The air in the De Cruze library shifted from scholarly quiet to a tactical war room in a heartbeat. Mario's hand remained on Desderia's shoulder, a heavy, warm weight that felt like both a sanctuary and a shackle.
"Marcus De Silva," Desderia whispered, the name tasting like ash. "He's been... he's been my friend for two years. He helped me with my tuition when the bank froze my account. He bought me my first law textbook."
Mario's grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "He didn't help you, Desderia. He invested in you. The De Silvas don't do charity; they do collateral. He knew you were Alice's closest tie. He was keeping you on a leash in case Alice ever tried to run with the information she stole."
The betrayal cut deeper than the fear. Desderia pulled away from Mario's touch, pacing the length of the Persian rug. Her mind, usually so orderly and logical, was a storm of conflicting memories. Marcus—the charming, blonde-haired heir to a real estate fortune who sat with her in the library and brought her sandwiches when she forgot to eat. He was the one person who hadn't looked down on her for her thrift-store clothes.
"He's at the university?" she asked, turning to Carter.
"He was," Carter grunted, checking his encrypted phone. "He's looking for you. He knows you didn't show up for your shift at the hotel, and he knows you haven't been back to your apartment. He's playing the worried 'friend' to the faculty, but my sources say he's got four hitters in the parking lot."
Mario stepped toward the window, looking out at the sprawling dark woods of his estate. "He's testing me. He wants to see if I've hidden you away. If I have, it confirms you're a witness to the penthouse hit. If I haven't, he'll snatch you to find out what Alice told you before she died."
"I have to go back," Desderia said firmly.
Both men turned to her as if she'd suddenly sprouted wings.
"Absolutely not," Mario said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, low frequency. "You step foot on that campus, and you're a target."
"I'm a law student, Mario! I have a life! If I disappear now, I lose everything I've worked for," she argued, her amber eyes flashing. "Besides, if Marcus thinks I'm just a 'scared girl,' he'll get careless. He doesn't know I'm working for you. He thinks I'm hiding in some basement crying."
Mario walked toward her, his presence looming. He was a man used to total obedience, yet here was a girl with no gun and no money, standing her ground. "You are remarkably stubborn for someone whose life is hanging by a thread."
"I've lived my whole life with a thread around my neck," she snapped. "I'm used to it. If you want to get to the De Silvas, use me as the bait. Let me go to my seminar. Let him find me. I'll wear a wire, a tracker—whatever your 'Ghost' gadgets require. But I am not sitting in this gilded cage while my life is erased."
Mario stared at her, his green eyes searching hers for a flicker of hesitation. He found none. A slow, dark respect began to take root in his chest—a feeling he hadn't felt for anyone but Carter in a long time.
"Carter," Mario said without breaking eye contact with Desderia. "Prepare the tech. Smallest wire we have. And I want three teams on the perimeter of the university. If Marcus so much as touches her hair, I want the order given to level the block."
"Mario, the peace treaty—" Carter started. "The treaty died the second they put a target on my house," Mario growled. "Go."
The University of Chicago's Law Building was a grey, Gothic structure that usually felt like home to Desderia. Today, it felt like a labyrinth filled with monsters.
She sat in the back of her Constitutional Law seminar, her fingers trembling as she took notes. Beneath her silk blouse, a thin, adhesive microphone was pressed against her skin, right over her heart. She could feel the faint warmth of the tracker tucked into her boot.
She knew Mario was listening. Somewhere in a van parked three blocks away, he was hearing every breath she took. The thought was both terrifying and strangely comforting.
When the lecture ended, she packed her bag slowly. Her heart hammered against the microphone.
"Desderia!"
The voice was warm, melodic, and sickeningly familiar. She looked up to see Marcus De Silva walking down the aisle. He looked perfect—a Ralph Lauren model in a navy blazer, his smile radiating genuine concern.
"Marcus," she said, forcing a small, shy smile—the version of herself he expected. "Hey."
"I've been worried sick!" He reached out to take her arm, and Desderia had to suppress a flinch. "I went to the hotel to surprise you with coffee, and they said you hadn't checked in. Then I went to your place, and the door was locked. Where have you been, Des?"
"I... I had a bit of a scare," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Some guys came to the hotel. They were asking about Alice. I got scared and stayed with a friend from the cafeteria."
Marcus's eyes sharpened, a brief flash of something cold behind the blue. "What kind of guys? Did they hurt you?"
"No. But they mentioned a name. De Cruze."
She felt the air in the room chill. Marcus's smile didn't falter, but his grip on her arm tightened just a fraction too much.
"Mario De Cruze is a dangerous man, Desderia. You shouldn't even say his name. Come on, let's get you out of here. I have a safe house—a place where his people can't find you. We can talk about Alice there."
"You know something about Alice?" she asked, her heart racing.
"I know she was in over her head," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a comforting, patronizing tone. "She was working for people who didn't value her. Not like I value you."
He began leading her toward the exit. Desderia caught a glimpse of two men in dark suits lingering by the water fountain. Marcus's hitters.
He's taking the bait, she thought.
"Where are we going, Marcus?" she asked as they reached the parking lot.
"Just a quiet place to talk," he said, opening the door to his silver Mercedes. "Somewhere the Ghost can't see us."
Just as he reached for her waist to usher her into the car, a black SUV roared around the corner, screeching to a halt and blocking the Mercedes.
The door flew open, and Mario De Cruze stepped out.
He didn't have a gun drawn, but he didn't need one. His presence alone turned the sunny parking lot into a graveyard. Behind him, Carter and four other men emerged, their hands resting on the grips of their holstered weapons.
"Marcus," Mario said, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. "You're off your leash."
Marcus stiffened, pulling Desderia behind him as if protecting her. "De Cruze. This is university property. You're a long way from your penthouse." "And you're a long way from your father's protection," Mario countered, stepping forward. He ignored Marcus entirely, his eyes locking onto Desderia. "Desderia. Come here."
"She's not going anywhere with a butcher like you," Marcus snapped. "I know you killed Alice. I know you're trying to silence her now."
Desderia felt the weight of the moment. This was the play.
She looked at Marcus, seeing the lie he had lived for two years. Then she looked at Mario. Mario hadn't lied to her. He had shown her a corpse and told her he was a monster. In a world of shadows, the man who admitted to being the darkness was the only one she could trust.
She pulled her arm out of Marcus's grasp.
"He didn't kill Alice, Marcus," she said, her voice steady and loud enough for the wire to pick up every word. "I saw the files. I know she was working for your family. I know she was scared of you."
Marcus's face transformed. The charming student vanished, replaced by a sneer of pure, aristocratic malice.
"You stupid, penniless bitch," he hissed. "You think this Ghost is going to save you? You're just another courier to him. Another body for the river."
He lunged for her, reaching for a small pistol tucked into his waistband, but he was too slow.
Mario was a blur of motion. He didn't shoot; he didn't want the noise. He closed the distance in three strides, his fist connecting with Marcus's jaw with a sickening crack. Marcus collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.
Before Marcus's hitters could even draw, Carter's team had them pinned against the cars.
Mario didn't look at the fallen heir. He grabbed Desderia by the waist and hauled her toward the SUV.
"Get in," he commanded.
"Did you get it?" she whispered as they scrambled into the back seat. "Did the wire pick up what he said?"
Mario looked at her, his chest heaving with a rare surge of adrenaline. He reached out, his fingers brushing the hair away from her face. He didn't care about the wire. He didn't care about the evidence.
"I got it," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "But you... you almost let him take you."
"I knew you were there," she replied.
Mario stared at her, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made her breath hitch. In that moment, the "Ghost" looked almost human. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers for a fleeting second.
"Never do that again," he whispered. "Do you understand? If I lose you, there's nothing left to keep the fire from consuming everything."
Desderia's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just fear anymore. It was something deeper. Something far more dangerous.
"We have to go, Mario," Carter called from the front. "The Sanchez family just sent word. The summit is tonight. They want your head on a plate for hitting the De Silvas."
Mario pulled back, his face hardening once more into the mask of the Ghost King.
"Let them come," he said, his eyes turning toward the horizon. "I've been waiting twenty years to meet my makers."