The Setup
Aaliyah
The morning air was crisp, tinged with the scent of fresh espresso and warm pastries drifting through the café’s open doors. Sunlight streamed in through the large windows, casting golden patterns across the rustic wooden tables, the soft hum of conversations mingling with the occasional clink of porcelain. It should have been a perfect morning. One of those rare, stolen moments that Aaliyah had begun to let herself believe were possible with Cruz.
But she felt the shift in Cruz before she even noticed the man sitting across the café.
It was in the way Cruz’s body went still, shoulders tensing beneath the tailored jacket she wore, the casual ease in her posture hardening into something sharp and coiled. Aaliyah had learned to read Cruz in the same way she read the world around her—subtle, careful, attuned to every small flicker of emotion that crossed her face. Right now, Cruz wasn’t just on edge. She was anticipating something.
Aaliyah followed the path of Cruz’s gaze, her stomach twisting the moment her eyes landed on him.
A man, alone, stirring a cup of coffee with too much attention, as if it was the most important task in the world. But Aaliyah wasn’t fooled. His posture was too deliberate, his gaze flicking up just once—right at Cruz. It was brief, but it was there. An acknowledgment.
She knew before Cruz even spoke.
“This is the CIA, isn’t it?” she murmured, keeping her voice low. She didn’t need to ask. The way Cruz’s jaw clenched, her fingers curling slightly around the ceramic mug in her hand, was answer enough.
Cruz didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she exhaled through her nose, her expression smoothing into something unreadable. A practiced neutrality. “Stay here.”
The words were quiet, firm.
Aaliyah barely felt the warmth of Cruz’s hand as it slid beneath the table to squeeze hers—a silent reassurance, a tether holding her steady. She should have been afraid. Should have felt the old panic creeping in, the instinct to run. But Cruz was calm. And if Cruz was calm, she would be too.
Aaliyah nodded, watching as Cruz stood, her movements fluid, controlled. The way she moved through the café was effortless, predatory in its precision, like she had already mapped out every possible outcome.
She didn’t look back.
Aaliyah forced herself to breathe, to keep her hands steady around her cup as she watched Cruz close the distance between them and the man, her heart beating faster with every step.
--
Aaliyah had always known that Cruz was different. That there was something about her presence—her sheer, quiet force—that made people take notice without her having to demand it. But watching her now, watching the way she moved across the café toward the man who had been waiting for them, Aaliyah felt that realization settle into something deeper.
Cruz didn’t walk—she prowled.
She commanded space without arrogance, without effort. It wasn’t just her physicality—the sharp lines of her suit, the steady, measured pace—but the way she held herself. The way she gave nothing away. The man—Kyle, she assumed—had already straightened in his seat before Cruz even reached him, adjusting slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to be at ease or on guard.
Aaliyah’s fingers curled around her mug as she watched the exchange from across the café, her breath shallow as Cruz leaned against the chair across from him, her stance casual but firm. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she knew the language of body posture well enough to read it.
Kyle’s head tilted slightly. His smirk was easy, but his shoulders remained taut. Cruz remained unreadable.
Aaliyah barely noticed her own grip tightening around the ceramic until the warmth of the coffee seeped into her fingertips. She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. Whatever was being said over there, she had already decided—she wouldn’t let Cruz do this alone.
After a few long moments, Cruz finally turned and walked back, her expression composed but unreadable as Kyle followed at a more relaxed pace.
Up close, Kyle McManus was exactly what Aaliyah expected from the CIA. His neatly pressed button-up, the ease of his smile—it was all practiced, a little too smooth. The kind of man who had spent years perfecting the balance between approachable and untouchable.
Cruz returned to her seat beside Aaliyah, but Aaliyah barely gave Kyle a chance to introduce himself before she reached for Cruz’s hand under the table. A simple act, a grounding one. The moment their fingers curled together, Aaliyah felt steadier, more in control of the situation.
Kyle’s gaze flicked down at the movement, but if he had any thoughts on it, he didn’t voice them. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, cutting to the chase.
“We’re after Asmar Amrohi and Ehsan Al Rashdi.” His voice was calm, methodical. Like he wasn’t speaking about two men who had been a looming shadow over her life since the day she was born. “And we need your help to draw them out.”
Aaliyah had known this was coming. It had been obvious from the start. And yet, hearing the words spoken aloud—so blunt, so calculated—sent an icy jolt through her chest.
Cruz remained still beside her, her hand warm in Aaliyah’s grip, but Aaliyah could sense the quiet tension beneath her composure.
For a long moment, she said nothing. She wanted to choose her words carefully. “And if I help,” Aaliyah finally said, voice measured, “I have a condition.”
Kyle lifted a brow, waiting.
Aaliyah inhaled deeply, willing her voice to remain even. “You take them in alive. No assassinations.”
There was a beat of silence. Cruz didn’t move, but Aaliyah felt it—the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly on her thigh, the unspoken warning.
Kyle tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “That’s a big ask.”
“I don’t care,” Aaliyah replied, lifting her chin. “That’s my condition.”
Kyle considered her, his expression unreadable, but Aaliyah didn’t waver. She refused to. Whatever he saw in her face must have been convincing, because after a long moment, he exhaled through his nose and leaned back. “Alright,” he said, too easily. “No assassinations.”
Aaliyah wanted to believe Kyle.
She wanted to believe that this would be it—the end of the chase, the weight that had been pressing on her chest for so long finally lifted. If they did this, if they played their roles right, Asmar and Ehsan would be removed from the equation, and she would be free. She and Cruz could disappear into the life they had started to build, no longer looking over their shoulders, no longer running from the ghosts of a past she never asked for.
And yet, something in her wouldn’t let her fully settle into that hope.
Maybe it was the way Kyle had agreed to her condition too easily, his face unreadable in the way only someone trained in deception could be. Maybe it was the way Cruz had tensed beside her at his words, her silence heavier than any argument she could have made.
The café around them remained lively, patrons chatting over their morning espressos, the clinking of cups and plates filling the space between words. But Aaliyah barely heard any of it. Her world had shrunk down to this moment—the feeling of Cruz’s fingers tracing absently over her knee, her touch grounding, thoughtful, but tense.
Aaliyah exhaled softly, shifting her gaze toward Cruz. “We’ll be okay, right?”
Cruz’s dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, Aaliyah thought she saw hesitation there. Just a flicker, a brief flash of doubt before Cruz nodded slowly. “Yeah. We will.”
Aaliyah knew Cruz well enough by now to hear what she wasn’t saying.
Cruz didn’t trust Kyle. And if Cruz didn’t trust him, neither should she. But what choice did they have?
Aaliyah looked away, staring down into the depths of her untouched coffee, her fingers curling slightly against the porcelain. This was the only way. She had to believe that.
--
Back at the villa, the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
Aaliyah stood near the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest, watching as Cruz paced the length of the sitting room. The steady click of her boots against the hardwood floor filled the space between them, sharp and restless, matching the energy crackling just beneath her skin. Cruz’s hands flexed at her sides, opening and closing as if she was trying to work something out through sheer movement alone.
She had been like this ever since they left the café. Aaliyah didn’t blame her.
Cruz’s instincts were razor-sharp—honed by years of experience, by the weight of the things she had done, the things she had survived. And those instincts were screaming at her now. Aaliyah could see it in every line of Cruz’s body, in the tension in her shoulders, in the way she hadn’t stopped moving since they stepped foot in the villa.
But Aaliyah needed to believe in this.
She needed to believe that Kyle had been telling the truth, that this would finally put an end to the years of running, the weight of her father’s shadow pressing against her every move. She wanted to believe that after this, she could finally—finally—breathe.
“I trust Kyle,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Cruz stopped pacing.
Her head turned slowly, dark eyes locking onto Aaliyah’s, unreadable but charged. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, a sharp exhale. A humorless chuckle. “You shouldn’t.”
Aaliyah’s jaw tightened. She forced herself to hold Cruz’s gaze, to stand her ground even as something deep inside her twisted. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Cruz said, voice tight. “I know exactly how these people work. The moment you stop being useful to them, they cut you loose. You think Kyle’s telling you the truth? That they’re just going to lock up your father and Ehsan and leave you alone?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Aaliyah’s stomach curled, but she forced herself to stay steady. “What choice do we have?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with frustration. “If we don’t do this, they’ll never stop hunting me. We’ll never be free.”
Cruz’s jaw clenched, her hands bracing against her hips.
Aaliyah took a step forward. Then another. She reached out, curling her fingers around Cruz’s wrist, a gentle but firm touch. “I need to believe this is real,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I need to believe that this ends with us walking away.”
Cruz looked down at her, and for a moment, something flickered behind her eyes—something raw and vulnerable, something Aaliyah wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. Then Cruz swallowed hard, tilting her head slightly. “I know what it’s like,” she said quietly. “To be tied to bad people and still… care about them.”
Aaliyah’s breath caught in her throat.
She thought of her father. Of the way she had spent years chasing his approval, trying to carve out a space for herself in his world, only to realize too late that she had never truly belonged. She thought of Ehsan—the man she had been meant to marry, the man who had treated her like something to be owned rather than loved.
There was no love lost between her and them. And yet… She understood exactly what Cruz meant. But she also knew that it didn’t matter anymore.
Aaliyah shook her head slowly, her grip tightening around Cruz’s wrist. “I just want to be free, Cruz.”
Cruz studied her for a long moment, something unreadable shifting in her expression. Then, finally, she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. She lifted a hand, brushing her fingers lightly along Aaliyah’s jaw. “I’ll do anything to give you that, Aaliyah.”
Aaliyah leaned into the touch, closing her eyes for a brief second.
Then she opened them, looking up at the woman who had somehow, against all odds, become her safe place. “I know,” she murmured.
--
The weight of the conversation still lingered between them, thick and unshaken, like fog refusing to lift with the coming dawn. Aaliyah could feel it in the way Cruz had gone quiet, her usual sharp edges dulled, but her body still coiled tight like a wound spring. She had stopped pacing, stopped arguing, but the tension hadn’t left her—it had simply settled beneath her skin, burning low and deep.
Aaliyah didn’t push.
She knew Cruz well enough by now. Knew that when her silence stretched like this, it wasn’t distance—it was calculation. It was the way Cruz processed, the way she sorted through every possible outcome, weighing every risk before she made a decision.
It wasn’t doubt. It was fear.
Aaliyah could feel it in the way Cruz’s hands lingered at her waist, firm but hesitant, like she was bracing herself for something she couldn’t control. The conversation from earlier had cracked something open between them, left them standing in the space between trust and uncertainty. And Aaliyah didn’t want to fill that space with more words, more hypotheticals, more reasons why she needed to believe this would work.
She just wanted Cruz.
Without hesitation, she shifted, moving closer, her body pressing into Cruz’s warmth.
Cruz let her, exhaling slowly as Aaliyah curled against her side, her hand sliding beneath the hem of Cruz’s shirt to rest against bare skin. A grounding touch. A reassurance.
For a moment, Cruz didn’t react. Then, finally, she moved.
Her arm wrapped around Aaliyah’s waist, tugging her closer, holding her like she was something fragile—like she was something Cruz was terrified to break.
Aaliyah tipped her head up, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath Cruz’s jaw, feeling the way her breath hitched at the contact. The tension in her muscles didn’t fully dissolve, but something in her grip on Aaliyah’s waist loosened, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against the fabric of Aaliyah’s shirt.
“Freedom,” Aaliyah whispered against her skin, her lips brushing lightly over the pulse point at Cruz’s throat. “Together.”
Cruz didn’t answer right away. But she held her tighter.
Cruz
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread and strong espresso through the narrow streets of Milan. The city was already alive—shopkeepers rolling up their metal shutters, café owners setting out chairs, locals moving with the kind of purpose that suggested this was just another day. Just another quiet, beautiful morning.
For most people, maybe. Cruz didn’t believe in quiet mornings.
Her steps were deliberate as she walked beside Aaliyah, her senses stretching past the cobblestone streets, past the hum of conversation and the occasional hum of a passing Vespa. Awareness came naturally, even here, in this supposed safe haven. It was instinct, ingrained in her bones—always thinking ahead, always calculating, always keeping herself between Aaliyah and whatever could be waiting just around the corner.
But beside her, Aaliyah moved with an ease that Cruz envied.
Aaliyah had a way of making the world around her softer. She walked through life with this unshakable grace, as if nothing could touch her, as if she belonged here more than anyone else. And maybe she did. Cruz stole a glance at her, catching the way the morning light caught the dark strands of her hair, the subtle smile playing at her lips as she skimmed the café menus posted outside the doorways they passed.
Cruz let her choose. It made Aaliyah feel like she had control, even if Cruz was already mapping the layout of each place they passed, scanning for vantage points, exits, anything that might give them an advantage if they needed one.
They settled on a small café near the villa, tucked into the curve of a quiet street. The kind of place with wicker chairs and round marble tables, tiny espresso cups clinking against saucers, Italian murmuring all around them in smooth, effortless rhythm.
Cruz picked a table at the back.
Not by the window, not too exposed. From here, she could see everything—the entrance, the street, the other patrons. Aaliyah rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, setting the menu down and stretching her legs beneath the table so that the tip of her shoe brushed against Cruz’s.
“Cruz,” Aaliyah hummed playfully, her fingers idly skimming across the back of Cruz’s hand, tracing absentminded patterns over her knuckles. “Relax. You’re looking at this place like it’s a battlefield.”
Cruz exhaled through her nose, her lips twitching slightly. “Force of habit.”
Aaliyah tilted her head, studying her. “We’re just having breakfast.”
Cruz knew that. She wanted to let herself believe it. She wanted to enjoy this—the weight of Aaliyah’s touch, the simple pleasure of her sitting across from her, the way she smiled as she flipped lazily through the menu like this was just a normal morning. A normal date.
She wanted it. And for a second, she let herself have it.
Then she saw him. Kyle McManus. Sitting in the middle of the café, his back against the wall, drinking a cappuccino like he belonged there.
Cruz went still.
A slow, controlled stillness. The kind that didn’t draw attention but settled deep in her bones.
She didn’t react. Didn’t shift, didn’t stiffen. But her pulse slowed, her mind sharpening, recalibrating. Because this wasn’t a coincidence.
Aaliyah must have caught the shift in her posture, the subtle way Cruz’s gaze flicked over the room before locking onto something unseen to her. She frowned slightly, following Cruz’s line of sight.
A second later, Aaliyah’s expression faltered. She knew. Even without knowing who he was, she knew.
Cruz didn’t look away. Just let her fingers shift beneath the table, brushing against Aaliyah’s knee in a quiet reassurance. A silent stay here. Aaliyah’s breath hitched—Cruz felt it, barely perceptible, but there. A flicker of unease that she smothered just as quickly, schooling her features into a mask of calm.
Cruz gave her a small nod before pushing back her chair and standing. She moved through the café like she belonged there, casual but deliberate. Like a predator approaching prey.
Cruz approached Kyle’s table with the same careful precision she applied to everything that could be classified as a threat. Even here, in a quiet café in Milan, with the scent of roasted espresso thick in the air and the murmur of soft Italian conversations swirling around her, Cruz felt like she was walking onto a battlefield.
Kyle McManus sat with an air of infuriating ease, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. A porcelain cup of cappuccino rested on the table in front of him, half-finished, a delicate curl of steam rising from its surface. He looked like a man completely at home, unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.
Cruz stopped beside his table, tilting her head slightly, her voice laced with dry amusement. “You’re not a very good CIA agent, McManus. I spotted you immediately.”
Kyle barely glanced up from his coffee. He smirked, slow and knowing, before lifting his cup and taking a sip as if she weren’t even worth the effort of a real response. Then, finally, he set it down and met her gaze, blue eyes sharp with something unreadable.
“I wanted to be found,” he said easily. “Saves us both some time, don’t you think?”
Cruz didn’t take the bait. She had dealt with his type before—men who thrived on making people feel off-balance, who used humor and arrogance as shields. He was comfortable here, in control, and that told her everything she needed to know.
She didn’t move any closer, didn’t drop her guard, her posture locked in a carefully calculated ease. “You wanted to be found,” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “That supposed to make me feel better about the fact that you’ve been following us since Salzburg?”
Kyle exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. “You’re good, Manuelos. I’ll give you that.” His smirk widened. “Took you longer than I expected, though.”
Cruz resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What do you want?”
Kyle leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his voice lowering just enough that she knew whatever came next wasn’t meant for casual ears. “You know what we want. Her father and fiancé,” he said. “So did you and your girlfriend make a decision?”
Cruz didn’t flinch, didn’t betray a single thought that passed through her mind. She had known this was coming, but hearing it said out loud, laid out so plainly, made her stomach tighten.
“And?” she prompted.
Kyle’s smirk remained, but his tone was all business. “We think you and Aaliyah are the easiest way to get this done.”
Cruz exhaled slowly, a calculated breath meant to keep her expression blank. She wasn’t stupid. The CIA wasn’t asking them for help—they were maneuvering them into a position where they had no choice but to comply.
She crossed her arms. “What if we decided that we won’t help?”
Kyle shrugged, a casual roll of his shoulders. “Then you keep running. But let’s be honest—you’re getting tired of that, aren’t you?” His gaze flicked toward where Aaliyah sat, waiting, pretending to sip her coffee but watching them like a hawk. “She’s getting tired of it.”
Cruz clenched her jaw, her pulse spiking with irritation at how easily Kyle dissected them, like he had been tracking their every move, analyzing their every weakness.
“We’ll talk,” she said finally, her voice even, controlled. “But we’re not committing to anything.”
Kyle studied her, his gaze flickering with something satisfied, like he had already won. “That’s a start,” he said, then nodded toward Aaliyah. “Shall we?”
Cruz hesitated. Her gut twisted. Every instinct screamed at her to stop this now, to turn around and walk out, to put distance between them and the CIA before they got tangled in something they couldn’t escape. But she knew Aaliyah. She knew that if there was even a sliver of a chance that this could end the chase, Aaliyah would take it. And maybe Cruz would too.
Because as much as she wanted to keep Aaliyah safe, she also wanted Aaliyah to be free. Without another word, she turned, leading Kyle back to their table.
--
The café buzzed softly around them, the clinking of espresso cups and the occasional murmur of conversation forming a low, unintrusive hum. But Cruz barely registered any of it. Her focus was on Kyle, on the words coming out of his mouth, on the way his gaze flickered between her and Aaliyah like he was measuring something invisible.
He leaned back in his chair, exuding a casual confidence that Cruz didn’t trust for a second. “Alright,” he said, folding his hands neatly in front of him, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood grain of the table. “Here’s how we play this.”
Cruz didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that she was listening, but she was absorbing every detail, every nuance in his voice.
“You and Aaliyah are going to get messy,” Kyle said, his smirk sharp. “Slip up. Get seen. Make it look like you’re getting tired of running.”
Aaliyah stiffened beside her, but Cruz reached under the table, brushing her fingers against Aaliyah’s knee in a quiet gesture. A silent reminder that she was here, that she wasn’t going to let this spiral out of control. Aaliyah exhaled slowly, collecting herself.
Kyle continued, “Greece is the perfect location. We already have assets positioned there, and it gives the right illusion—somewhere close enough to familiar Amrohi territory, but not secure enough to be a stronghold. We leak intel that Aaliyah’s been spotted, lay down a few breadcrumbs that she’s reconsidering this whole ‘life on the run’ thing. That she wants to come home.”
Cruz resisted the urge to sneer. “You think they’ll buy that?”
Kyle’s smirk deepened. “Ehsan will. He still thinks he’s entitled to her. Asmar, too. They won’t question a chance to bring her back under control. Their pride will do the work for us.”
Aaliyah’s fingers curled into a fist on the table, and Cruz could feel the tension radiating off her. She wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter what those men thought anymore, that their power over her was nothing but an illusion. But this wasn’t the time.
Cruz turned her attention back to Kyle. “The breadcrumb trail—how do we make it convincing?”
Kyle nodded, as if satisfied that she was engaging. “A few ways. We’ve already started planting false financial records, showing transactions in Aaliyah’s name popping up in Greece. Staged CCTV sightings at key transit points—ferry terminals, high-end hotels, an ATM withdrawal here and there. Just enough movement to be plausible, but not so much that it looks deliberate. You’ll help with that, Manuelos.”
Cruz tapped a finger against the table, considering. “And what about chatter? People talk. We don’t want too much noise, or it’ll look like a setup.”
Kyle nodded, acknowledging the point. “That’s why we’ll be careful with our sources. A well-placed tip to one of Asmar’s informants, maybe even a leak from within his own organization. Something that looks organic. They’ll think they’re getting privileged information.” He smirked. “They won’t know we handed it to them.”
Cruz studied him, her instincts flaring. It was a good plan, tactically sound. But Kyle was too comfortable, too at ease.
“And then?” she asked, her voice unreadable.
Kyle exhaled, like this was the easiest thing in the world. “Then we let them come to you. Two weeks. We’ll have everything lined up by then. They’ll take the bait.”
Aaliyah shifted slightly, her voice steady but edged with something Cruz couldn’t quite name. “And when they do?”
Kyle gave her a reassuring look, like he was indulging a naïve request. “We take them alive.”
Cruz’s jaw tightened. Bullshit.
Kyle was saying all the right things, but she had spent enough time around the Agency to know when an op was a kill mission wrapped in a prettier package.
She tilted her head slightly. “You’re sure about that?”
Kyle’s expression didn’t change. “It’s a capture-only mission.”
Liar.
Cruz didn’t call him out on it. Not here. Not now. But she felt Aaliyah relax just a fraction, her tension easing as if she wanted to believe him. That was what worried Cruz the most.
She forced herself to nod. “Fine. We do it our way.”
Kyle smirked. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Cruz didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. But for now, she played along. Because if the CIA was going to break its promises, she needed to be ready.
--
The villa was quiet when they returned, but Cruz’s mind was anything but.
She stepped inside first, her body moving on instinct, scanning the space even though she already knew it was secure. The air was still, the dim afternoon light casting long shadows against the polished floors. But something about it felt different. Like the moment they had sat down at that café, something had shifted.
Cruz didn’t speak at first. She moved through the space with quiet purpose, shutting the blinds with precise, controlled movements, locking doors, checking sightlines. Each action was methodical, her muscles working through something her mind wasn’t ready to voice yet.
She wasn’t just thinking about the mission. She was thinking about Aaliyah. About what it meant if they did this. About what it meant if they didn’t.
Aaliyah watched her from the center of the room, arms crossed, her brows pinched together in quiet concern. Cruz knew she wasn’t oblivious to the tension rolling off her.
When Cruz finally turned to face her, she exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “I don’t trust him.”
Aaliyah tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening. “Kyle?”
Cruz huffed, pacing to the other side of the room, pressing her fingers to her temples like it might will away the knot of frustration forming behind her skull.
“The CIA doesn’t make deals,” she said finally, her voice low and edged with something sharp. “They make moves.”
She turned back to Aaliyah, watching her reaction, searching for the moment those words would sink in.
Aaliyah’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t argue, didn’t immediately try to contradict her. She just waited, watching Cruz with those bright, knowing eyes.
Cruz sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “If there’s a kill order, they won’t tell us. Kyle will say just about anything to get us on board.”
Aaliyah’s fingers twitched where they rested on her arm, her body language shifting slightly. Cruz could see it, that flicker of doubt, the way her mind worked over the thought.
“And you think he’s lying,” Aaliyah said finally.
Cruz ran her tongue along her teeth, her jaw tightening. “I think he’s telling us the version of the truth that gets us to say yes.”
The silence stretched between them for a beat.
Aaliyah’s voice was softer when she spoke next. “Then what do we do?”
Cruz let out a slow, measured breath. She had been turning the question over in her mind since the moment Kyle had put the offer on the table.
If they said no, the CIA wouldn’t just walk away. They’d find another way, one that didn’t involve Aaliyah’s terms or any concern for collateral damage. And if they said yes—
Cruz swallowed, her hands bracing against the back of the couch as she leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. “If we help, and things go wrong, Aaliyah… you’re gonna have to live with it.”
Aaliyah’s brow furrowed, the corners of her mouth pulling downward.
Cruz shook her head, pushing off the couch. “I’m not just worried about what happens if the mission goes sideways. I’m worried about you.”
Aaliyah blinked. “Me?”
Cruz’s gaze was steady, unreadable. “You want out. I get it. But what happens if the price of that freedom is more than you can live with?” She stepped forward, slow but deliberate. “I know what it’s like,” she said quietly. “To be tied to bad people and still… care about them.”
Aaliyah’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her arms loosening just slightly around her frame.
Cruz continued, her voice steady but carrying weight. “They are not good people. You know it. I know it. But they’re still your family. They raised you, shaped you. That doesn’t just disappear because you walked away.”
Aaliyah’s jaw clenched, something flickering in her gaze.
“I spent years trying to outrun my own blood,” Cruz admitted, exhaling sharply. “Telling myself it didn’t matter, that I didn’t give a damn what happened to them. That if they went down, they had it coming. And maybe they did.” She paused, raking a hand through her hair. “But when it happened, when it was over… it didn’t feel like relief.”
Aaliyah stood there, quiet, absorbing it all.
Cruz tilted her head, her voice softer now. “You can hate them. You can want to be free of them. But when it’s final, when there’s no going back… that’s a weight you carry for the rest of your life.”
Aaliyah closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose before she looked at Cruz again. “I don’t want that.”
Cruz searched her face, something settling in her chest.
Aaliyah shook her head slightly, her voice steadier now. “I just want to be free, Cruz.”
Cruz studied her, letting the weight of those words settle. And then, finally, she nodded. “I’ll do anything to give you that, Aaliyah.”
The conversation hung between them like an open wound, fresh and raw, neither of them reaching to close it. Cruz could still hear Aaliyah’s voice in her head—I just want to be free. And she believed her. Believed in the sheer force of Aaliyah’s will, the desperation in those words. But believing didn’t make it any easier to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.
Aaliyah was standing in front of her, watching her carefully. She had that look, the one that meant she could see right through Cruz, past the hardened exterior and into the spaces Cruz liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was disarming how easily she could do that.
Without a word, Aaliyah reached for her hand, fingers lacing between Cruz’s, tugging her gently toward the couch. Cruz let her, following the warmth of Aaliyah’s touch, letting herself be pulled down beside her. She should have resisted. Should have put more distance between them, given herself space to think. But it was impossible when Aaliyah curled against her so effortlessly, when the heat of her body pressed into Cruz’s side like she belonged there.
Cruz shifted slightly, adjusting so that Aaliyah fit against her better, draping an arm around her waist. Aaliyah let out a slow exhale, her cheek resting against Cruz’s shoulder. For a long moment, they didn’t speak. The only sounds were the soft hum of the city outside, the occasional creak of the villa settling around them.
Cruz let her fingers drift, tracing slow, absentminded circles against the bare skin of Aaliyah’s back where her shirt had ridden up. The motion was grounding, something to focus on as her mind raced ahead, mapping out every possibility, every way this could go wrong.
Aaliyah’s voice broke the quiet, soft and certain. “If this works… we can have a real life, Cruz.”
Cruz swallowed, her fingers pausing for half a second before resuming their slow movements. She wanted to believe that. She really did. But the CIA didn’t always just let people go. And the world they had both been tangled in for so long didn’t just forget. But she could hope. For them. For Aaliyah.
Still, she didn’t say that. Didn’t voice the doubt sitting heavy in her chest. Instead, she nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Aaliyah’s head.
Aaliyah turned her face slightly, pressing a featherlight kiss against the base of Cruz’s throat, just beneath her pulse. The touch sent something warm curling through Cruz’s stomach, something she didn’t have the words for.
Aaliyah tilted her head up then, watching her, waiting for something Cruz wasn’t sure she could give. “Say it,” Aaliyah murmured.
Cruz exhaled slowly, tightening her grip around her waist. “We’ll figure it out.”
It wasn’t a promise. But it was the closest thing she could give.
Aaliyah didn’t push. Instead, she sighed softly, pressing closer, burying her face against Cruz’s neck. “Together,” she whispered.
Cruz let her eyes slip shut, let herself indulge in the moment just this once. Because for all her doubts, all her instincts screaming at her that this was far from over, there was one thing she knew for certain.
She’d go to war for Aaliyah Amrohi. No matter what it cost her.
--
The weight of Aaliyah against her was something grounding, something Cruz had never thought she’d need, let alone crave. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slipped into sleep, was a stark contrast to the turmoil racing through Cruz’s mind.
She lay still, her arm curled around Aaliyah’s waist, the other resting lightly on her back. The villa was quiet, the world outside settling into the hush of late evening. But Cruz’s thoughts didn’t settle. They ran like an exposed wire, sparking and twisting through every angle of the deal they’d just made.
It wasn’t just the CIA. It was the way Kyle had spoken, the careful omissions, the way he’d sidestepped her question about a kill order. The agency had a language of its own, one Cruz had been fluent in for years. She knew better than anyone that the truth was just another tool in the trade—manipulated, twisted, used as leverage when convenient.
And yet, here they were.
She let her fingers trail absently over Aaliyah’s spine, the motion as much for her own comfort as it was for Aaliyah’s. She had agreed to this, had led Aaliyah straight into the hands of people she once called her own. The same people who had used her, discarded her, and left her to pick up the pieces of what they had turned her into.
She wanted to believe that this was the right move. That giving Aaliyah this chance at freedom—real freedom—was worth the risk. That the deal Kyle had laid out was as simple as he made it seem.
But Cruz had never been one for fairy tales.
Her gaze drifted to the soft curve of Aaliyah’s face, the way the dim lighting cast shadows over her delicate features. Even in sleep, there was tension there—the remnants of grief, of betrayal, of everything that had been stripped from her. Cruz knew what it was like to carry the weight of a life you never asked for, to feel trapped by the blood that ran through your veins.
Aaliyah had spent years fighting to be more than her last name. And now, she had placed her trust in Cruz, in Kyle, in the very people who had taken everything from her.
It made Cruz’s stomach twist.
She exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to Aaliyah’s temple, lingering there for just a moment. A silent promise. A vow that she had no idea how to keep. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she whispered.