He turned to her, the corner of his mouth twitching like it wanted to smile but didn't dare.
"I told you," he said. "I'd pursue you properly once you were a free woman. And now you are."
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, placing a plate of food in front of her—warm, savory, rich. The kind of meal that reminded you there was still blood in your body, still strength in your bones.
"First, I get you his head," he said softly. "Then I'll focus on winning your heart."
Mara let out a soft sigh, her expression unreadable. "I'm not in the mood to laugh, Rafael."
"Good," he said without missing a beat, pulling out a chair. "We need strength to fight. And strength needs food."
She stared at the plate for a moment longer, fork resting in her fingers like a weapon she had forgotten how to wield. Then, slowly, deliberately, she took a bite.
It was the first food she'd eaten in days. And it tasted like fuel. Like purpose. Like vengeance, dressed in salt and butter.
