Dinner with the Devil

Vargas-Garza Mansion — 10:14 p.m.

The warm lights of the main hall glittered like jewels in the gloom. Circles of blue neon hung from the modern ceiling, casting fake halos over two figures seated on the leather throne: Alejandro Vargas, the King of the South, and his Ice Queen, Valeria Garza.

Her asymmetrical hair falling over one bare shoulder was wearing a crimson neckline that contrasted with the black ink of her tattoos. Her expression was that of someone who had already heard promises of love and also cries of betrayal... and had shot both.

Alejandro, staring into space, gripped his whiskey glass with thick fingers. His white shirt, stretched taut by his muscles, seemed more like armor than clothing. Every minute that passed, his discomfort increased, as if he sensed something unbearable was about to enter through that door.

"How many times do I have to say this?" Alejandro growled, without taking his eyes off the front of his head. "Our daughter has terrible taste in men."

"And you have the gift of a rhinoceros's patience," Valeria replied in her cold voice, still in her pose. She settled more comfortably on the back of the chair where her leg was crossed over her husband's. "Let us see. Maybe this one doesn't smell like desperation. Although I doubt it."

Just then, footsteps echoed.

Alexandra appeared in the doorway. Leather pants, a dark top, and the same steely gaze Valeria used when she was about to kill. She walked firmly, without hesitation. At her side, an imposing man with a short beard, calculating eyes, and silent steps. His name: Ghost.

"Mom. Dad." Alexandra spoke with her head held high. "This is Simon Riley… but everyone calls him Ghost."

Alejandro looked up like a tiger seeing a deer move.

—Ghost? What are you, a fucking Halloween costume?