Arturo Camberos left the Cruz estate half-drunk and fully pleased with himself.
His driver was silent — like they always were after these parties and Arturo took that silence as respect. Not fear. Respect. His fingers toyed lazily with the rim of a whiskey glass as the black SUV turned off the main road and cut into the hills above the city.
"She didn't say no," he muttered to himself, grinning.
The window reflected his grin back at him. Slightly crooked. Slightly tired. But still charming. He thought.
"She danced. You don't dance with someone you hate. You spit on them, maybe. You slap them. But a dance? That's history."
He chuckled. The car climbed higher.
Outside, the desert was dark. Clean. Unforgiving.
The gate to his estate opened slower than usual.
One of the outer lights was off. Another flickered.
Arturo frowned.
"Lazy bastards," he muttered. "Can't even keep the damn bulbs working."
Then he noticed.
No one was at the front door.
Not the guards. Not the gardener. Not even Hector, who always waited up to smoke and lie about his past.
The SUV stopped.
The engine didn't turn off.
"Wait here," Arturo said, pushing the door open. "Someone's getting fired tonight."
He stepped out into the stone courtyard.
The heat still clung to the ground. The air smelled like jasmine and chlorinated water.
But something was wrong.
It was too quiet.
No night birds. No music echoing from the pool speakers. No low chuckle from his guards smoking in the shadows.
Just... silence.
And something sweeter than jasmine.
Thicker.
He stepped around the edge of the house toward the back patio, where the stone path widened into a private garden a space he kept trimmed and sculpted, with olive trees and a little fountain and his favorite seating area: leather couches, low glass table, humidor. The good life.
And then he saw it.
And everything stopped.
Dante.
His dog.
Laid out dead, in the center of the patio perfectly still, perfectly positioned.
Throat slit clean.
No blood on the stones. It had been washed, or collected.
Around the dog, in a perfect circle, were dozens of fresh red camellias. Arranged with purpose. Their scent overwhelming now, syrup-sweet, funereal.
One flower had been pushed into Dante's mouth. Deep.
The petals were streaked with saliva and something darker.
Arturo's knees buckled.
He didn't fall but he crouched. Hand over his mouth. Chest heaving.
He'd had that dog since it was a pup. The only thing that greeted him when he came home without a woman on his arm. The only thing that never lied to him.
"Who the fuck..." he whispered. "Who did this?"
His heart slammed in his ribs. His hand reached for his gun then pulled back. No targets. No sound.
He turned in place, scanning the trees. The stone walls. The upper balcony.
Nothing.
His driver called out from the front gate. "Señor, todo bien?"
Arturo's voice cracked:
"Get the men. All of them. Now."
He stood fully.
Wiped his hands on his pants like it might clean the feeling off.
And then.
He started laughing.
Quiet at first. Then deeper. Then dry.
"So that's what it is..."
He looked down at the flower in Dante's mouth. Then at the circle.
"You want her too."
But he didn't think it was Sofía.
No, no. She was too careful. Too elegant. She didn't touch blood.
This was someone else.
A rival. A ghost.
A man from outside, perhaps another dom, staking ground. Testing the air around her. Sending a message Arturo wasn't supposed to understand.
But he did.
"You think you can scare me?" he growled into the dark. "You think you can take what's mine?"
His hands shook as he pulled out his phone.
He scrolled quickly through encrypted contacts until he found one marked with a wolf emoji. No name. Just 🐺.
He tapped.
The call connected with a click and silence.
"It's me," Arturo said. "I want to know if your people are moving yet. The ports. Guadalajara. Puebla. I want to know if your man's looking at her."
A voice on the other end replied in Spanish. Cool. Measured.
"El Lobo watches everyone."
Arturo's mouth twitched.
"Good. Watch her closer. She's dangerous. Maybe... maybe we help each other."
He looked down at Dante again. His face changed.
"Also... I'll give you something. A route. Nothing vital. But useful."
Another pause. Then the voice replied:
"The Wolf pays better than ghosts."
Arturo smiled.
"That's why I'm calling."
He ended the call.
Stood there with the night creeping back in.
And when the wind blew, it carried the smell of camellias and blood.
He turned back toward the house, whispering to no one:
"You started this."
He didn't know yet who he was speaking to.
But he would.