ent white lilies. Business partners offered carefully worded sympathies, wrapped in veiled questions. Even the Vatican sent a blessing. But no one believed a man like Don Esteban Torres die

te clients too powerful to threaten and too dirty to trust. The seat was his now, but the crown burned hot. The empire didn't g

ff supply lines, reassigning loyalties, making examples of men who once dined at his family's table. The kingdom was his. But the throne was sharp

name, to tear apart the devil at the center of it all. But Don Esteban was gone. She hadn't killed him. She hadn't even touched him. Lucien had done that-unwittingly, instinctively, violentl

y obeyed her. She didn't speak often, but when she did, people leaned in. They called her señora behind her back. Some called her bruja. Witch.

t come clean. It came with threats. There were notes under her door. One made of ashes shaped into the word 'destierro'-banis

because she had rise

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our father." She hadn't spoken his name aloud in weeks. It felt foreign on her tongue. "Where?" Isa was quiet for two beats. "A black site. CIA-owned. Codename Purgatory." Valentina closed her eyes. "He's alive?" "Yes. B

said quickly. "He can't know. Not until I'm sure. Not until I have my father in my hands." There was silence. Then Isa's voice again, lower this time. "You're going to need help on the gr

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trike. The first wife. Or at least, the most dangerous one Lucien hadn't removed. "You're very quiet these days," Inés said. "I prefer to observe." "Is that what queens do now?" Valentina smiled, soft and

ave yet. A route she hadn't cleared. But she didn't care. Her father was alive, and that was enough. It came in the form of a midnight security lockdown. Alarms didn't blare-but gu

. Then Isa's voice, cold and clipped. "It was Inés." Valentina didn't speak. "She accessed the network through a backup route. She mirrored my data feed. She sold the intel, Valentina. I don't know who to. But

just