Mateo's grin widened, the kind of expression a cat wears when it finds a new hole to dig into. "Montclair," he repeated. "Sounds like old money. What's the catch, Cat? Usually, you handle your own pests."
"Why would I dirty my hands when I have you," Catalina whispered. "And she's caught Julian's eye. Or worse — she's caught his interest. I don't care which it is. I want her name erased from every social register, every business deal, and every conversation in this city."
Mateo leaned against a stone pillar, crossing his ankles. "You want her social death? Or the kind of death that doesn't leave a ghost?"
Catalina didn't flinch. "I want her to realize that staying in this city is a death sentence in itself. Break her spirit. Ruin her reputation. Find out what she's hiding — because everyone is hiding something — and pull the thread until she unspools."
"And if she doesn't break?" Mateo asked.
"Then you do what you did in Madrid. You make the 'misunderstanding' permanent."
