Carmen Solano steps into Vice Ink like she still owns the floor.
She wears white. A fitted white suit, red mouth, black hair pinned sleek as a blade. Diamonds at her ears. No ring on her finger. She looks expensive, untouched, polished down to the cruelty.
On either side of her stand two men in white denim cuts.
Miami Mutherfukers.
The room changes.
Magic has a gun up. Six appears from the side hall like he was born there. Vice moves to Diablo’s left. Dune and Tubbs come in from the back. Key Rat vanishes behind a pillar with a phone already at his ear. Alpha stays at the table, but his eyes sharpen.
Diablo’s voice drops to death. “You brought them into my house.”
Carmen smiles.
Not big.
Enough.
“I brought witnesses.”
Magic laughs. “Witnesses usually dress less stupid.”
One Mutherfuker steps forward.
Six’s shotgun clicks.
The man stops.
Smart.
Carmen’s gaze slides around the room, taking in every patch, every weapon, every man who used to lower his voice when Rafael Solano entered. Then she looks at me.
The real reason she came.
“You look tired, Darling.”
I smile back. “You look desperate, Carmen.”
Her eyes flash.
Tiny. Fast. Perfect.
“You always did confuse cheap courage with class.”
“And you always did confuse your father’s shadow with a personality.”
Magic makes a choking sound that might be joy.
Diablo doesn’t move, but I feel him beside me, hot and dangerous.
Carmen’s smile hardens. “Still playing bartender turned queen? How charming. You pour drinks for bikers, spread your legs for one, and suddenly you think you sit where my family bled.”
Diablo moves.
I catch his wrist.
He stops.
