15. Confusing Instincts

15. Confusing Instincts
Don't be the girl who needs a man. Be the girl a man needs.

GABRIELLA

Alejandro burst through my door without warning.

The sharp clang of the doorknob against the wall jolted me out of my thoughts. Though I had anticipated his arrival, the suddenness of it still sent a jolt through my body. I glanced up from where I sat on the edge of my bed, gingerly wrapping a fresh bandage over the raw, deliberate wounds I’d inflicted on my arm moments earlier.

His eyes widened at the sight of me—bloodied, pale, exhausted. “Are you alright?” he asked, the worry in his voice cutting through the room like a cold wind. He crossed the space between us in three long strides and knelt beside me, his hands trembling slightly as he reached to help with the bandage.

The air between us thickened as he continued. “What happened? Tell me everything. My man warned me of a threat to your life. He promised he had it under control. Damn it,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve kept you safer.”

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the pain in my arm, maybe it was the residue of the kill still burning beneath my skin. “So he was
your man?” I asked sharply, my voice laced with disbelief and betrayal. “You were spying on me?”

Alejandro looked stunned, taken aback by my tone. “No, it’s not like that. I… I didn’t mean to spy. I had him there for
your protection. After what you did for me, you’ve become a target. There are people out there who would see you dead just for helping me live. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to keep you safe.”

His words, though sincere, didn’t soothe the sting right away. Silence settled like a heavy fog between us. After a long pause, I let out a tired sigh and nodded slowly. “I understand,” I murmured. “Let me explain what happened.”

I began, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. “I went to Leah’s diner, like I always do. After dinner, I noticed someone trailing me. I picked up my pace, hoping to shake them off, but they followed, keeping in step. Eventually, he pulled a gun and forced me into one of the back alleys. I was terrified, Alejandro. I didn’t know what to do.” My eyes met his briefly, searching for understanding.

“Just when I thought I was done for, your spy appeared. He came out of nowhere and tackled the man. They fought, viciously. I couldn’t move—I just stood there frozen. But then the attacker turned the tables. He overpowered your man… slit his throat before I could even scream. That’s when everything changed. Something inside me just—snapped. I found the gun your spy had dropped. I grabbed it… and I shot.”

The weight of those final words seemed to collapse the air around us. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, the room spinning with fatigue and emotion. “Could you… get me some water?” I asked quietly.

Alejandro said nothing. But I saw it—
a flicker of doubt in his eyes. His instincts screamed at him to question everything, yet he pushed them down. He walked over to the small kitchen counter, poured a glass, and brought it to me without a word.

After I drank, he finally spoke. “You can’t stay here,” he said gently but firmly. “It’s not safe anymore. Come with me to my mansion. You’ll stay there, rest, recover… and when you’re ready, I’ll arrange for you to move into one of my safe houses. Somewhere secure.”

I managed a faint smile. “It’s too late to move now. Let’s wait until morning.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Alright,” he said, his voice a shade warmer now. “Then I’ll stay here tonight. I’m not leaving you alone.”

"Okay, I don’t mind you staying," I said slowly, my eyes fixed on his tall frame standing near the door. "But we have a problem. I only have one room—and let’s be honest—I’m not exactly thrilled about sharing it with my boss."

Alejandro didn’t hesitate. “I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he replied coolly, as if it were the most natural solution in the world.

“But I mind,” I countered, my tone sharper now. “It’s better if you just leave for tonight. Come back in the morning and then we can go to your mansion together.”

I was firm, deliberate. His presence was a risk to my plan, no matter how charming or concerned he pretended to be. I couldn’t afford mistakes, not now.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, his dark eyes locked onto mine and he began walking slowly toward me, his towering figure casting a shadow over my smaller frame. It was clear he was trying to intimidate me. But I stood my ground. I couldn't afford to let him stay—not tonight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “Not until I know you’re safe. And right now? You’re not.”

Before I could protest again, he turned away and began rearranging the small cushions on my modest sofa. He sat down, stretched out as much as he could—which wasn’t much—and settled into what could barely be called a comfortable position.

“I don’t know about you,” he added with a smirk, “but I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The sight of Alejandro, heir to the Sinaloa cartel, a man feared across continents, now folded awkwardly onto my tiny, second-hand couch, was nothing short of absurd.

“This is ridiculous!” I shouted, arms crossed, irritation bubbling over. “You’re being
so stubborn!”

He didn’t even look at me. Not a word. Just lay there, pretending the couch was a king-sized bed at some luxury estate. The audacity. I let out a frustrated sigh, stomped off to my room, and slammed the door shut behind me.

Why is he doing all this?

He’s the heir to one of the most powerful drug empires on earth, and here he is, sleeping on a crooked sofa in a cramped apartment with peeling wallpaper and a leaky faucet. For what? Because he cares? That couldn’t be it. It sounded ridiculous. He’s ruthless. Merciless. Men like him don’t
care
.

Still, a whisper of doubt flickered in the back of my mind.

I flopped onto my bed, the springs creaking beneath me. I should be celebrating. This was a win. I had found a way into his house—into his world. That was a major breakthrough in the mission. But as I closed my eyes, a troubling thought crept in.

He didn’t have a blanket.

I sighed.

A minute later, I got up, found an old spare blanket from my closet, and tiptoed out into the living room. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a silver glow over his sleeping form. His features had softened in sleep. Under the cold light, he didn’t look like a ruthless cartel prince. He looked… peaceful. Human.

I gently draped the blanket over him, careful not to wake him. This isn’t because I care, I told myself. This is just basic human decency. That’s all.

With that, I returned to my room, crawled back into bed, and allowed myself the smallest smile.

So far, my plan was working.

The first golden rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft warmth across the room. I blinked my eyes open slowly, the soreness in my arm from last night’s staged battle still lingering. The clock on the nightstand read 7:03 a.m.

As I stepped out of my room, I spotted a tall figure standing by the living room window, the silhouette outlined in morning light. Alejandro turned as he heard my footsteps, his expression unusually serene. A gentle smile curved his lips.

"Good morning," he said softly. "Freshen up quickly; I’ll whip up a quick breakfast."

I raised an eyebrow. "No need for that. We can grab something at a café," I offered, still a bit groggy.

But Alejandro, as always, was firm. "I insist."

His tone left little room for negotiation.

With a quiet sigh, I gave in and made my way to the bathroom. The warm water of the shower helped soothe my aches, though the wounds still stung beneath the bandages. I dressed in printed shorts, a cozy cream sweater, and slipped into my white canvas shoes. My hair was tied up in a messy bun—neat enough to pass, relaxed enough to feel like myself.

When I entered the dining area, I stopped in my tracks.

Two steaming mugs of coffee sat neatly on the small table, accompanied by two plates of scrambled eggs that smelled as heavenly as they looked. And there, standing at the stove wearing my pink apron, was Alejandro—serious-faced, focused, and oddly at home.

For a moment, the scene felt like something from a parallel universe. This was the same man whose name sent shivers down spines. The same man whose hands had once painted cities in blood. And yet here he was—cooking breakfast in my kitchen. For me.

I shook the thought away and took my seat quietly, not wanting to make the moment any more surreal than it already was. My stomach growled at the delicious scent teasing my senses.

I picked up the coffee and took a long sip. Smooth, strong, and perfectly made. Then I tore into the eggs, nearly moaning with relief as the flavors burst across my tongue. "Is it any good?" he asked, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

"Good? It’s amazing!" I beamed.

He gave an exaggerated bow and said with a grin, "Gracias."

The ease between us was almost disorienting—but comforting, too. Like tasting a memory of something I was never supposed to have.

Once we’d eaten in companionable silence, Alejandro pulled out his phone and called Carlos. Twenty minutes later, a sleek dark blue Mercedes E-Class pulled up outside. The engine purred softly, almost regal in its presence.

As we drove through the city toward the Martinez residence, the streets slowly awakening with morning bustle, I stared out the window in silence.

By the time the wrought-iron gates of the estate came into view, it was nearly 9 a.m.

And I was walking deeper into the lion’s den—with a smile on my face.

As soon as the mansion came into view, my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t just grand—it was majestic. While its sheer size rivaled my own estate back home, it was the artistry of the design that truly stunned me.

"Wow… that’s amazing," I whispered under my breath, unable to hide my awe.

Mexicans certainly had style. Our homes back home, though vast and luxurious, leaned toward restraint—simple, somber, and rigid. But this? This was like walking into a page from da Vinci’s sketchbook. The mansion’s garden and pool were shaped with intricate, almost ceremonial patterns that echoed ancient civilizations—Mayan, perhaps Incan. The carved stone pillars, the symmetrical lattice of hedges, the divine geometry of the pools—it all came together in a hypnotic display of architectural brilliance.

"It’s incredible. Who designed all of this?" I asked, still drinking in the view.

Alejandro glanced around, a flicker of pride softening his sharp features.

"My father. He’s a man of the arts, before anything else."

"He must be a genius. I mean… I can't stop admiring it. Every corner feels like a piece of history carved into luxury."

Alejandro smiled, a rare, genuine warmth in his gaze. There was something childlike in that pride, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the feared heir of a ruthless cartel.

As we approached the entrance, a guard opened the large wooden doors and led us inside. The scent of fresh tortillas and brewed coffee wafted through the hallway. We entered the dining room, where Alejandro’s family was already seated for breakfast.

Rosa looked up and smiled at me warmly.

"Join us, dear. You must be hungry."

I offered a small bow.

"Thank you, ma’am, but we already had breakfast. I appreciate the kindness."

While they finished their meal, Alejandro and I waited in the plush living room. The furniture was ornate but cozy, every corner of the house whispering stories of heritage and legacy. Rosa soon joined us, sitting beside me and gently taking my hand.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture so motherly, so tender, that it sent a pang straight to my chest.

For a fleeting second, I forgot who she was. She reminded me of my own mother—her warmth, her touch, the quiet strength in her voice. And yet, her family had been the architects of my family’s ruin. My chest tightened as I fought back the tears that welled up.

How could people capable of so much destruction be this… human?

Before I could drown in my thoughts, Rosa’s voice broke through again, this time calling for someone.

"Sandra, dear—can you please show our guest to her room?"

A moment later, a bright-eyed girl about my age bounded into the room.

"Hi! I'm Sandra, but everyone calls me Sandy," she said with a cheerful smile.

Her energy was disarming, and I found myself smiling back.

"Nice to meet you, Sandy."

We walked through polished marble hallways adorned with stunning art pieces until we arrived at my room. The moment I stepped in, I was stunned again. The room was spacious, elegant, and luxuriously cozy—far better than the cramped studio apartment I had grown used to.

"This is… more than I expected," I admitted.

Sandy laughed. "Wait until you try the pillows. Pure heaven."

Before she could leave, she paused and added, "I'm a doctor, by the way. Want me to take a look at your wounds and change your bandages?"

Grateful, I nodded. "I’d appreciate that."

She returned with a first aid kit and we sat by the window, chatting easily as she carefully cleaned and dressed my wounds. Despite the circumstances, I felt… normal. Like two old friends catching up.

"Well, I don’t have much to do today, and you’ll probably be bored to death alone in this fortress," she said with a wink. "How about a girls' day in? Snacks, Netflix, gossip—the works?"

Her grin was contagious.

"That sounds perfect."

We summoned some snacks and ice cream from the kitchen and made ourselves comfortable. Soft instrumental music floated through the air as Sandy played mellow tracks on Spotify, and we curled up on the plush rug, watching a gripping Netflix drama, talking about everything and nothing.

Time slipped by unnoticed. For the first time in weeks, I laughed without caution. I forgot the knife in my jacket. I forgot the blood. I forgot the plan.

Until the door flew open.

Alejandro stormed in, his face a mask of fury, dark eyes scanning the room with intensity. The jovial air shattered instantly. Sandy and I sat up straight, startled. The silence was thick.

My heart raced.

Something was terribly wrong.

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