Taking the moment, she walked toward him, maintaining eye contact, giving him her hands. When he did not respond, she grabbed his pants. Francisco stiffened. Muscles tensed. The thought of cutting off her hands never crossed his mind. The thought of flinging her out didn’t either. He didn’t even want to puke, except his member threatened to tear through his trousers. She wasn’t a relative or a close friend. She was just a stranger. A whore. *** “I stab him, he dies.” Simple, right? She cooled herself. “I’m saving Clara, so it’s worth it.” Her breathing pace kept increasing rapidly. She curled her hands around the hilt of the knife. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I’m sorry,” and with all her might, she plunged the metal into the man's chest. The hurt, when his eyes flew open. A small groan escaped his parted lips, and that was all it took for her to open her eyes in horror. Maybe she wanted to confirm if she really stabbed him… or maybe she wanted to apologize to him even on his deathbed. She promised herself she wouldn’t look at the havoc she created, but she already did and whatever image she welcomed now would haunt her all her life.. Can she ever escape the top crime family?