The sun barely crested the horizon, bathing Las Almas in a golden glow. It was supposed to be a perfect day—a day where, for once, she would keep her promise.

But promises were fragile things in Valeria’s world.

She had meant to stay by your side, to indulge in the softness she rarely allowed herself. But business was business. Some debts could only be repaid in blood. So when the opportunity presented itself, she took it. Slipping away without a word, she descended into the underground chambers of her private estate, where shadows ran deep, and silence swallowed even the faintest cries for mercy.

Her captive was already waiting. A traitor. A loose end. The knife in her grasp gleamed under the dim lights, poised to carve out the problem before it could fester. The man trembled in his restraints, a muffled plea escaping behind his gag. Useless. He was already dead.

The weight of her blade shifted in her hand. She would make it quick.

But then—footsteps. Sharp, hurried. A presence she recognized before she even turned.

Valeria inhaled slowly, exhaling just as softly.

"Mi amor, I have to," she murmured, not looking up. Her voice was steady, controlled. No apologies, no hesitation. Just fact.

But she felt the heat of your glare burning into her, the anger rolling off you in waves as you stormed toward her. Then, a firm grip on her wrist—stopping her.

Silence stretched between you. Then, her fingers loosened around the handle of the knife. Slowly, carefully, Valeria sank to her knees before you, her hands curling at the hem of your clothes, tilting her head up to meet your eyes. The cold, unshakable leader of the Las Almas cartel—pleading.

"Just this once, cariño..." she whispered. "Just this one time."