Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Adena
Jagger’s still asleep when I slip out, easing the hotel door closed until it latches with the softest click. He needs the rest, and I need room to thank God for answering my frantic prayers last night.
The hotel gym sits on the mezzanine behind a wall of glass, bright and sterile. The overhead lights glare against the mirrored walls; each reflection looks sharper, harsher, like it’s evaluating me.
By the time I finish my workout, sweat slicks my spine, and the buzzing anxiety under my skin hasn’t settled. I shower quickly, barely toweling my hair dry before my phone vibrates sharply against the counter.
A text message that makes all my muscles clench.
Meet Valentina downstairs in ten minutes.
I scribble a note to Jagger, leave it on the bar, and dress as quickly as I can.
When I reach the lobby, she’s already waiting—composed, immaculate, not a strand of hair out of place, like she’s been sitting there for an hour, rehearsing exactly how this morning will go.
She doesn’t ask how I slept. Doesn’t ask about Jagger. Doesn’t mention my winning the hand last night.
She simply takes my arm—light, elegant, impossibly firm—and guides me toward the waiting car.
Silence thickens in the cabin as the car pulls away from the hotel. I fold my hands in my lap, keeping them perfectly still even though my pulse flutters unevenly beneath my skin. Valentina watches the city through the tinted glass, face serene as a painting.
Finally, she speaks. “You adapt quickly.”
I force a small nod. “I try.”
“Mmm.” She studies me with unsettling calm. “Many women struggle when they are brought into this world. They break. Cry. Panic. But you…” Her gaze lingers on my face. “You hold yourself well.”
A chill tightens around my spine. “I’m doing my best to fit in.”
“Of course you are, querida.” Her voice flows smooth as warm honey. “It is why certain decisions have been made.”
My breath catches, but I keep my expression neutral. “Decisions?”
“Men like Jagger do not bring women close on a whim. And Marquez?” A soft, knowing smile touches her lips. “He does not invest in uncertainty.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t presume anything.”
“No,” she agrees, “you do not. And that is good. Modesty becomes a woman in your position.”
My position. She says it like it’s already established, unchangeable.
Valentina’s gaze lingers, assessing. “A man in his line of work requires a certain… steadiness.” Her fingers tap once against her clutch. “Some women mistake proximity for suitability.”
I stare ahead, careful not to let the panic rising in my throat show in my eyes or in the tightening of my jaw. “I understand,” I say evenly.
“Good.” She tilts her head, studying me the way a jeweler inspects a gem for flaws.
“Marriage requires complete unity,” Valentina says calmly. “You walk as he walks. You speak as he speaks. You do not contradict him in public.”
She lets that settle before continuing. “You honor his decisions. You protect his reputation.” A pause. Precise. “Your life becomes his.”
The air feels thinner. I can’t get a full breath in.
But I nod once. Controlled. Respectful. Noncommittal.
Valentina rests her hand over mine. The gesture looks gentle, almost motherly—but her grip isn’t. “A woman who cannot meet these expectations… draws attention.”
My pulse slams against my ribs. “I won’t.”
“I know you won’t.” Her smile is soft but triumphant. “That is why you were approved.”
The car slows.
I look up—and everything inside me freezes.
An elegant storefront rises before us, marble and glass shining in the morning light. In the window, under glowing spotlights, mannequins stand draped in bridal gowns—silk, lace, beadwork gleaming like a temptation or a snare.
My heart rockets into my throat.
I paste on a smile because it’s the only thing I can control. But panic surges beneath it, sharp and suffocating. If I let even a sliver show, I’ll come apart right here in the car.
Valentina’s fingers brush mine before she opens her door—an encouraging gesture that feels more like a warning.
The look she gives me—cool, satisfied, victorious—turns my stomach.
Like I’ve just stepped into the final move of a game she’s been playing since before I arrived.
“Come,” she says softly. “Everything is prepared.”
Jagger
I pace the room, trying not to think about why it’s taking Adena so long. Four hours shopping, and not a single text or phone call.
Anything could have happened to her.
I filled the time the way I'm supposed to—hit the hotel gym until my shoulders burned, mapped the route they'll take tonight, made calls to the bars Marquez likes, coordinated with Ortega's security team about positions and sight lines—how to stay in the shadows but close enough if things go wrong.
Everything accounted for. Prepared for.
Except her.
The woman who walked into an operation and dismantled every contingency plan just by existing. Who reads a room the way most people read air. Who can sit across from Valentina and win a poker hand that should've gone the other way.
Adena. Whose faith enables her to walk into a situation and make everyone believe whatever story she's selling, including me.
Just when I’m mentally ripping my hair out, Adena strolls in, followed by the concierge dragging an armful of shopping bags. One of them is a large box he sets down carefully, like it’s armed, before leaving.
Her locks have been styled in a knot, similar to Valentina’s, and her makeup is way too dramatic for afternoon.
She looks like a painted doll. A miserable one.
“More dresses?”
She nods. “This is the dress.”
Puzzled, I stalk over to inspect the box in case it is armed.
Maiden White Bridal Boutique.
All my muscles tense. “You bought a wedding dress?”
“No,” she says. “You did.”
I brace. Valentina doesn’t shop cheap. “How much?”
A hint of defensiveness creeps into her voice. “It’s a Galia Lahav. Off the rack. Last one. It was on sale.”
I have no idea what that means, or why she’s so tense.
I fold my arms across my chest. “How much?”
She exhales. “Sixteen thousand.”
I gape at her. Sixteen grand on a dress you only wear once? I can already picture the audit file. The explanations. The reports.
Undercover purchase: one wedding gown. Reason: operational necessity.
“And you had to buy it now?”
Her face tightens, and she gestures to herself. “It was on sale.”
On sale. She's not talking about price. She's talking about timing.
Valentina doesn't do anything without precision. And she didn't spend the day with Adena for nothing.
“The wedding’s been arranged already?”
Adena doesn’t even bother to reply; she just sends me a glower that tells me everything I need to know.
Adena
Cold sweat gathers at the base of my spine, trickling down one vertebra at a time.
It has been arranged. Valentina took great delight in telling me every last detail on the ride back here.
I need to get back to the vault where walls can't hear us, where I can talk to him before the words claw their way out of my throat from sheer desperation.
“I’ve spent all the money you gave me,” I say as casually as I can manage. It’s true. I ordered the most ridiculous things on the menu, the most expensive wine, and barely touched any of it.
His eyebrow tips. “Something I’ll have to get used to.”
I ignore the comment, taking it for what it is—the expected reaction for the ears that hear every little thing.
We carry on the same mindless small talk on the drive to the vault. The evening ahead. Where he'll be. What I can expect. Words that mean nothing because they're all I'm allowed to say.
The moment we’re back inside the vault, the door closes behind us, and the world outside ceases to exist.
I don't even wait for the sound to finish echoing before it all comes pouring out.
"We’re out of time. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow, and it’s going to be big."
He moves to the far wall, back to me. His hand rakes through his hair. "How many people are we talking about?"
"She didn't give me a number. Just said 'intimate,' which in their world means—"
"A hundred minimum." He stops pacing. “Weddings that big don’t just come together overnight,” he says.
He’s confirming my own thoughts. Thoughts I really wish were about another couple.
“They must have been planning a wedding for weeks,” I say.
He winces. “Whatever is going on, whatever the reason they wanted a big cartel wedding this weekend, there’s still time to make your exit.”
I start to shake my head, but he silences me with a look. “I’ll contact your boss. He can pull you out."
"They’ll kill you," I say. "I’m not leaving."
He crosses toward me, stops just short of touching. Like he's not sure if he's allowed.
"Adena… if you stay, you’ll wind up married to me."
I square my shoulders. “I am aware of that.”
He pulls back, eyes searching mine like he’s afraid of what I’ll say next.
“I’ve done things,” he says, voice rough. “Bad things. You don’t want to hitch your wagon to me.”
I draw a breath. This matters too much to get wrong—but more than that, it matters too much not to try.
“So have I. Worse than you know. That’s the point. We’re all guilty,” I say. “Every one of us. I don’t get a pass. Neither do you. And Jesus took what we couldn’t carry ourselves.”
His eyes close for a moment, jaw tight. “Not really the time for a Bible lesson.”
“It’s the perfect time for one; right now, realizing you need saving is the only way out of this mess!” I say.
A single eyebrow hitches. “You really believe all that? That God came down from heaven, took on human form, and died on a cross?”
I was prepared for pushback. I know I did when I first heard the gospel. It defies all human reasoning, and that’s exactly why it’s so astonishing.
“I know God is real, and I know He cares about you, Jagger.”
His eyes shift from my face to the ring sitting heavy on my finger. “That’s a lot to take in, Tiger. Marriage. God…” He meets my gaze, a faint, teasing smile ghosting across his lips. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re marrying me to save my soul?”
My breath locks in my chest. My heart pounds too hard against my ribs.
It would be easy to get lost in him, in what this could mean. But this isn’t about declarations or promises. This is about whether my faith holds when it costs something.
I lift my chin. “This is the part I tell you that Jesus changed me. And he can change you too, if you want Him to.”
He doesn’t mock me.
I didn’t expect him to.
He just opens the vault and pulls out a stack of cash and starts counting it out, effectively ending the conversation before it can really begin.