REBECCA
We decided to drive together, and I sink into the backseat with a dramatic sigh. "I am never shopping again."
Jenna laughs. "Liar."
"Probably," I admit. Because honestly, I had a great time.
Dun dun dun... dun-da-dun, dun-da-dun... fills the SUV. Jenna and Audra look at me questioningly.
"Is that…" Audra asks, barely keeping from laughing.
"The Imperial March from Star Wars," Jenna doesn't even try; she bursts out into loud giggles.
I grin. I don't have to look at my phone. The Imperial March only plays for one person. "My Dark Lord is calling."
I glance down. Of course he's changed his contact name on my phone again. Grease Monkey's Ice King
I stop. A smile tugs at my lips. The devil. Just yesterday, it was Property of Beccs. I shake my head, laughing quietly to myself. Without thinking too hard about it, I tap Edit Contact.
The little devil emoji disappears. The possessive. Gone. In its place... Melting Ice King Simple. Perfect. I hit save. Then type.
Me:
Well, I've officially shopped you into the poorhouse. I hope you're happy now.
Three dots appear almost immediately. I smile. He's been waiting.
Melting Ice King :
Happier.
My chest does that stupid little flutter again.
Me:
Where are you?
Melting Ice King :
On my way back.
Another bubble.
Melting Ice King :
Need to stop at Valentina's first. Want to meet me there?
Valentina? Now I'm curious.
Me:
Sure.
His reply comes instantly.
Melting Ice King :
I'll let Olivere know.
I tuck the phone away. A second vibration follows almost immediately.
"My, look at Miss Popular over here," Jenna teases good-naturedly.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"Don't apologize for having a life." Audra sends a glare towards Jenna. But we all know she doesn't mean it.
The message is from Charly. I open it. A photo fills the screen. Rachel. Jack. Little Rebecca balanced on Jack's shoulders, melting ice cream dripping down her hand while all three of them laugh at something outside the frame.
Behind them... the beach. The ocean. Two half-empty margaritas.
The caption is short. I still don't know how I feel about Rachel naming her daughter after me.
Just like I don't know how to feel about Rachel living her best life out there while I spent four years tearing my life apart looking for her.
I'm happy, of course. Happy she's alive. Happy she isn't locked in some basement or buried in a shallow grave in the desert. Happy she found love. Happy she has a little girl. But...
The betrayal still burns. Under any other circumstances, I would've been over the moon that she named her daughter after me. Right now... I just can't. Every time I think about little Rebecca, all I can think is that my sister spent four years saying my name... without ever calling me.
Charly:
Last night in Puerto Vallarta. Flying home tomorrow.
My chest tightens. She looks... happy. Really happy. Not the forced smile she used to plaster on for others. The real thing. My thumb lingers over the picture. Doesn't she care? Doesn't she wonder if I'm alive? If I'm looking for her? If I ever stopped?
A memory surfaces before I can stop it. I'm fifteen.
Rachel's eleven. Mom made pancakes. Rachel promised she'd help me clean the garage afterward.
Instead... she disappeared with her friends to the lake.
Leaving me to spend the whole afternoon scraping grease off Dad's tools by myself.
I remember being furious. Then laughing when she came home with wildflowers she'd picked just for me because she'd forgotten.
She'd always been like that. Heart first. Brain... whenever it remembered to show up.
I let out a slow breath. No. I'm not doing this.
Not yet. I don't know her story. Not really.
I've waited four years. I can wait another couple of days for her to come back to Arizona before I confront her.
The impulsive part of me wanted to fly out to Mexico— Alessio had offered—and confront her.
The smarter part remembered she already walked away from me once.
If I only get one shot at this conversation... I'm going to do it right. It seems... less messy that way.
The SUV slows. I look up. "This is it?"
Olivere nods once.
Ahead of us, tucked between two anonymous industrial buildings, sits what looks like an abandoned telecommunications warehouse.
No sign. No company logo. Just gray concrete.
Black security glass. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Two cameras swivel in perfect synchronization as we pull up.
One tracks the SUV. The other sweeps across the rest of the convoy.
I count six black SUVs behind us. Probably more in front.
The gate slides open without anyone ever appearing.
Jenna leans forward between the seats. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
Audra wrinkles her nose. "It looks like a serial killer would live here."
I nod toward the warehouse. "Or a robot manufacturer."
Olivere doesn't even crack a smile. "It's safe."
The certainty in his voice makes me believe him. Mostly. The convoy rolls through the gate before it slides shut behind us with a heavy metallic clang. I glance out the back window. "Subtle."
Jenna laughs. "Oh, absolutely."
I shake my head. "Why not just paint a giant red target on us while you're at it?"
That finally earns a smile from Olivere. "We considered it."
I laugh. "I wasn't being serious."
"I was."
"Oh, Mr. Grumpy made a joke," Jenna claps her hands. "Way to go, Olivere."
He mock bows. "Whatever I can do to entertain you lovely ladies."
Now we all giggle. Because we know he isn't suicidal.
The SUVs fan out across the parking lot with military precision. Engines shut off in sequence. Doors open. Men in dark suits step out almost simultaneously. Earpieces. Sunglasses. Weapons hidden beneath tailored jackets.
Jenna lets out a low whistle. "I swear Massimo didn't send this many guys with me."
Audra raises an eyebrow. "Gabe did."
"Fair."
Olivere steps around the front of our SUV before opening my door.
"One moment, ma'am." His hand rises to his earpiece.
I watch as the security team peels away from the surrounding vehicles. Two move toward the entrance. Another circles the perimeter. Only after receiving a series of almost imperceptible nods does Olivere turn back to me. "All clear."
For a building that looks abandoned... it suddenly feels very, very alive. The three of us climb out. Jenna hugs me first. "I'll see you later?"
"I'll text you."
Audra wraps her arms around me next. "And if Alessio gives you trouble..." she grins, "tell him I said to buy you another purse."
I groan. "Please don't encourage him."
"Oh, we're absolutely encouraging him," Jenna agrees. "Every chance we get."
I laugh, shaking my head. "You two are terrible influences."
"We know." Audra laughs. "We're delightful."
One last round of hugs. Then they each head toward one of the waiting SUVs. Going back to their homes.
I glance sideways at Olivere. "So, this is Valentina's place?"
His mouth twitches. "One of them."
That somehow raises even more questions.
We step inside. The first room is... empty.
Concrete floor. White walls. No decorations, nothing stored.
No furniture. Nothing. Nothing except cameras.
Dozens of them. Tiny black domes tucked into every corner.
Others hidden inside recessed ceiling lights.
One pivots as I walk past. I wave. It follows me.
"Hi."
No one waves back. The next room isn't much different. Empty. Another hallway. More cameras. I lose count somewhere around twenty.
"You know..." I mutter. "I'm beginning to think she has trust issues."
Olivere doesn't even blink. "You're just beginning?"
At the end of the hallway, a waist-high pedestal waits beside what looks like an airport security gate. "No way."
Olivere steps through.
Beep.
Another guard follows.
Beep.
The entire security detail sets it off one after another. By the time it's my turn, I'm the only one who doesn't make a sound. I frown. "What's the point if all of you set it off anyway?"
"So she knows exactly who's carrying what."
I look back. "What?"
Olivere points toward a small camera mounted beside the detector. "It maps every weapon."
"Knife." He taps the small blade hidden behind his belt buckle. "Gun." Shoulder holster. "Backup gun." Ankle.
I blink. "You've got three weapons?"
"Four." He reaches behind his back and pulls out another I'd completely missed.
"Show-off."
A corner of his bruised mouth twitches. The wall in front of us suddenly splits down the middle without anyone touching it.
The concrete slides silently apart. Why didn't I expect that an elevator would pop up out of nowhere?
And that it wouldn't have any buttons. The doors close.
The elevator begins descending. And descending. And... still descending.
I glance at Olivere. "Exactly how deep are we going?"
"Far enough."
Helpful. The doors open onto another hallway. This one is so narrow, only one of us can pass at a time. The walls are naked concrete. Soft white lights illuminate everything brightly from the ceiling. Again, no decorations. No furniture. Just another long corridor.
I throw my hands up. "Oh my God."
"What?" Olivere is startled.
"Seriously? This woman built a Bond villain lair."
Olivere actually chuckles. "You haven't seen the fun part yet."
That's somehow the least reassuring thing he could've said. We round another corner. He casually points upward. I follow his finger. At first, I don't see anything. Then... tiny seams in the ceiling. Perfectly spaced. Rows of them.
"What are those?"
"Countermeasures."
"Countermeasures?"
"If someone gets this far without permission..." He shrugs. "They won't get much farther."
I stare. "Those are spikes."
"They are."
"Actual spikes."
"They're titanium."
I blink. "You know the material?"
"I asked once."
I shake my head. "You people need therapy."