The pulse of music, the shimmer of neon lights across the crowd, barely registered. His focus was elsewhere.
He fell into step beside Mateo, who was scanning the floor with the precise attentiveness of someone used to watching for danger.
"When does the guest arrive?" Darren's voice was calm, clipped—just sharp enough to make Mateo's spine straighten.
"Very soon," Mateo replied, cautious. "The boys will take her straight to your mansion. No detours. No surprises."
Darren's gaze swept the corridor, reading every shadow, every reflection on polished tile, as if he might catch a glimpse of her before she ever appeared. His fingers flexed once at his sides. "Good. And the rest? Timing, route, men?"
"All covered." Mateo kept his tone even. "Mapped, fast, clean. No exposure."
But then he hesitated, a flicker of doubt breaking through. "Are you sure this is wise, Darren? You know what this means—scrutiny, complications—"
The question hung. Darren tilted his head, let the noise of the club wash between them, then exhaled slowly, deliberately. "Mateo… I gave him my word. His last breath, and I promised her safety."
Something unsettled flickered in Mateo's eyes. "I understand. But the world we live in—" He faltered, choosing his words carefully. "A woman like her… people will see leverage. Or liability. You want to protect her, but—"
Darren's laugh cut him off. Low. Amused. Cold. "Mateo, listen to me. I don't give a damn what people think. She's not a pawn. Not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. That's the promise I made."
Mateo studied him, tension coiling through his stance. "If she's seen at your place, people will talk. If anyone finds out—"
Darren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a weight heavier than the bass around them. "Let them talk. She's under my watch now. That's the end of it. Fear, politics—none of it matters. I don't break promises."
Mateo exhaled, half-relief, half-dread. He'd seen Darren's promises before—and the brutal lengths he'd take to keep them. "I just hope you're ready for what comes with it. There are eyes everywhere. Protecting her isn't just from outsiders. It's from everyone."
"I know." Darren straightened, his certainty a blade. "That's why I have you. The boys. Every step locked down. My mansion isn't a house—it's a fortress. And she's the only guest that matters."
Mateo gave a slow nod, though unease still lingered. He trusted Darren. He always had. But there was something about this vow that pressed deeper. "If you say it's right… then it's right."
Darren's smirk returned, sharper, predatory. "It is. I swore she'd be safe. Anyone who thinks they can touch her while I breathe… they'll regret it."
A nervous chuckle slipped from Mateo. "You really mean it."
"I've never meant anything more." Darren tipped his glass in a mock toast, eyes glinting like knives. "Now make sure the boys know. Quick, clean, no surprises. She gets to my mansion—period."
Mateo was already pulling out his phone. Darren turned toward the balcony, the Strip blazing beneath him like a kingdom built on fire.
Soon she would arrive. And Darren Cruz Delgado would keep his promise—whatever the cost.
---
Later, in his office high above the city, silence wrapped around him like chains. Darren peeled off his jacket, loosened his tie, poured amber into crystal. The drink caught the glow of Vegas below, a city always alive, always hungry.
People said he loved Vegas for its chaos. They were wrong. He loved it because it was predictable. The Strip was a machine: people came, they played, they lost. And Darren always won. The house always wins.
But even kings carried ghosts.
He thought of his mother—her tired smile in their El Paso kitchen, fingers raw from stitching shirts. Mijo, you'll be someone great. She had seen the fire in him. She hadn't lived to see where it took him. Maybe that was mercy. She would have hated the man he'd become, the blood on his hands.
He drank deep, the burn chasing her memory but not erasing it.
A soft knock. Hesitant. Not business—business didn't knock.
He opened the door to the waitress from earlier, clutching her purse, eyes wide.
"I—I know I shouldn't be here. I just wanted to thank you."
Darren leaned against the frame, every inch the lord of his glass tower. His dimples cut, sharp and dangerous. "I don't do favors for thank-yous."
"Then why—" she began.
"Because I could." His smirk eased, a fleeting crack in the armor. "Sometimes it costs me nothing to make someone's night easier."
Her gaze lingered, nervous, curious, as though testing if the devil really did smile with dimples.
Darren chuckled low, a sound that rumbled more warning than warmth. "Go home, hermosa. Vegas eats curious girls."
She hesitated, then nodded, retreating until the elevator swallowed her whole. Darren shut the door.
Alone again.
He poured one last drink and sat in the dark, the Strip blazing beneath him. Vegas was his machine, his kingdom. Everyone wanted something—money, escape, power. He had it all.
And yet…
The silence pressed harder than neon, heavier than all the blood he had spilled. It was the true cost of the crown.
Tomorrow he'd smile again. Tomorrow he'd be king.
But tonight, alone in his glass fortress, Darren Cruz Delgado wondered if even kings could lose. Not to rivals. Not to thieves. But to the silence that never stopped waiting.