Chapter 3

The villa was a warzone. Smoke filled the air, mingling with the scent of blood and cordite. Bodies lay strewn across the pristine marble floors-guards, maids, cousins I had come to love.

I ran through the chaos, screaming Luis's name.

A federal agent grabbed me, his grip like iron. "He's this way. The AUSA wants to see you."

He dragged me through the carnage, to the courtyard where Luis and I had danced just last night.

Andrew stood there, untouched by the violence he had orchestrated. He wore a tactical vest over a crisp shirt, his face cold and determined. He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes.

"It's over, Jocelyn," he said. "I've killed him. I've killed the monster."

My world stopped.

"No," I whispered. The word was a puff of air, meaningless.

"I did it for you," he continued, taking a step toward me. "To save you. To bring you home."

Home. The word was acid on my tongue. He had destroyed my home. He had murdered my husband.

My hand, moving on its own, found the small pistol Luis had taught me to use, tucked into the back of my waistband. I didn't point it at Andrew.

I pressed the cold metal to my own temple.

Andrew's face went pale. "Jocelyn, don't."

"I am not your sister anymore," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "I am not Jocelyn Fuller. I am the widow of Luis Martinez. And my home is here, in the ashes you made."

One of his men, a man named Carlos who had been with Luis for years, appeared from the smoke. "Dama," he said, his voice urgent. "We must go. There is a way out."

I shook my head, my eyes locked on Andrew. "No. I stay with my husband."

Carlos looked from me to Andrew, his face a mask of grief and fury. He understood. This was not about escape. It was about defiance.