Chapter 61: Contact made
Carmen
"The central mall," I told her, my thumbs moving quickly across my phone as I typed in a code only I understood. Each tap was deliberate, layered with meaning that would read like nonsense to anyone else. I didn’t trust the device in my hand—not when Nico had eyes and ears everywhere. It wouldn’t surprise me if the phone had already been bugged.
I needed a new one. A burner. Something untraceable.
"You have money?" I asked, glancing up at her briefly.
She blinked, confusion flashing across her face before she reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek card, holding it up between her fingers.
"You’re broke? You are Carmen Castillo," she said, as though the name alone should mean something—like it carried weight I could lean on.
I stared at her for a moment, studying her expression, wondering just how much I should let her in.
How close was too close?
Was she someone I could trust—or someone I needed to keep at a distance?
The thought barely settled before I made my decision.
Arm’s length. That was always safer.
A soft smile curved my lips as I finished typing and slipped the phone back into my bag.
"I’ll refund you though. You don’t have to worry," I said lightly.
She shrugged almost immediately, unconcerned.
"...I’m not worried. Our father just died and you inherited it all. Of course you have money," she replied.
I nodded once.
Of course, I wasn’t about to tell her the truth—that I only had half of it. The other half sat comfortably in the hands of my stepmother, who had wasted no time tightening her grip the moment my father died.
The car moved steadily through the city, the hum of the engine low beneath the silence that stretched between us. I sat stiffly in my seat, my mind already several steps ahead.
I had reached out to a contact. A time and place had been set. Now all I needed was a distraction—something convincing enough to keep the guards occupied while I secured what I needed.
My gaze drifted out the window, scanning the streets as buildings blurred past. People moved in clusters, unaware of the quiet war unfolding beneath the surface of their ordinary lives.
Vanessa was quieter than I expected.
I turned toward her slightly, deciding to ask the question that had been lingering in my mind.
"Our father... did you ever meet him?"
She shook her head almost immediately.
"I’ve seen pictures of him—and you—but he never came to see me. I understood it," she said, her tone calm, almost detached.
"If people knew who I was, I would have been taken long before Nico found me."
She wasn’t wrong. But what we didn’t say hung heavier between us. He hadn’t come for her because he didn’t care. Not enough. Was she useful? No. At least, not in his eyes. Not enough to pull her into the family business.
"Relax, Carmen. She’s not a rival," I whispered silently to myself, tapping my fingers lightly against my chest as though I could steady my thoughts that way.
We arrived not long after.
The car slowed before coming to a smooth stop, and I stepped out, Vanessa following closely behind me.
There were no paparazzi rushing toward us, no obvious cameras flashing in our faces—but I didn’t need that.
One sweep of my gaze was enough to spot them.
Lingering. Watching. Waiting. I reached for Vanessa’s arm, pulling her slightly closer to me.
"Smile," I murmured under my breath.
She didn’t question it. Not even for a second.
Her expression shifted instantly, lips curving into something natural enough to pass, even under scrutiny.
Good.
We moved toward the elevators, the guards trailing behind us, their presence steady and silent. The ride up was smooth, the mirrored walls reflecting back a version of myself that looked far more composed than I felt.
The upper floors were brighter, louder, filled with movement and color.
Stores stretched in every direction, displays gleaming under polished lights. People wandered from shop to shop, laughter and conversation blending into a constant hum.
Vanessa wasted no time.
She drifted from store to store, picking out items with growing enthusiasm—clothes, shoes, accessories—her arms quickly filling before the guards stepped in to carry everything for her.
"Don’t worry, I’ll refund all of it," I reminded her again.
She waved it off, already distracted by something else.
I followed at a slower pace, my attention divided.
I wasn’t here to shop.
Every step I took, every turn I made—I was waiting. Watching. Listening.
The time and place had been arranged, but the method of contact remained uncertain.
And the guards...
They were the problem.
We continued walking when suddenly, someone stepped directly into my path.
A young woman. Bright-eyed. Smiling. Too eager as she began to speak pointing at her store and impressing on us the importance of us visiting.
"I can promise you’ll find what you’re looking for! We have many nice things," she said smoothly.
Vanessa tilted her head, curious.
"What do you sell?"
The young woman laughed softly.
"Hope," she replied.
Vanessa frowned immediately but I understood.
"Clothes of every kind," she added quickly.
Vanessa shook her head, unimpressed as she glanced toward the small store the woman gestured to.
"I’d rather not. I’m hungry. I’m done shopping for today," she said.
I shook my head, stepping forward.
"I’m curious. I’ll go see what they have. You can take one of the guards," I suggested.
She refused instantly.
"It’s fine. I’ll stick with you."
Of course she would.
I didn’t argue.
Instead, I followed the young woman.
The name of the contact echoed quietly in my mind.
Yellow Spider.
One of the few people my father worked with—but never crossed.
Not once. They were efficient. Dangerous and unpredictable.
I had little to offer them. Only some of my father’s territory—and the promise of a debt.
A dangerous gamble.
But Nico had made it clear—
If I stayed where I was, I would die slowly. Quietly.
I needed power.
And I wouldn’t get it by playing loyal.
We entered the store.
It was smaller than the others, dimmer too, with racks of clothing arranged in careful disorder.
The young woman moved quickly, pulling items from different sections and placing them into my arms.
"These will suit you... and this... and this too..." she said, barely pausing between selections.
Then she glanced at Vanessa.
"Your sister can help."
Vanessa shrugged, unconcerned.
I tightened my grip on the clothes, unease settling low in my chest.
Still, I moved toward the dressing rooms.
I stepped inside, pulling Vanessa in with me before closing the door behind us.
I expected something else.
A man.
A shadow.
Someone waiting.
Instead—
An older woman sat calmly inside.
A small table had been set between two chairs.
Three cups.
Three portions of tea. Steam curled faintly into the air. Prepared. Waiting. I stared at it, my jaw tightening slightly. Of course.
Of course it would be this.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my expression into something neutral as my eyes flicked briefly to Vanessa.
Then back to the woman.
Is it too much to ask for violence?
Because I hated this. I hated conversations like this
People like this smiled at you, spoke gently—and poisoned your tea before you drank it.
*******
The room held its silence like a secret.
Not the kind that comforted—but the kind that waited. Watched. Measured.
I didn’t sit immediately.
Instead, I let my gaze travel slowly across the space again, taking in every detail with care. The thickness of the curtains. The placement of the chairs. The single door behind us. No visible exits beyond that. No mirrors—but that meant nothing. People like this didn’t need obvious ways to watch you.
Vanessa shifted slightly behind me, her presence a quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone—even if she didn’t fully understand where we were or what this was.
The older woman’s smile didn’t fade.
It stayed there, fixed and patient, like she had all the time in the world.
"Sit," she said finally, her voice smooth, low, carrying just enough authority to make it sound less like a suggestion and more like an expectation.
I moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I pulled the chair back and sat, placing the clothes down neatly beside me. Vanessa followed a second later, taking the seat next to mine with a glance in my direction, searching for reassurance I wasn’t willing to give.
The woman watched us both.
Studied us.
Then she reached for her cup of tea, lifting it with practiced elegance.
"You came sooner than I expected," she said, her eyes settling on me.
Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through pretense.
"You contacted Yellow Spider with confidence for someone who has nothing."
There it was.
No pleasantries.
No wasted time.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, crossing one leg over the other as though I belonged here—as though I wasn’t calculating every possible way this could go wrong.
"I wouldn’t be here if I had nothing," I replied evenly.
