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“Keep it to yourself. I have a reputation.”

She gave my side a small squeeze.

“You don’t have to decide tonight whether you’re Delgado, Duarte, Dravik, or something else entirely,” I said. “When you do decide, Nik can make the paperwork match.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“With Nik?” I gave her another small squeeze. “It probably is.”

“Nikolai Volkov can make a person disappear from any country on earth and reappear with school records, a tax history, and a passport before most people finish breakfast.” I cupped her cheek with my hand and brushed my thumb beneath the last damp streak on her cheek. “If you want a new life under another name, he can give you one. If you want the world to recognize you as Isabella Delgado, he’ll make that happen instead.”

“Even after everything Marcela did while using it?”

“Those crimes belong to her. We’ll separate your name from every piece of filth she attached to it.”

Her eyes dropped again.

“I don’t have a degree. I don’t have a résumé or proper records. I don’t even know whether anything I know would count outside the finca.”

“You don’t need a résumé the day after escaping a cartel compound.”

“I’ll need one eventually. I can’t expect you and your friends to support me forever.”

“You can expect us to make certain you’re safe for as long as necessary.”

“That isn’t the same as taking care of myself.”

“No.” I understood the distinction mattered to her. “When you’re ready, you can study whatever you want. Work wherever you want. Open a bakery, spend your days in a library, or decide you hate both after trying them. My people can give you money, time, and every opportunity you should have had years ago. What you do with them will be yours.”

Until that moment, I had been thinking almost entirely in terms of safety: get Isabella off the mountain, out of the country, and somewhere no one could reach her.

Safe was no longer enough.

I wanted her happy.

I wanted to see what she chose when she no longer had to measure every decision against Ciro’s temper. I wanted to know what made her laugh when she wasn’t exhausted or frightened, what she would study when no one was deciding what she was allowed to read, and where she would go simply because the door was open.

Manhattan could give her more than money and protection.

Lacey and Scarlett would understand parts of what Ciro’s world had done to her that I never could. Nik had hired therapists for Lacey after The Sacrifice and paid whatever it took to find the right people. I could do the same for Isabella if she wanted it. She would have women around her who understood what it was to survive Ciro’s world. And I would burn what remained of that world before letting it touch her again.

She would have a family before she even understood that was what The Syndicate had become.

And selfishly, I wanted a place in whatever life she built. I wanted her books in my home, her bare feet on my floors, her hair across my pillow, and every man who looked at her to know she was mine.

“Will you help me until I can take care of myself?” she asked.

“Of course, Mouse.”

“What if it takes a long time?”

“Then it takes a long time.”

“What if I never become the person you think I should be?”

“I haven’t decided who you should be.”

“Men usually do.”