BOUND BY SCARS AND BLOODLINES

Mateo didn’t flinch. The cool mist clung to his skin, and the barrel of the gun remained steady against the base of his skull. He knew this voice. It belonged to Hector Salazar—a ruthless lieutenant from the Montoya syndicate, the very organization Mateo had nearly destroyed from the inside before orchestrating his own disappearance.

""You’ve gotten sloppy, Hector,"" Mateo said smoothly, not raising his hands. ""Ten years ago, you wouldn't have stood close enough for me to count your breaths.""

""Shut up!"" Hector hissed, jamming the muzzle harder against Mateo's hair. ""You cost Don Montoya forty million dollars and three shipping routes when you burned down the harbor depot. Did you really think faking your death in a car bombing in Miami would erase the ledger? The Don has been watching Clara since the day you vanished. He knew you'd crawl back eventually.""

A cold, deadly calm washed over Mateo. The puzzle pieces locked into place with savage clarity. Clara hadn't just ended up in this city by accident. She hadn't been assaulted by a common thug or an abusive coworker. Montoya had turned her life into a gilded cage, keeping her on a leash simply as bait.

""She has nothing to do with this,"" Mateo said, his voice dropping an octave, devoid of any warmth.

""She has everything to do with it,"" Hector laughed, a dry, grating sound. ""Who do you think gave her that pretty little bracelet on her wrist tonight? The young Don Julian—Montoya’s son. He likes to remind her every Friday who pays her rent.""

Mateo didn't need to hear anything more. In a blinding blur of trained violence, Mateo ducked under the line of fire, grabbed Hector’s wrist, and twisted it inward with the sickening crack of breaking bone. Hector screamed, dropping the gun into the muddy gravel.

Before the man could recover, Mateo drove his elbow into Hector’s windpipe, pinning him against the damp brick wall.