“Where am I?” Cora asked quietly, without looking at Zachary. It was a tiny defiance, not making eye contact. But all she had were these small, insignificant battles since she was far from fit enough to wage war. As night had fallen, they’d moved inside to the small dining table arranged against one of the large windows looking out over the ocean.

Zachary had warmed her a steak, but she hadn’t touched it.

“A tiny island you’ve probably never heard of before.”

“Where am I?” Repeating herself was another spiteful measure she’d put in place when Zachary refused to answer her. She tired of the game before he did, though; she didn’t have his patience.

“I’ve always loved the vastness of the ocean. Brings perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Where am I?”

Zachary went quiet.

“What will it take for you to let me go?” Cora asked, watching a wave tumble over the breakline.

Zachary stopped sawing at his meat. “Let you go? Why would I want to do that?”

“I have money.” Cora felt tears brimming in her eyes. “Enough for you—”

“I don’t need money.” Zachary went cutting his meat, and then used the tip of the knife to gesture toward the ocean, the beach house. “This is all mine. Bought and paid for. I own resorts, manufacturing plants, investment companies…” He chewed for a moment before continuing. “More money than I know what to do with.”

“Then what?” Cora looked toward him, but kept her eyes on his plate. “The cartel? ECV? You can have it all.”

Was it the wine making her woozy, or the realization that she valued her freedom over the riches and power that her cartel gave her?

Zachary made a sound in the back of his throat, as if her offer intrigued him. But then he said, “I have my own cartel.”

“You can merge it. You can have the villa, all the resources, all the connections—”

“I already have those.”

Of course—the Santa Muerte pendant. He’d had information on all of El Calacas Vivo’s inbetweeners for weeks already.

“So why haven’t you used it?” And now she did look up at him, because she wanted to see his eyes when he answered.

A gleam—pride, narcissism, smugness?—touched his muddy irises. “It wasn’t I who wanted that information. It was part of a deal I struck with Javier.”

Her mouth went dry. She wet it with wine, but it didn’t seem to help. “I don’t understand.”

“Nor can you. Our arrangement was complex. And, in the end, useless.” Zachary’s words became bitter. “To think, I wasted so much time on that man. Him and his empty promises. I always knew he had a silver tongue, but I never—”

He cut off, glancing away from her as he cut another sliver of meat from his steak.

“No, I don’t need more money. A super cartel?” He pursed his lips, drinking long at his wine before setting it down. “What’s the point, if not to just make more money?”

His eyes settled on her again, intense and direct. He chewed, swallowed, sat back in his chair and drained the rest of his wine. “There’s only one thing you can possibly give me that I don’t already have. Something money can’t buy. Something I was owed a long time ago.”

She sat forward despite herself. Tried desperately not to look too eager, and failed.

“What?” she prompted, when he just kept staring at her with those unfathomable eyes.

He touched a fingertip to the back of her hand, describing a slow, tingling circle around the knuckle of her middle finger.

“Closure,” Zachary said, giving her a cold smile.