The morning after the De Silva massacre, the air in Chicago was heavy with an unnatural stillness. The news was scrubbed of the details—the official report spoke of a "catastrophic gas leak" at the De Silva estate—but the streets knew better. The power had shifted. The Red Blood had reclaimed their lost prince, and the cost was a mountain of bodies.
Inside the De Cruze mansion, Desderia couldn't sleep. While Mario was locked in the "War Room" with Carter and a rotating door of Sanchez lieutenants, she retreated to the one place that still felt like hers: the library.
She was no longer just cleaning floors or researching shell companies. She was hunting for the truth about Alice. Mario's revelation that Alice had been a "runner" for the De Silvas had shattered her image of her best friend, but it had also given her a starting point.
"You're digging again," a voice said.
Desderia jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. Standing in the doorway was Secilia Sanchez.
The youngest Sanchez daughter looked nothing like a mafia princess. She wore a simple leather jacket and dark jeans, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy knot. There was a frantic, haunted look in her eyes that Desderia recognized—it was the look of someone who had spent their life watching their back.
"Secilia," Desderia said, standing up. "What are you doing here? Mario said the estate was on lockdown."
"Mario doesn't know half the secret passages in this city," Secilia said, stepping into the room. She looked around at the books with a wistful expression. "My brother... the one you call Mario... he thinks he's the only one who can play this game. He's wrong. Martin is already moving."
"Moving how?"
Secilia walked over to the desk, her eyes landing on the file labeled ALICE MORETTI. "You want to know why she died? It wasn't because she was a spy. It was because she found something she wasn't supposed to see while she was working at the De Cruze Hotel."
Desderia felt a chill. "What did she see?"
"The same thing you're starting to see," Secilia whispered. "The connection between the De Silvas and the Sanchez family. They weren't just rivals. They were partners in a human trafficking ring that spanned from here to the coast. Alice found a ledger. A list of names. Children who were 'processed' through St. Jude's before the fire."
Desderia's breath hitched. "You mean... Alice knew Mario was a Sanchez before he did?"
"She knew he was the boy who escaped," Secilia confirmed. "She was trying to get that information to him, but she went to the wrong person first. She went to Marcus De Silva, thinking he was the 'good' one. He killed her to protect his father's secret."
Desderia felt a wave of nausea. Every kindness Marcus had shown her—the books, the tuition help—wasn't just an investment. It was a way to keep her quiet. He had killed the girl she loved and then spent two years pretending to be her protector.
"Why are you telling me this?" Desderia asked, her eyes narrowing. "You're a Sanchez. Why betray your family?"
Secilia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "Because I loved Marcus. Or I thought I did. And then I watched my father execute him last night while my mother smiled. My family is a plague, Desderia. And your 'Ghost'... he thinks he can control the infection. He can't."
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, encrypted USB drive. "This was in Marcus's private safe. He kept it as blackmail against my father. It has names. All of them. Including the man who actually set the fire at the orphanage."
Desderia reached for the drive, but Secilia held it back.
"If you take this, you can never go back to being a law student," Secilia warned. "This isn't evidence for a courtroom. It's a death warrant. If Martin finds out you have this, he won't just kill you. He'll make Mario watch."
"I don't care," Desderia said, her voice hardening. "Alice died for this. I'm not letting her be a 'clerical error' anymore."
Secilia dropped the drive into Desderia's palm. "Then run. Take Sabrina—" She stopped, her eyes widening. "Wait. No. That hasn't happened yet."
Desderia frowned. "Who is Sabrina?"
Secilia shook her head, a strange, prophetic look crossing her face. "Nobody. Not yet. Just... be careful, Desderia. The Red Blood doesn't just kill. It consumes."
Before Desderia could ask another question, Secilia vanished back into the shadows of the hallway.
Late that night, Mario returned to the bedroom. He looked exhausted, his shirt stained with grease and soot. He didn't say where he had been, and Desderia didn't ask. The "Peace" between the families was a fragile thing, built on a foundation of fresh graves.
He sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.
"The De Silvas are gone," he said, his voice muffled. "Lorenzo gave me their shipping docks. I'm officially the 'Underboss' of the North Side."
Desderia sat up, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. "Is that what you wanted? To be the prince of a graveyard?"
Mario turned to her, his green eyes dark with a mix of triumph and soul-deep weariness. "It's a means to an end. Once I have their trust, I'll dismantle their distribution. I'll starve them out."
"And what about Martin?" she asked. "He's not going to let you just 'dismantle' his inheritance."
Mario pulled her toward him, his grip possessive and hungry. "Martin is a coward. He hides behind his father's shadow. As long as I have Lorenzo's favor, Martin can't touch me."
Desderia thought of the USB drive hidden in her book bag. She thought of Secilia's warning. She wanted to tell him, to show him the names of the children who had been sold, but she saw the way he looked at her—as if she were the only clean thing left in his world.
If she told him now, he would burn the city down tonight. And she wasn't sure they would survive the fire this time.
"I love you, Mario," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his.
"I know," he said, his voice breaking. "That's why I'm going to make sure you never have to see the things I've seen."
He kissed her then—a desperate, bruising kiss that tasted of whiskey and secrets. Neither of them saw the red dot of a laser sight dancing briefly across the curtains of the bedroom window before vanishing into the night.
Desderia couldn't stay in the mansion. She needed a secure terminal, one not monitored by Mario's tech team, to open Secilia's drive. She had slipped out while Mario was at a meeting with the Commission, trusting her own knowledge of the city's bus routes to lose any tail.
She sat in a carrel at the back of the law library, her heart thumping as the drive mounted on the screen.
Files began to populate. Project Phoenix. St. Jude's Audit. Shipping Log 1999.
She clicked on the audit. It was a list of children.
Subject 04: Mario (Pablo) Sanchez. Status: Sold.
Subject 09: Carter Reed. Status: Sold.
Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the price tags next to their names. They hadn't just been orphans; they had been products.
Then, she opened the last file: Primary Arsonist.
Her breath stopped. The name at the bottom of the order wasn't Lorenzo Sanchez. It wasn't the De Silvas.
The order to burn the orphanage had been signed by a young, ambitious lieutenant who wanted to prove he could "clean up" his father's messes. A man who wanted to ensure that the "weak" second son, Pablo, never came back to claim the throne.
The signature at the bottom was Martin Sanchez.
"Looking for something, Desderia?"
She slammed the laptop shut and spun around. Martin Sanchez was standing behind her, his hands in his pockets, a polite, terrifying smile on his face. He wasn't alone. Two men in suits blocked the exit to the carrels.
"Martin," she gasped. "This is a public university. You can't—"
"I can do whatever I want," Martin said, leaning over her desk. He picked up the USB drive. "Secilia always was too sentimental. She thought she was helping you. But really, she just gave me an excuse to move up the timeline."
He leaned in close, the smell of his expensive cologne making her gag. "You think my brother loves you? He doesn't even know who he is. But I know who you are. You're the girl who's going to help me become the only heir the Sanchez family has left."
"Mario will kill you," she spat.
Martin laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Mario will be too busy grieving. You see, the Ghost King is only powerful because he has nothing to lose. I'm just going to return him to his natural state."
He nodded to his men. Before Desderia could scream, a heavy, chemically-scented cloth was pressed over her face. The library lights blurred into a haze of grey, and the last thing she saw was Martin's mocking smile.
"Welcome to the family, Desderia," he whispered. "It's a short stay."