The ivory card sat on the wooden counter like an unexploded bomb. Paulina’s hands shook as she dropped it back onto the surface, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief.

“An exception?” I repeated, my voice cracking slightly despite my best efforts to sound brave.

Elena Vitale stood up, smoothing the front of her coat with deliberate grace. She walked toward me, her eyes sweeping over the cramped apartment, pausing at the framed photographs on the wall, and finally locking onto my face.

“Santiago does not drop cards. He does not offer personal favors. And above all, he does not let strangers near Matteo,” Elena said, her tone dropping into a low, piercing register. “The last person who drew that kind of attention from him is currently six feet under a private mausoleum in Polanco. So tell me, Lucía Herrera... why are you so special?”

“I’m not special! I found a crying kid in the park and I speak a little Italian!”

“Do you?” Elena tilted her head, a cold smile touching the corners of her mouth. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a manila folder, tossing it onto the kitchen table. “Is that why your mother, Elena Rossi, vanished from the payroll of a shipping logistics company owned by the Vitale family twenty-four years ago, just three days before a massive federal raid?”

The blood drained from my face. The room tilted.

“My mother died in a car crash,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

“Car crashes are very convenient when you need to erase a witness who discovered where the contraband was hidden,” Elena replied ruthlessly. “Santiago didn't just notice you in Chapultepec because you comforted his son. He noticed you because you have your mother’s eyes. And more importantly, someone else noticed you were back in his orbit.”

Before I could process the nightmare unfolding around me, a deafening crash shattered the front window. Glass exploded across the hardwood floor as a heavy brick wrapped in a black cloth landed squarely in the center of the living room.