Page 156 of The Final Cut

Marisol—along with her girls—has the bloodline truth and the history.

We have force.

For the first time all night, the shape of the board becomes clear enough that I stop thinking like a man trying to hide his family. I start thinking like the man who means to win.

Ever sees it happen. His eyes narrow slightly.

Shiloh does too. “What?”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s never comforting.”

I pick up the coffee and take a drink because it gives me three seconds before I say too much too early. The coffee is bitter and hot, a good thing. My body needs the reminder that exhaustion is a detail, not an excuse.

“We meet with the girls in a few hours,” I say. “We need Delia to tell us everything she knows about Isabel’s people, structure, loyalties, rituals, succession rules, old grudges, anything that can be used. Reva needs to hear it because this is her war too. No more rooms where everyone knows a piece except the woman being hunted.”

Shiloh studies me. Ever gives one short nod.

“We need options before sunrise,” I continue. “Not reactions. Options. If Isabel expects us to pull back and shield the girls, we do the opposite—carefully. We choose the pressure point, the hour, the story, and the audience.”

“The audience?” Shiloh asks.

“La Rosa is matriarchal. Power there depends on more than fear. It depends on who her people believe owns the right to hold it.” I look toward the hall. “If Isabel is going to lose, she has to lose in a way her people understand.”

Ever’s expression goes colder. “Succession.”

“Yes.”

Shiloh’s face shifts with it. Understanding first, then revulsion. “You want to put Delia in her chair.”

“I want Delia alive when the chair empties.”

“That is not the same answer.”

“No,” I say. “It is the honest one.”

He looks away, a muscle working in his jaw. He loves women too much to like a throne made of knives that could harm them. This is a good thing. Someone should hate it. Someone should remember that a clean, strategic answer can still be a cruel human one.

“Delia may not want that,” Ever says.

“She may be the only person who can stop worse people from taking La Rosa.”

“What about Reva?” Shiloh asks.

“Reva is the ghost Isabel failed to kill. That matters to people raised on signs and blood and cautionary tales. Marisol matters, too. Isabel’s daughter alive under her roof, mother to both girls, tied to Cal and Deacon and the lie that kept Reva breathing.”

Shiloh’s eyes sharpen. “Careful.”

“I am.”

“No. Careful with Reva. She just found out her mother is alive. You can’t turn that into a banner before she has time to decide whether she wants to scream at her or crawl into her lap.”

The words hit harder because they are accurate.

“You’re right,” I say.

He holds my stare long enough to make sure I understand he will fight me on this if he has to. Then he nods once.