Dos’s Point of View
She was asleep beside me, head leaning against the window, lashes fluttering softly with each bump in the road. The city lights streaked across her skin in golden lines, but even the glow of Manila couldn’t distract me from the truth gnawing at my chest.
June had no idea that the man driving her home was connected to the worst night of her life.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather biting into my palms as if pain might keep the truth at bay.
Rosa Sangre.
The name used to mean power. Legacy. Loyalty.
Now, it tasted like poison in my mouth.
I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know it was us who tore her world apart. That it was our men—our mark—branded in blood across the memory of her parents’ death. I was just a kid back then. I didn’t even know
