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His smile was soft and devastating. “Good. Because I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not ever again.”
The jet’s wheels touched down with barely a bump, the landing so smooth Elena barely felt it. But her stomach still dropped, because this was real now. No more planning. No more theoretical discussions. They were committed, wheels on the ground, moving forward into whatever came next.
In three days, she’d be facing the cartel.
But right now, in this moment, she was just Elena. And she wasn’t alone.
The SUV navigated through Miami’s late-night traffic, the city alive with neon and sound even at this hour. Art Deco buildings glowed in shades of pink and turquoise, their façades lit like birthday cakes. Music pulsed from open club doors, and beautiful people in minimal clothing spilled onto sidewalks slick with recent rain.
The air that seeped through the SUV’s air-conditioning smelled of ocean salt and night-blooming jasmine and the sizzling electricity of a city that never quite went to sleep. Eventually they left the glamorous parts behind, navigating into quieter commercial areas where the buildings were plain concrete and the streetlights cast everything in harsh sodium yellow.
They pulled up to a nondescript building that could have housed anything—an accounting firm, a storage facility, a front for something illegal. A simple sign in small letters read, Executive Lounge—Private Access Only.
“This is it,” Brock said, his voice tight with distaste. “Magnum’s kingdom.”
Elena looked at the building—three stories of beige concrete with narrow windows covered by security bars. Not exactly a place that inspired confidence.
“He’s really the best?” she asked.
“He’s the best at what he does,” Nate said from the front seat. “Which is creating identities that’ll pass any inspection. Doesn’t mean he’s not a sleazy creep.”
Brock sighed. “I love this job.”
“Magnum doesn’t like women,” Nate explained to Elena and Eden, his voice apologetic. “Old-world mentality. He’ll barely talk business if there’s a woman in the room. Says it’s disrespectful to discuss such things in front of ladies.” He rolled his eyes. “His words, not mine.”
“Charming,” Eden said dryly, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. “Should I curtsy when we meet him, or would that be too forward?”
“There’s a café across the street.” Brock pointed to a small outdoor bistro still open despite the late hour, its tables scattered under a striped awning, fairy lights strung overhead creating a soft glow. “Why don’t you two wait there? This shouldn’t take long.”
“How long is long?” Elena asked, not wanting to be separated from Brock even though she knew it was irrational.
“Thirty minutes, tops,” Nate said, already opening his door. “Magnum’s efficient when properly motivated.”
Elena and Eden climbed out of the SUV, the humid Miami night wrapping around them like a wet blanket after the air-conditioned interior. They crossed the quiet street, heels clicking on pavement still warm from the day’s heat. The café was nearly empty—just a tired-looking couple finishing dessert and a man in a business suit nursing what looked like his fourth espresso. They chose a table with a clear view of the building across the street, and a server appeared almost immediately with menus and water glasses beaded with condensation.
“Coffee,” Eden said. “Black. Strongest you have.”
“Same,” Elena added, though she wasn’t sure her jangling nerves needed more caffeine.
When the server left, Eden leaned back in her chair, studying Elena with those disconcertingly direct eyes. “So. You and Brock.”
Elena felt heat climb her neck. “What about us?”
“Please. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.” Eden’s expression softened slightly. “And I’ve seen the way you’re starting to look at him when you think no one’s watching.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” Eden’s smile was knowing. “It’s okay, you know. To want something for yourself. To let yourself have it.”
“After this is over—”
“No.” Eden leaned forward, her voice firm but kind. “Not after. Now. Because there might not be an after, Elena. This is a dangerous operation. Any of us could die. So if you feel something for him, if you want him, don’t wait for the perfect moment. Perfect moments don’t exist in our line of work.”
The coffee arrived, thick and dark and smelling like salvation. Elena wrapped her hands around the warm cup, needing something to anchor her.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“Of the mission?”
