Chapter 111 The Trap

Chapter 111 The Trap
Cole saw Maritza in the kitchen, without shoes and in his shirt, taking mango from Lorena's cutting board. Her hair's gold was highlighted by the sunlight. He was stopped by her radiant, unguarded smile when he entered, she looked up.
“Morning, husband,” she said, licking juice from her thumb.
He crossed the room in three strides, cupped her face, and kissed her like they had all the time in the world. Because, finally, they did.
Lorena cleared her throat pointedly, but her eyes were smiling. “Out. Both of you. I have chilaquiles to finish.”
Cole didn’t let go of Maritza’s hand. “We’re leaving,” he announced. “Today. No phones. No security detail. Just us.”
Maritza’s brows lifted. “And where exactly are you kidnapping me to, Harrison?”
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “The beach house in Careyes. The one with the infinity pool and no neighbors for miles. We never got a proper honeymoon.”
Her breath caught. “Cole—”
“Say yes.”
She kissed him instead—slow, sweet, promising everything.
By noon, they were gone. A single duffel bag, the old Jeep, windows down, music loud. Maritza’s head on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh as the road wound along the coast.
The house was exactly as he’d arranged: private, perched on a cliff above turquoise water, staff dismissed for the week. Bougainvillea spilled over white walls. The pool shimmered like liquid sapphire.
They didn’t make it past the threshold before Cole had her against the door, kissing her breathless, hands sliding under the sundress she’d worn for the drive. She laughed into his mouth, fingers tugging at his shirt buttons.
“Impatient,” she teased.
“Starving,” he growled, lifting her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her through the house, past the open living room with its ocean view, straight to the master bedroom.
Sunlight flooded the space—white linens, ceiling fan turning lazily, sliding doors open to the terrace and the endless sea beyond.
He laid her on the bed like she was something sacred, then followed her down, mouth tracing the line of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast beneath lace. Every touch was slow, deliberate—no war, no threats, only them.
Maritza arched into him, whispering his name like a prayer. He peeled the dress away inch by inch, kissing every new inch of skin revealed. When he reached her belly, he paused—lips gentle, reverent—then continued lower.
She came apart under his mouth with a soft cry that echoed over the waves. He didn’t stop until she was trembling, tugging him up, desperate for more.
They moved together unhurried, rediscovering every sigh, every gasp. When he finally slid inside her, they both stilled—foreheads pressed, breathing each other in.
“I love you,” he whispered, moving slow and deep. “Every day, Ritz. Every damn day.”
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes—not sadness, just overwhelming fullness. She wrapped around him, meeting every thrust, hands clutching his back like she’d never let go.
Afterward, they lay tangled in sun-warmed sheets, ocean breeze cooling sweat-slick skin. Cole traced lazy patterns on her belly.
“Think he felt that?” he asked, half-teasing.
Maritza laughed softly. “If he did, he’s already scandalized.”
Those three days were perfect: slow mornings, nude swims, and dinners with ceviche and drinks. Nights overflowed with affection—gentle and slow, or heated on the kitchen counter, or by the moonlit terrace.
On the fourth afternoon, they hiked down the private path to the hidden cove. The sand was white and empty. Cole spread a blanket, and they lay watching clouds drift.
Maritza rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Cole turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “No shoes. Just this.”
She smiled, but there was a shadow in it. “It feels too good. Like we’re borrowing happiness we haven’t paid for yet.”
He pulled her close, tucking her against his chest. “We paid, Ritz. In blood and sleepless nights and every damn fight. This is ours. We earned it.”
She relaxed into him, breathing him in.
That night, they made love on the terrace under a sky thick with stars. Cole took his time—kissing every inch, whispering how beautiful she was, how strong, how perfect. When she came, it was with his name on her lips and tears on her cheeks again. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck, holding her like she was his entire world.
Because she was.

Cole's secure phone, left charging, buzzed at 3:17 a.m. Then again. And again.
He woke instantly, instincts sharp. Maritza stirred as he reached for it.
The screen lit his face in cold blue.
Multiple missed calls: Rafael, Freya, Diego.
A single text from Freya: EMERGENCY. Come home NOW. It’s Isabella.
Cole’s blood turned to ice.
He showed Maritza the screen. Her face went pale.
Twenty minutes passed, then they were ready and driving north in the Jeep on the dark coast road. Cole drove quickly, with one hand steering and the other holding Maritza's.
“What could it be?” she whispered. “Mateo’s in custody. The network’s dismantled.”
Cole’s jaw was granite. “Doesn’t matter. We go home. We handle it. Together.”
"Cole, what if we go back?" Maritza asked, looking at him. "It feels like ever since we got together, we've been dealing with explosions and my family drama…”
Cole’s eyes stayed on the dark road, but his grip on her hand tightened. “I know, Ritz. I know it feels like we’ve been running from one fire to the next since the night you kissed me in that club.”
Maritza gave a soft, watery laugh. “Best worst decision of my life.”
He looked at her, shadows playing on his face from the dashboard lights.
 “I wouldn’t trade a single second. It wasn't the bombs, secrets, or those nights I feared losing you. Since every fight led us here—together, expecting our son.”
She moved in, her head against his shoulder. “I just want boring sometimes. Mornings without emergency texts. Dinners that don’t end in strategy sessions. A chance to be nauseous from pregnancy, not adrenaline.”
Cole kissed the knuckles of her hand. “We’ll get boring. I promise. Once this is done, we'll shut the gates, silence the phones, and spend a month watching you get bigger and debating baby names.”
Maritza smiled despite the knot in her chest. “You’ll lose the name argument.”
“Probably,” he admitted, voice warm. “But I’ll enjoy the fight.”
In the distance, the hacienda's lights were golden and expectant. “Together,” she whispered.
“Always,” he answered.