⊰ 28 ⊱ The Devil's Game: Part 2

I sit at the dining table, my hands flat on the polished wood, just as Luciano ordered. The surface is cool beneath my palms, but I can feel the sleek layer of cold sweat beneath them, a result from the fear that burns hot in my veins. Around me, Eboni, Alessandra, Juanita, Salma, and Maria are in the same position, their faces pale, their eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

We’re surrounded by five of Luciano’s men, their guns trained on us, the metal glinting coldly in the light. The rest of them are still searching the house, their footsteps echoing like a drum of doom.

*We’re going to die…*

Luciano stands at the foot of the table, across from me, his dark eyes glittering with malice and triumph. He looks like a king presiding over his court, but there’s something twisted and wrong about him, something that makes my skin crawl and my stomach churn.

“Marcello thinks he’s a king, bombing my merchandise, vandalizing my homes,” he scoffs, his voice dripping with venom and contempt. “He thinks he’s untouchable. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, and no one can stop him.”

He leans forward, his palms resting on the table, his gaze sweeping over us like a physical touch. I feel it like a brand, hot and searing, and I have to fight the urge to flinch away.

“But a king is no one in the face of the devil,” he whispers, a sound that sends a string of chills down my spine. “You see, sometimes you have to make sacrifices,” he continues, his tone almost controversial, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the destruction of lives. “My dear niece, Catalina? She was a necessary casualty in this game—a pawn.”

*A pawn..?*

My blood runs cold, my breath catching in my lungs. Catalina, his own flesh and blood, reduced to nothing more than a means to an end. She was a setup, a trap to lure Marcel away from the house, to leave the people he loves most vulnerable and unprotected.

*What kind of sick, twisted, soulless monster sacrifices his own blood for the sake of revenge?*

…

*The kind that won’t hesitate to do the same to us.*

“Your husband has been quite busy,” Luciano says, his tone mocking and cruel. “Working with the CIA *como un cobarde*.”

(“... the CIA *like a coward*.”)

*How does he know about that? Who told him?!*

I keep my face carefully blank, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my shock.

*Someone betrayed him. The attack on me, his parents, and now this?*

…

*But who?*

I look around the table, my gaze flickering over the faces of the woman I’ve come to know, to care for. Juanita, Salma, and Maria, the housekeepers who have been with the Saldívar family for years, their loyalty unquestioned.

*They see Marcel even less than I do. They couldn’t have known.*

But everyone else here knew about Marcel’s plan to go after Catalina today. It was supposed to be a quick strike, in and out, with most of his men at his back. But if it was a setup, if Luciano was waiting for him…

*Someone had to have told him. Someone who knew exactly when Marcel would be gone, and how many men he’d leave behind.*

My gaze lands on Alessandra, her hands trembling on the table, as close as they can be to her belly, her face etched with fear and worry. It couldn’t have been Santiago. He would never betray Marcel, not when it would put his own wife and unborn child at risk.

Beside her, Eboni is silently sobbing, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears.

*Levi…?*

The thought makes bile rise in the back of my throat. My own brother, turning on us? But no…he wouldn’t. Not with Eboni here, not with…

*The baby.*

Ice floods my veins as realization dawns.

*Isabelle. Oh God, Isabelle.*

She’s upstairs, alone and defenseless in her playpen. I can see the desperate hope in Eboni’s eyes, the silent prayer that Luciano’s men won’t find her. That they won’t use her as a pawn in this sick game.

*Please, God. Please keep her safe. Don’t let them find her.*

…

*Rick.*

The thought is like a punch to the gut, a brutal betrayal that steals the breath from my lungs. Rick. Loyal, steady Rick, who’s been by Marcel’s side for years—devoted. Could he really have turned on us like this? Could he really have sold us out to Luciano?

*But for what? It doesn’t make any s—*

Before I can follow the thought to its conclusion, a woman’s scream pierces the air. My heart stops, my blood turning to ice in my veins.

Luciano’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. He strides out of the room, barking orders at his men, and for a moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing and pounding of my heart in my ears.

*Please, God. Please let it be someone who can help us.*

But my hopes are dashed a moment later when Luciano returns, a cruel smile twisting his lips, his hand wrapped around the arm of a woman I know all too well.

*Katherine.*

He presses his gun to her temple, her face pale and streaked with tears. “Look who came for a visit,” Luciano sneers, shoving her roughly into the empty chair at the foot of the table, directly across from me.

*No, no, no, no.*

I stare at her, my eyes wide with horror and guilt. This is my fault. I texted her, asked her to come over.

*I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this…*

The words stick in my throat, choked back by the lump of fear that threatens to suffocate me. All I can do is stare at her, my eyes pleading for forgiveness.

Luciano looks around the room, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Well, isn’t this just perfect?” he muses, his voice dripping with false cheer as he puts his gun away. “The stars have truly aligned in my favor today.”

*Screw you… You sick, twisted b—*

Then, suddenly, it hits me. If Katherine is here, if she just walked right in…

*It wasn’t Rick.*

He would’ve seen her coming through the security cameras. He would’ve caught her and told her, his own daughter, to go home. Which means Rick didn’t betray us. He couldn’t have.

*Then who?*

Who else had access to Marcel’s inner circle, to his plans and secrets? Who else could have…

“The house is all clear.”

The voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a knife, and I whip my head around to see Fabio walking into the room, a smug smile on his face.

*No.*

*Not him. It can’t be Fabio.*

And yet, as I stare at him, as I take in the cold calculation in his eyes, the satisfied curve of his lips, I know it’s true. He did this. He sold us out, handed us over to Luciano like lambs to slaughter.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, the final piece of the puzzle snapping into place. Of course it was him. Who else could it have been? He has access to all the tech in the house, the network, the security systems, the cameras. He has the power to shut it down, to make us blind and deaf and helpless.

*And now, no one knows we’re in trouble. No one is coming to save us.*

Luciano nods, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “Excellent,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Now, we can take our time.”

Fabio steps forward, his gaze hard. “My payment?” he says, his voice cold.

*Payment.*

The word echoes in my head, bitter and mocking. He did this for money. For fucking *money*. The betrayal is like a knife to the chest, twisting and tearing at my insides.

*How could you?*

I want to scream at him, the rage and disbelief burning hot in my veins.

*How could you do this to us, to Marcel? After everything he’s done for you, trusting you…*

But there’s no point. No use in appealing to a conscience that doesn’t exist, to a heart that’s black and rotten to the core.

Luciano nods, a dismissive gesture, as if Fabio’s greed is a minor annoyance. “Of course, of course,” he says, reaching into his jacket. For a moment, I think he’s going to pull out a wad of cash, throw it at Fabio’s feet like scraps to a dog.

But instead, he pulls out his gun once again.

Time seems to slow down, each second stretching into an eternity. I see Luciano’s finger tighten on the trigger, see his arm raise, the barrel of the gun aimed directly at…

*No.*

Three shots ring out, the sound deafening in the stillness of the room.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Beside me, Salma, Maria, and Juanita jerk and twitch, their eyes going wide with shock and pain. Blood blooms on their chests, stark and obscene against the pale fabric of their uniforms.

I can smell the acrid tang of gunpowder, the coppery scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. A scream lodges in my throat, bile rising in the back of my mouth. Eboni, Alessandra, and Katherine let out a pair of choked sobs, their hands coming up to cover their mouths, their shoulders shaking with the force of their grief.

*Not them.*

I think desperately.

*Not them too.*

Luciano turns back to me, his eyes dark and fathomless, the gun still smoking in his hand. He begins his movements towards me, his steps measured, almost casual, as if he’s taking a leisurely stroll and didn’t just shoot three women in cold blood.

He comes to a stop but a foot short from me, right beside me. Then, he leans in close, my body involuntarily flinching as I feel his hot breath against my ear, making my skin crawl with revulsion. “Now that you know I’m serious,” he whispers, his voice like ice, “where does Marcello keep his money?”