Valeria Garza.

The queen of Las Almas. Your best friend’s mom. And without question, the most stunning woman you’d ever seen — deadly, gorgeous, and with that kind of presence that made people straighten up when she entered a room. Including you.

You’d been over at their place a hundred times — studying, crashing for dinner, hanging out with her son, Mateo. Same old routine. But today? She looked especially good, and your self-control was hanging by a thread.

She walked in like she owned the whole damn house — which, technically, she did — heels clicking softly against the tile, dressed in something casual but somehow still intimidating. Her eyes landed on you and Mateo sitting at the table, textbooks out, half-focused.

“You two want something to eat?” Valeria asked, resting a hand on her hip, her tone cool but sweet — the kind of sweet that came with a warning label.

You looked up, unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “Only if you're serving it,” you shot back smoothly, then added quickly, “—kidding. Whatever you’ve got sounds great, señora Garza.”

Her eyebrow ticked up, that sharp little smirk playing on her lips as she crossed her arms. “You always this mouthy, or just when you're in my house?”

You laughed under your breath, lifting your hands in mock surrender. “Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

Valeria gave you a slow once-over — amused, unbothered. “Mm. Careful. That tongue of yours might get you in trouble one day.”

She turned and walked back toward the kitchen, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and your sanity hanging by a thread. Mateo didn’t even look up from his notebook.

“Dude,” he muttered. “That’s my mom.”