18 of Crystal Wrath
“You invited me here. I assumed that you wanted to talk.”
“I did want to talk. But not to confess my sins to a journalist.” I lift the corner of my napkin and wipe my mouth, buying time to consider how much truth I'm willing to share. “Do you know what Little Havana used to be, Elena?”
Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I realize this is personal for her. Not just professional curiosity but something deeper. Something that connects to who she is and where she comes from.
“A Cuban neighborhood. A home to people displaced once, now being displaced again.” She grinds her back teeth together.
I nod slowly. “And it's a battlefield. Not just for developers looking to make a profit. The territory that once meant culture and community now means leverage in a much larger game.”
She studies me, her dark eyes calculating. I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind, connecting dots and forming theories. “So, you admit you're fighting for that slice of territory?”
“I admit nothing. But I will say this,” I lean forward, ensuring she hears every word, “there are forces in this city much darker than zoning boards and property deeds. Much more dangerous than corrupt politicians taking bribes. You poke at one piece of it, and you shake the whole table. Eventually, something falls off the edge.”
“You mean someone.”
“I do.”
We eat in silence for several minutes. The grouper is perfectly prepared, flaky, and seasoned with just the right amount of spice to complement the ocean view. But I'm not really tasting it.My attention is focused entirely on the woman across from me, watching as she processes what I've told her.
She's going to keep digging. I can see it in the set of her shoulders and the determined way she cuts her fish. Elena Martinez doesn't back down from anything. Consequences be damned.
“You're Bratva,” she says suddenly, quietly, but with absolute conviction.
I don't blink. Don't deny it. The lie would be too thin between us, and she's already proven she can see through my deceptions.
She swallows hard, and for the first time tonight, I see genuine fear flicker across her face. Good. Fear will keep her alive longer than bravery will.
“Then why not kill me? If I'm a threat. If I know too much.”
Ishouldkill her. Any other journalist who'd gotten this close to the truth would already be at the bottom of the bay. But here she sits, challenging me, daring me to admit why she's still breathing.
“Because I'm not sure which side of the line you fall on yet. And because...”
I stop, not wanting to say the words that are flashing in my mind.
Because I want to protect you. Because watching you walk into danger makes my chest ache in a way I haven't felt since learning my real mother died when I was an infant. Because something about you cuts through the numbness I thought was permanent and makes me feel things I swore I'd never feel again.
I shake the thoughts off and rise from my chair, the legs scraping against the stone patio. “Dinner's over. I'll have your car brought around.”
She stands, too, her chin tilted in that familiar gesture of defiance. “You think you can warn me away, and I'll just vanish? Disappear into the night and forget everything I've learned?”
“I think you'll consider what your life is worth.”
“I already have.”
The simple statement has the force of a gunshot. She's made her choice. She's going to keep pushing, digging, and putting herself in danger for a story that could get her killed.
God help me, I believe her. And God help us both because I know what comes next.
The next morning is gray and humid, typical Miami weather that matches my mood perfectly. I'm in my office on the twenty-second floor, reviewing shipping manifests and trying to focus on legitimate business when Sergey walks in. His face is tight, and he's carrying bad news like it's another drink to be consumed.
“Francesco Bennato asked about the girl,” he says without preamble.
I look up from the file I'm reviewing, already knowing this conversation is going to ruin my day. “What girl.”
He lifts a brow, giving me a look that says he's not buying my ignorance act for even a second. “Elena Martinez. He's heardabout her visits to City Hall and the record departments. Says she's been sniffing around his developments too.”
I shut the file with more force than necessary. The sound echoes in my office like a gunshot. “How does he know her name?”
