Chapter 37
Vera's POV
The warehouse air was thick with dust and heat, the kind that clung to your skin and made every breath taste like rust. Arturo stood across from me, older than most, but sharp—one of Leo’s former suppliers who’d realized which way the wind was blowing.
With Leo and Dominic still licking their wounds from the hit on their warehouse lines, I was already moving in, faster than they could recover.
Timing was everything, and I didn’t intend to leave any gaps in my rise.
He handed over the signed manifest, fingers steady, voice even as we finalized terms. Logistics, routes, volume, payment. All of it mine now.
Claire stood nearby, half-listening, half-studying the crates like she was trying to piece together how this world moved. She didn’t belong here, not really. That was why I kept her close.
But one of Arturo’s men didn’t get the message.
He was younger, lean, and leaning too far into his comfort—eyes fixed on her with a look that said he thought she might be part of the deal. Not aggressive. Not vulgar. Just long enough, smug enough, to piss me off.
I tilted my head slightly, let my eyes drift to his, and let a cold smirk curl across my lips. “Like what you see?”
He stiffened, caught, but then relaxed. Grinned. Arrogant. Like he thought I was offering her. Like he thought I would ever hand over what was mine.
I didn’t blink. Just turned to Claire.
“Come here.”
She looked up, confused by the tone, but she moved. She always moved when I called.
I reached for her wrist, and without hesitation, I pulled her down—hard—into my lap. Her breath hitched, more from surprise than protest. One leg slid across mine, her back against my chest, and my arm wrapped firmly around her waist.
The man’s grin vanished.
Claire tensed slightly, not used to being on display like this, but I didn’t let her go. My hand rested low on her stomach, fingers splayed wide, possessive. I didn’t look at her—I didn’t need to. She was here. That was enough.
I looked straight at the man.
“Tell your boy to keep his eyes where they belong,” I said to Arturo, voice quiet but sharp enough to cut bone. “Or I’ll carve them out and ship them back with the next crate.”
The room went still.
Arturo gave a slight nod. “It won’t happen again.”
Claire shifted slightly in my lap, her hand resting lightly on my thigh, tension humming through her. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak. And that silence? That trust?
It burned hotter than anything.
I leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to her temple, not for her comfort—for theirs. Let them see it. Let them choke on it.
She wasn’t here for show.
She wasn’t a prize.
She was mine.
And now they all knew it.
Arturo didn’t say another word. He just gave a tight nod, folded the contract, and turned. His men followed in silence, their steps heavy with the weight of what they’d witnessed. No one dared look back. Not after what I said. Not after what I did.
They’d seen the warning. And they knew it wasn’t just for them.
When the warehouse door slammed shut behind them, only my people remained.
Gabriel, arms crossed, unreadable as always.
Antonio, quiet in the corner, too quiet, watching Claire with something I didn’t like.
And the rest of them—still, silent, waiting.
Claire exhaled slowly beside me, arms still crossed, the tension in her shoulders trying to pretend it wasn’t there. Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and laced with that signature brand of hers.
“Well,” she said, flashing a smile that had too many teeth to be sincere, “that wasn’t subtle.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
She glanced around, letting her eyes pass over every man still in the room, then turned back to me, brow arched.
“Didn’t think you were the public declaration type,” she added, voice light, but there was something tighter behind it. “You want to slap a barcode on me next? Maybe a branded collar—ooh, something tasteful?”
I stepped closer, slow, calm, until she had to tilt her chin up to keep her eyes on mine. I leaned in just slightly, enough that only she could hear it when I said, “Would it keep them from looking at you?”
Her mouth parted slightly, the sarcasm stalling for half a breath before she caught it again.
“Right. Because nothing says romance like threatening to gouge someone’s eyes out in front of your staff,” she muttered, looking past me.
I brushed a thumb along her jaw, tilting her face back toward mine.
“I wasn’t making a statement for them, pastelito,” I said, low and flat. “I was reminding them of the consequences.”
Her throat bobbed, and she went quiet—not because she was afraid. Because she understood.
The rest of the room stood frozen, pretending not to be listening, but no one moved. Not Gabriel. Not Antonio. Not the men I trained to kill on command.
They all heard what I said.
They all saw what I did.
I let my eyes drift to Gabriel first—his jaw was tight, his gaze cold, but steady. Loyal. For now.
Then to Antonio.
He dropped his eyes the moment I caught him looking at her.
But it was too late.
I saw it.
That flicker of something that didn’t belong to him. That want.
I looked back to Claire, my hand still at her waist, and said loud enough for the room to hear:
“If anyone here’s still confused about where she stands—speak now.”
No one did.
Smart.
Claire smirked, dry and amused. “Wow. I always dreamed of being claimed like a vintage firearm. You sure know how to make a girl feel cherished.”
I leaned in, my voice low and dangerous. “You want cherished, go back to your sister. You stay here, you’re mine.”
She stared at me for a second, lips parted, chest rising.
Then she whispered, “You’re such a fucking psycho.”
I smiled, finally. “And you’re still standing here.”
She didn’t move.
And neither did anyone else.
Claire's POV
As soon as Vera disappeared into the office with Gabriel, the tension in the room shifted.
The silence didn’t break—it just changed its shape.
The crew went back to pretending they weren’t listening.
I stood near a stack of crates, arms crossed, still feeling the ghost of Vera’s hands on my waist, the heat of her voice in my ear.
She hadn’t hidden me.
She claimed me. In front of her crew. In front of outsiders. In front of anyone with ears and a death wish.
And I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head.
Then I felt him approach before he spoke—Antonio. His steps were always quieter than the others. More careful.
“You think that was smart?” he said softly.
I glanced sideways at him. He stood close, eyes on the door Vera had gone through. He looked tense. Thoughtful. That usual calm of his was fraying at the edges.
“I think that was hot,” I replied dryly. “But yeah, sure, let’s go with smart.”
He didn’t smile. Not even a twitch.
“I’m serious,” he said. “That wasn’t just a message to Arturo. That was a message to everyone. Now they know touching you gets a bullet—and not the fast kind.”
I shrugged. “And?”
He looked at me then. Really looked. “Leo’s watching you. He was already keeping tabs. Now Vera just made you the target.”
I turned to him, brows raised. “Is this the part where you give me the heartfelt warning to run?”
“I’m giving you a chance to be realistic.”
I laughed—quiet, sharp. “Realistic? You mean scared?”
“No,” he said, and something flickered in his eyes, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to name. “I mean… careful. Because this doesn’t end the way you think.”
I leaned in just a little, my voice lower, my smile thinner. “And how do I think it ends, Antonio?”
“You think she protects everyone she loves.”
That stopped me. Just for a second.
“And you think I don’t know what I’m walking into?” I asked. “That I haven’t been watching her just as closely as she watches everyone else?”
His jaw tensed. “You’re not built for this world.”
“No,” I said, stepping past him. “I’m not. But I’m built for her.”
He didn’t follow.
I turned back once, met his eyes.
“I know exactly what it means to be claimed by someone like Vera,” I said. “And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Let Leo come. Let the city talk. I’m not leaving.”
I smiled.
“My purpose is her. And I’ll burn with her if I have to.”
Vera's POV
The second the office door shut behind us, Gabriel turned on me.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. No lead-in, no warm-up. Just heat.
I didn’t respond. I lit a cigarette instead, the flare of the lighter flickering between us. I took a drag, slow, steady, exhaled like I wasn’t in the mood to entertain warnings.
“You don’t get to be reckless just because you’re winning,” he snapped. “We’ve been building this empire brick by fucking brick. You think no one noticed you pulling her into your lap like that? You gave them leverage.”
“She already is leverage,” I said calmly. “You think hiding her would make her any less of a target?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You handed them proof. You showed them what matters to you.”
I turned, facing him fully now, cigarette between my fingers. “And?”
Gabriel blinked, like he wasn’t sure if I was serious.
“You think I can’t protect what’s mine?” I asked, voice low, cold. “You think Claire makes me weaker?”
“I think she makes you care,” he said. “And that’s what gets people killed in our world.”
I stepped in closer, close enough for him to feel the shift. “I’ve always cared, Gabriel. I cared when Ignacio died. I cared when Valeria walked. I care now.”
He didn’t speak.
I let that hang between us before I added, “But don’t mistake caring for weakness. I built this empire with blood, not hope. And if anyone comes for her—anyone—I’ll bury them.”
His jaw clenched.
I took one more drag and flicked the ash into the tray beside us. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to follow orders.”
Gabriel held my stare for a long moment, then finally nodded once—tight and reluctant.
Good.
Because I wasn’t asking for permission.
I was already preparing for war.
That almost made me angrier.
Because the moment I stepped in and saw her—alone, sitting on the edge of the bed like nothing was burning—I realized just how exposed she was. How easy it would’ve been for anyone to get close.
Like him.
Arturo’s man.
I shut the door behind me harder than necessary. She looked up instantly, brows lifting in that way that was half attitude, half instinct.
“You don’t knock now?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. My eyes raked over her—hair loose, collarbone visible beneath the edge of my jacket. Still wearing it like it meant something. Like it was mine. But all I could see was the way that bastard looked at her. The way he smiled like he thought she was available. Like she wasn’t mine.
“You let him stare at you,” I said, voice low.
She blinked. “What?”
“Arturo’s man,” I ground out. “You didn’t look away.”
Claire stared at me for a second, lips parting in disbelief. Then she stood slowly, tilting her head like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or punch me.
“Are you serious right now?”
“You let him smile at you.”
“I didn’t let anyone do anything.”
My fists clenched. “You didn’t stop it.”
“I didn’t need to,” she shot back. “You already did that part for me, remember? Public threat, death glare, me on your lap like a fucking trophy—”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I was showing off,” I snapped. “I did that because he looked at you like he wanted you. And I don’t like that.”
Claire stepped closer, voice sharp now. “Yeah, no kidding, Vera. You made it very clear. But you think I wanted him to? You think I gave a shit?”
My jaw locked.
She kept going, stepping right into my space. “He could’ve dropped to his knees and offered me the world, and I still would’ve walked right past him to you.”
The silence between us crackled like a live wire.
“And yet,” I muttered, “you didn’t even flinch when he looked at you like that.”
Claire laughed under her breath, but there was no humor in it. “You really think I saw him when I could barely take my eyes off you?”
That made something twist inside me.
Because I did see it.
I saw her watching me as I stared that man down.
I saw the heat in her eyes.
And I hated that even with all of that, jealousy still burned like it owned me.
She stepped in again, chest brushing mine.
“You’re the only one who gets to look at me like that,” she said.
My breath caught, and all the rage coiled under my ribs started to shake apart.
Because fuck. I believed her.
Claire's POV
I didn’t wait for her to say another word.
She was seething—jealous, possessive, worked up in that cold, dangerous way only Vera could be. But I’d seen it for what it was. Not rage. Not control.
Want.
And I was done letting her hide behind it.
I stepped into her space, slow but deliberate, and she didn’t move. Her breath hitched just slightly when our bodies touched, chest to chest. I could feel the storm inside her humming under the surface.
Good.
I shoved her gently but firmly against the wall.
She gasped softly, more in surprise than resistance, her hands twitching like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop me or pull me closer.
I didn’t give her a chance to decide.
My fingers moved to the waistband of her pants, and before she could say a word, I unzipped them and slipped my hand inside.
Her mouth parted, breath catching as my fingers met heat and wet.
“Hmm,” I whispered, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, “you talk a lot about being jealous, but look how wet you are for me already, baby.”
She exhaled sharply, her head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. Her hips twitched against my hand, betraying her.
I smirked.
“You’re so big and bad in front of everyone,” I murmured, pressing a slow kiss just below her jaw, “but here? In this room? I’m the boss.”
Then I slid two fingers into her.
Vera moaned—quiet, strained, like she hated how much she needed it.
Her hands shot up, grabbing at my shoulders, her nails digging in, but she didn’t push me away.
Her breath stuttered—sharp, uneven—as her hips rolled into my hand. The moment my fingers sank deeper, she let out a sound she probably hadn’t meant to, a strangled mix of defiance and need.
“You don’t get to do this to me,” she muttered, her voice breaking against my neck, teeth clenched like she was trying to hold herself together.
But her body told the truth.
It always did.
I kept my fingers moving, slow at first, curling just right, dragging moans out of her throat one by one. My free hand slipped beneath her shirt, finding the heat of her waist, grounding her, keeping her right where I wanted her.
“You walked into my room like you owned me,” I whispered, lips brushing her ear, “but you’re the one falling apart.”
“Claire—” she breathed, like it was a warning, or maybe a plea.
But I wasn’t done.
I dragged my lips along her jaw, down to the side of her throat, and bit—not enough to hurt, just enough to feel.
Her knees buckled slightly, and I pinned her harder to the wall with my hips.
She whimpered.
Fucking whimpered.
“I don’t care how many guns you carry or who bows when you walk in,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “when it’s just us—you’re mine.”
And right then, with my fingers deep inside her, her pulse racing beneath my mouth, her body trembling in my hands—
Her head fell forward against my shoulder, a quiet curse slipping from her lips, one she tried to swallow but couldn’t hide.
Her hands were gripping my arms now—tight, shaking—but not to stop me.
No, she was holding on like the ground had gone out from under her and I was the only thing keeping her upright.
I moved faster, deeper, curling my fingers just right until her body jerked against mine, her breath hitching in sharp little gasps that only made me wetter.
“You feel that?” I whispered against her throat, dragging my tongue along the sensitive skin just below her jaw. “That’s not control, Vera. That’s surrender.”
Her fingers clawed at my back through my shirt, her breath coming faster now, shallow and uneven, her legs starting to tremble.
“You love this,” I murmured, lips grazing her cheek. “You love when I take from you. You want the world to bow, but when the doors close—you want me to break you.”
She groaned, a low, guttural sound caught deep in her throat, her hips grinding into my hand now, chasing it, desperate.
“Say it,” I coaxed, dragging my thumb up to brush against her clit—just once, light and cruel.
She choked on a gasp, her whole body jolting.
“Claire—fuck—”
I kissed her then, hard, swallowing the noise, my tongue sliding over hers, claiming her right back.
She was close. I could feel it in the way her body tightened, in the way her walls fluttered around my fingers.
I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against hers.
“Say it, baby,” I whispered. “Say you’re mine.”
She was panting now, one breath away from falling apart.
And when she finally gave in—when the words tumbled from her lips, ragged and raw—
"I am yours.." It wasn’t a surrender.
It was a promise.