Chapter 10 #3
I let my gaze roam over the crates, then back to Rafael. He turned slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to me for a moment before returning to his call. No nod. No smile. Just acknowledgment. That was all I ever got from him when we weren’t playing some sort of verbal war game.
Kellan whistled low as he joined me. “This place screams private cartel resort. We’re either going to leave with more money or less blood.”
“Both,” Ash said, tossing his bag into the trunk of one of the cars.
Rafael finally ended his call and walked toward us. “This one’s yours.” He held out a key fob toward Kellan.
Kellan took it without hesitation. “Directions?”
Rafael handed him a folded sheet of paper. “Follow this. Don’t stop. Don’t get cute. I’ll meet you there later.”
“And the rest of the rules?” I asked, arching a brow.
He looked at me like I was a challenge he already accepted. “Try not to kill anyone before I get there.”
I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked toward the SUV, sliding into the back seat as Kellan took the driver’s side and Ash got in on the passenger’s.
As we pulled away from the jet, I glanced in the side mirror. Rafael was still standing there. Watching us leave.
The city gave way to long stretches of winding road lined with trees and low buildings in the distance. Cartagena wasn’t quiet, but the further we drove, the more silence crept in between the noise. I leaned my head against the window, letting the vibration of the road pulse through my skull.
“You think we’re staying somewhere with actual security?” Ash asked.
Kellan didn’t look away from the road. “If Rafael’s staying there, it’ll be locked down tighter than hell.”
I stayed quiet, fingers lightly tapping against my knee.
“Still thinking about the dagger?” Kellan asked, cutting his eyes toward me.
I didn’t answer. Because I was. I was thinking about how clean it looked when he handed it to me.
How he held it like it didn’t weigh a damn thing, even after what I almost did with it.
How he made me look at my own weapon like it meant something more now.
Like it had touched his skin, drawn the memory of death without spilling it.
The car rounded another curve, and finally, we reached a long stone drive flanked by tall palm trees and an open iron gate.
The resort.
It looked expensive. Remote. The kind of place people came to when they wanted to disappear without really disappearing.
Ash whistled. “At least we’ll die somewhere pretty.”
I cracked a smile. “Speak for yourself.”
We parked the SUV, the engine ticking as it cooled. I stepped out, my heels crunching against the gravel. The air smelled like heat and salt and danger. I breathed it in like I needed it.
Rafael wasn’t here yet. Good. Let me catch my breath before he tries to take it again.
The humidity wrapped around me like a second skin the moment I stepped out of the car.
The golden hour sun soaked the villa in soft warmth, the breeze rolling off the coast doing nothing to ease the thick, sultry heat of Cartagena.
Palm trees swayed lazily in the distance, and the sky bled soft orange and pink hues.
But none of it reached the unrest sitting low in my chest.
Kellan and Ash had already popped the trunk, pulling our luggage out in silence. I stood still for a moment, just breathing in the unfamiliar air. I could smell salt, citrus, and something faintly tropical. This place was too beautiful for whatever darkness Rafael had planned.
I brushed my hands down my thighs and turned to Kellan, who was hauling my suitcase from the car. “I hate that it feels like paradise,” I muttered.
“You’re not the only one,” he said, glancing around. “Places like this? Always hiding something underneath.”
Ash grinned as he grabbed his bag. “Probably bodies.”
I didn’t even smile.
But before either of them could say anything else, a voice called out lazily, “Well, well… I didn’t realize Rafael started hiring models as soldiers.”
I turned. A man was strolling toward us with a drink in one hand and a half-burned blunt in the other.
Shirt half-open, tanned skin glowing under the sun, curly dark hair brushing against his forehead.
There was a sharpness in his eyes though—an edge beneath the grin. And a ridiculous amount of swagger.
“Don’t shoot. I come in peace,” he said, flicking the blunt onto the pavement and raising his hands. “Welcome to Cartagena. I’m your official tour guide for this absurdly expensive estate Rafael’s pretending isn’t a playground.”
I stared at him, unimpressed. “And you are?”
“Yuri,” he said easily, stepping closer. “I kill people for a living. But today, I’m your concierge.” He offered me the drink he was holding. “Rum, with a little lime. Because tequila this early makes me violent.”
Ash raised an eyebrow. “You serious?”
Yuri grinned at him. “Always. Unless I’m not. It’s part of the charm.”
Kellan leaned against the car, expression unreadable. “You one of Rafael’s?”
Yuri gave him a slow smile. “You could say I’m his better half. He’d deny it. But he’d be wrong.”
I took the drink, not sipping, just letting the condensation chill my fingertips. “You always this annoying, or are we just special?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, stepping beside me and linking his arm through mine, “you’re special. Come on, let me give you a tour before Rafael starts brooding in corners again. He’s been tragically moody lately.”
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Ash and Kellan. “You two good with the bags?”
Ash nodded. “Yeah. Go play nice.”
Kellan, voice low, added, “Stay sharp.”
Always.
Yuri guided me around the estate like it belonged to him.
“That over there’s the guest house—don’t use the hot tub unless you’re ready to hear things you can’t un-hear.
The kitchen’s staffed with locals who cook like they’ve sold their souls for flavor.
And that—” he pointed to the sprawling pool “—is where I almost drowned last year. In champagne.”
I didn’t say much, just took it all in. The ocean view. The palm-lined path. The thick silence behind his jokes.
“You don’t talk much,” he noted, glancing at me as we neared the edge of the infinity pool. “I respect that. Mystery is sexy.”
“I talk when I want to,” I said evenly.
“Ah, a selective conversationalist. Even better.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me, hands sliding into his pockets. “You don’t trust me yet. That’s smart. Don’t. But you’ll like me eventually. I grow on people.”
“Fungus grows on people too,” I replied dryly.
He let out a laugh, throwing his head back, just as a familiar voice cut through the humid air behind us.
“Yuri.”
I turned. Rafael stood a few feet away, Nikolai beside him, both of them dressed in black like it wasn’t a hundred degrees out. His gaze flicked over Yuri, then me. Something unreadable passed through his expression.
Yuri smirked. “Speak of the devil. You’re early.”
“I’m never early,” Rafael said, his eyes on me now. “Just prepared.”
I didn’t look away. Let the games begin.
I didn’t expect to like Yuri. The blunt in his hand.
The wide, lazy grin. The cocky swagger like he owned the pool and maybe the world.
He looked like trouble dressed in sun-warmed ease and golden skin.
But there was something infectious in the way he laughed, like nothing around him could take itself too seriously—not even Rafael.
Especially not Rafael.
Yuri had barely taken a sip of his drink before he started teasing him. “So,” he said, kicking back on one of the loungers and stretching like a damn cat, “how long did it take you to plan your brooding entrance? Or do you just walk around with that face on standby?”
Rafael didn’t flinch. “Two months in Russia and you’ve already forgotten your place.”
Yuri smirked. “My place is wherever I’m needed to remind you that you’re not a god.”
Nikolai, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. “He tried to stage a coup in the Moscow safehouse, if you’re wondering how that went.”
“I did no such thing,” Yuri said with mock offense. “I merely suggested I’d be a better leader. The room agreed.”
“The room,” Nikolai muttered, “was made of vodka bottles.”
Yuri winked at me then, tossing back the last of his drink. “You see what I deal with?”
I couldn’t help it—my lips tugged slightly, the smallest hint of amusement warming my face.
The three of them together were… magnetic.
The brutal power of Rafael. The lethal quiet of Nikolai.
And then Yuri, who brought a strange kind of life into the middle of it.
Their banter wasn’t for show. It was old, worn-in.
Years of loyalty. Of death and blood and survival.
It reminded me of Kellan and Ash in a way. Different, but threaded with the same kind of bone-deep bond.
And maybe that’s why, when Kellan and Ash joined us by the pool, everything settled. There was still tension, of course—there always would be—but something about this moment… it felt less like a mission and more like the calm before a storm.
Rafael’s eyes were on me. I could feel them, steady and unreadable. I didn’t look at him. Not yet.
Yuri noticed. “Should we all give you two a minute or do we wait for the knives to come out first?”
“Yuri,” Rafael warned, his tone sharp.
But Yuri just grinned. “There he is. I missed that voice.”
Kellan smirked beside me. “I like this one.”
“I don’t,” Ash said dryly, but I knew that glint in his eyes. He’d like Yuri just fine.
Eventually, a young worker approached us, his stance formal but slightly unsure. “Senor Carranza,” he said, thick accent curling the words, “would you like me to show your guests to their rooms?”
I turned slightly, curious about Rafael’s answer. But instead of English, he replied in flawless Spanish—deep, smooth, and shockingly fluid.
“Muéstrales sus habitaciones. Que se acomoden bien.”
It shouldn’t have stunned me. Of course he spoke Spanish. We were in Colombia, and the Bratva stretched far wider than Russian borders. But hearing it—hearing him like that—did something to me. The control in his voice. The confidence. It rattled me more than I’d admit.
He didn’t look at me when he said it, but he knew I heard. I caught the subtle curve at the corner of his mouth before he turned away.
Bastard.
The worker motioned for us to follow, and I glanced once at Rafael—at the weight of his presence, the ink peeking out from beneath his rolled sleeves, the stillness in his body like coiled steel—before I turned and walked.
The resort was carved into the cliffs above the ocean. Terracotta rooftops, long balconies, and marble pathways winding through lush greenery and silent pools. It felt like stepping into another world. Clean, polished. Expensive. Dangerous.
My heels clicked softly along the stone as we reached the villa nestled furthest from the others. The worker stopped at the door, then nodded to me. “Esta es su habitación, senorita.” He unlocked the door and stepped aside.
I turned back slightly, watching as Kellan and Ash were led further down the path toward their own rooms. The sun beat down on my skin, golden and hot, but a shiver still ran through me.
I stepped inside. The room was huge—too big for one person. White walls. A sunken tub near the back. A bed like a damn throne in the center with white sheets that looked untouched. A balcony that overlooked the glittering expanse of the ocean below.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
I dropped my bag on the bed and stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle over me. Letting myself breathe.
I should’ve felt calm. I was oceans away from everything. Surrounded by people who, for better or worse, I trusted.
But instead, all I felt was the quiet hum of something coming. Something I wouldn’t be able to outrun.
And as I moved toward the glass doors to the balcony, I realized something else. Whatever this was—this place, this trip, this war brewing under the surface—it wasn’t going to be clean.
And it wasn’t going to end without blood.
Not mine. Not his.
Maybe both.