Page 15 of Born of Vengeance

Then she smiled. Not forced. Not shocked.

“I like quiet men,” she said. “They tend to listen better.”

“Should I be listening to you?”

“That depends,” she said. “Do you want to stay alive?”

She leaned in slightly, whispering just above the music.

“Three of the men here are carrying guns. Two are security. The third is not. He’s watching Valderrama, not guarding him. You’ll want to remember that later.”

Rafael’s eyes locked on hers.

She knew.

Not everything.

But enough.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Someone who hates these people as much as you do.”

As she leaned in, she added quietly,

“He’s planning something. A gathering. Important people. Three nights from now.”

“Where?” Rafael asked.

“Where the lions eat. You’ll find it when the fires start.”

She stepped back, handed him a napkin with a lipstick mark and three numbers written in tiny script, and melted into the crowd before he could stop her.

He pocketed the napkin.

Watched the room. Then found Valderrama again—still smiling. Still safe.

For now.

Chapter 8 – Eyes Wide Open

Rafael moved like a shadow through the estate's western wing.

Most guests were still distracted by wine, music, and mutual flattery. The security teams focused on the main courtyard, where the high-profile guests stayed in the limelight. Few noticed the quiet man in the black suit with the empty champagne flute in his hand.

He walked through a side corridor lined with Renaissance paintings—too expensive to be real, too perfect to be questioned. At the end of the hall stood a cabinet with antique vases and decorative crystal.

Inside, tucked behind a false panel, was a discreet data bug—small, silent, shaped like a USB plug with a secure local transmitter.

Rafael planted it behind the cabinet and walked away without hesitation. In twenty minutes, it would begin recording encrypted audio from the nearby lounge and adjacent security room.

He was already fading back into the party.

________________________________________

He saw Valderrama again just before leaving.

Still surrounded. Still laughing. A performer in control of his stage. There was a perfect angle. A clear shot. Rafael could’ve ended it all in a breath. One twitch of his finger. One silenced round.

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