Chapter 19 #2
I open my mouth to fight him again, and then the air shifts.
The hallway outside goes quieter, then louder, then quiet again in a different way. Shoes stop. Voices lower. A nurse says something polite and strained like she is trying to keep control of a situation she does not want.
My stomach drops before I even see her.
Because I already know.
Carmen Solano steps into the doorway like she owns the hospital. White blouse. Sleek black pants. Heels sharp enough to stab. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless.
No fear on her face.
Her gaze sweeps the room and lands on me.
She doesn’t look shocked.
She looks satisfied, like she is confirming something she suspected, like she has been waiting for proof and Miami finally handed it to her.
Then her eyes slide to Diablo and something colder flashes under her calm.
Possession. Territory. Politics.
“I heard there was an incident,” she says, voice smooth as a knife. “I came as soon as I could.”
Diablo stands slowly, controlled, and his body blocks me without him even thinking about it. A wall of leather and ink and violence on a leash.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
Carmen’s smile is faint, practiced. “I’m your fiancée. Of course I should be here.”
Fiancée hits my ribs and lodges there. The word sits in the room like a third heartbeat, loud and constant.
My face goes hot, not from the swelling, but from humiliation and anger and the fact that I let myself forget for one second that he has a ring waiting on him like a leash.
Diablo does not flinch. “This isn’t the place.”
Carmen steps into the room anyway, heels clicking like she is making a point with every step. “Actually, this is exactly the place,” she says. “Public places are where reputations live and die.”
She glances at the TV in the corner, and my eyes follow her without my permission. A grainy clip is playing on repeat, shaky phone video of motorcycles and flashing lights outside my building. The anchor’s mouth moves with fake concern, caption crawling along the bottom.
SHOOTING IN LITTLE HAVANA: GANG CONNECTIONS SUSPECTED.
My stomach churns.
Carmen looks back at Diablo, smile gone. “Do you know what they’re saying?” she asks, calm voice, sharp eyes.
Diablo’s voice is flat. “I don’t give a fuck what they’re saying.”
Carmen’s nostrils flare just a little. “You should.”
Diablo takes a step toward her, voice dropping into a warning. “Not now.”
Carmen’s gaze flicks to me again, and there is a glint of cruelty under her polish. Not loud. Not messy. Just deliberate.
“So,” she says softly. “She survived.”
I sit up straighter. Pain flares in my cheek, but I refuse to be spoken about like I am a thing in a display case.
Carmen’s eyes travel down my face, my bandages, the blanket, and she tilts her head like she is pretending sympathy.
“You look fragile,” she says. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I’m not fragile,” I bite out.
Carmen’s smile returns, thin and sharp. “Good. Then you’ll understand what I’m about to say without breaking.”
Diablo’s voice turns dangerous. “Carmen.”
She ignores him like he is background noise. “You’ve stepped into something bigger than you,” she tells me. “You’re not just a woman with a sad story. You’re a complication. And complications are expensive.”
Anger flares so bright it makes my eyes sting. “I didn’t ask to be dragged into your club.”
Carmen’s gaze slides to Diablo. “But he dragged you anyway.”
Diablo’s jaw tightens. “I brought her in because she was in danger.”
“And now she’s in the hospital,” Carmen says, voice still calm, “and the news is calling us a gang, and our enemies will smell weakness, and our allies will start asking questions. This is what your feelings cost.”
“Don’t talk about her like she’s a bill,” Diablo says.
Carmen laughs softly. “Funny. Considering you paid her once, didn’t you?”
Heat rushes to my face, shame and fury tangled together. She’s implying I’m a whore. It’s not even true.
Diablo’s voice is a warning. “Enough.”
Carmen’s gaze flicks to his cut like he is a headline. “You’re here. In your colors. In public. Hovering over her like she’s your wife.”
Wife makes my chest hurt in a way I hate.
Carmen steps closer, perfume cold and floral. “You’re engaged to me,” she says to Diablo, loud enough for the hallway to hear. “You’ve postponed the wedding too many times.”
Diablo doesn’t look away. “Don’t do this.”
Carmen’s voice drops, smile staying. “I’m not doing anything. You are.”
She glances at me like she is measuring me and finding me lacking. “Be careful, Darling Rivera. Men like him ruin women. And then they move on.”
“You don’t know him,” I snap, and I hate that my voice cracks.
Carmen’s eyes flash. “I know Miami. I know the Saints. And I know what I married into.”
Diablo’s voice cuts sharp. “You didn’t marry into anything.”
Silence slams down like a door.
Carmen’s smile freezes, cracks, then she catches it and turns it into something sweeter for the hallway.
“Engaged,” she says, enunciating. “Not married. Yet.”
Yet hangs like a countdown.
“I want to talk,” she says.
“We’ll talk later,” Diablo answers.
“No,” Carmen says. “We’ll talk now. Because every minute you stand here, someone is taking a picture. Somebody is texting somebody. Somebody is whispering.”
She looks at me again like I am a stain on a white dress. “This girl will cost you.”
Diablo steps closer to Carmen, body cutting her off from me completely. His voice drops into something controlled and terrifying.
“She’s not a cost,” he says. “She’s mine.”
Mine hits me like a punch. Possession and protection and confession tangled together.
Carmen’s eyes widen just a hair, then narrow. I can see her calculating, turning emotion into leverage.
She leans in close to Diablo, voice too soft for anyone else.
“If you choose her publicly,” she murmurs, “I will take everything from you privately.”
My blood goes cold.
Diablo doesn’t blink. “Try.”
Carmen’s lips part, almost a smile. “I will.”
Then she straightens, face snapping back into the polished mask. She touches Diablo’s arm as a public claim. He does not flinch, but he does not lean into it either.
“Get your mess cleaned up,” she says. “And remember who made you.”
Diablo’s eyes go flat. “I made me.”
Carmen turns to leave, heels clicking like gunshots. At the door she looks back at me once, and there is no jealousy there.
Just strategy.
The door shuts behind her and the room can breathe again.
I can’t.
My hands shake under the blanket. My throat tightens like it is being dragged by a chain.
Diablo turns back to me slowly like he is bracing for a fight.
“You’re engaged,” I say, voice steady even though it hurts. “Are you ever going to tell me why you keep acting like I’m yours when you’ve got a ring waiting on you?”
His face tightens. He comes closer, then stops a few feet away like he is giving me space he doesn’t want to give.
“It’s complicated,” he says.
I laugh, bitter. “Everything with you is complicated.”
“No,” he says, sharp. “It’s simple. It’s just not easy.”
“Then say it.”
He exhales like he hates this, like he hates strings and politics and debts.
“I can’t break it yet,” he admits.
The words land heavy and sharp.
“Why not?”
“Because Carmen isn’t just Carmen,” he says. “She’s Rafael’s daughter. She’s the symbol. The bloodline. The reason half of Miami didn’t tear my throat out when I took the seat.”
I hate that it makes sense.
I hate it more that I can hear truth in his voice.
“So I’m what,” I whisper. “A secret?”
His gaze snaps to mine, fierce. “No.”
“Then what am I?”
His voice roughens. “You’re the only thing that ever felt like mine before all this. You’re the only thing that still does.”
Heat floods low and dangerous, my body betraying me even while my pride screams.
“I’m not asking you to be a secret,” he says. “I’m asking you to give me time.”
Time sounds like a lie men tell women to keep them soft.
But Diablo looks wrecked, and his hands stay clenched at his sides like he is holding himself back from touching me because he knows it will make everything worse.
“Time for what,” I whisper.
“Time to end this without getting my brothers killed.”
That hits hard.
“And what about me?” I ask. “What happens to me while you figure out your politics?”
“You stay alive,” he says immediately.
I laugh again, but it cracks. “That’s a low bar.”
He crouches so he is eye level with me, voice dropping into something rougher, something honest.
“You think I want you scared of her?” he murmurs. “You think I want you in the crossfire?”
“I think I already am.”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
Then he reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
His knuckles brush the edge of my bandage, careful, and it almost hurts worse than the bruise because nobody has been careful with me in a long time.
“I’m going to fix this,” he says. “But you have to let me do it my way.”
“What if your way gets me killed,” I whisper.
His voice turns deadly. “Then Miami dies with you.”
A shiver runs through me.
Diablo’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Stay,” he says again, quieter now. Not a command. A plea he hates showing.
“I don’t want to be your la sancha,” I whisper.
“You won’t be.”
“Then if I stay,” I say, forcing the words out, “I’m staying because I choose to. Not because you told me to.”
His lips twitch, almost a smile. “I’ll take it.”
“And you’re not locking me in any room.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“And Carmen doesn’t get to threaten me without you doing something about it.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She threatens you again, she answers to me.”
My breath comes shaky.
“You don’t lie with her. Not sex and not to sleep.”
“Of course.”
“Disco comes with me,” I say, because it is the only piece of my life I can hold in my fist.
“Done,” he says, no hesitation.
My chest caves in a little with relief I don’t want to need.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll stay at your clubhouse.”
His eyes close for half a second like he is absorbing it, like he is trying not to fall apart.