Bounded by Protection

The Mistress and the Knife

The only thing more dangerous than a cheating husband was the woman he underestimated.

Savannah's stiletto heels clicked against the marble floor of her walk-in closet as she sorted through her collection of designer dresses. Today's selection needed to be perfect,calculated, elegant, and with just enough room to hide a blade.

Three days had passed since their anniversary party, and the information Nala had retrieved from Armando's private server had proven more valuable than Savannah anticipated. Not only had she discovered details about his latest smuggling operations, but also something unexpectedly personal: a penthouse apartment in the Gold Coast district, paid for in cash, visited three times a week.

And the name on the lease: Isabella Cruz.

Armando's mother had been named Isabella. The sentimentality was almost touching,if it weren't so predictable.

"Are you sure about this?" Nala's voice came from the bedroom doorway, concern etched across her usually composed features. "You could use this as leverage instead."

Savannah selected a crimson dress with a high slit,blood wouldn't show as easily on red. "Some messages require more than words."

"He'll kill you."

"No." Savannah slid the dress from its hanger. "He needs me alive. My father made sure of that."

The inheritance clause in Roman Sanchez's will had been his final chess move,40% of the Sanchez empire would remain in trust until either Savannah bore an heir or the marriage ended in death. Not divorce. Death. Her father had ensured Armando couldn't simply discard her when she was no longer useful.

What her father hadn't anticipated was that Armando would be content to wait, running both empires in the meantime with Savannah as nothing more than a figurehead.

"What if this mistress means something to him?" Nala asked.

Savannah's laugh was cold as she began applying her makeup with surgical precision. "Then I'll be doing him a favor. Love is a weakness in our world. My father taught me that."

Three hours later, Savannah sat at an elegant restaurant table across from a beautiful woman with wide brown eyes and full lips that trembled slightly when she spoke.

"I don't understand why you wanted to meet me," Isabella Cruz said, her fingers nervously twisting the napkin in her lap. "Does Armando know?"

"Of course," Savannah lied smoothly, sipping her wine. "My husband and I have no secrets."

The woman paled, clearly believing the deception. She couldn't be older than twenty-two,so young, so naïve to think she could play in a world where the rules were written in blood.

"I never meant to," Isabella began.

"To what?" Savannah cut her off. "To sleep with my husband? To accept his gifts? To believe he might leave me for you someday?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's not your fault. Armando can be... persuasive."

Relief flooded the young woman's face, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "He told me things weren't good between you. That it was a business arrangement."

"And you believed him." Savannah nodded sympathetically. "As I said, persuasive."

Their conversation flowed easily after that, Isabella dropping her guard as Savannah played the role of the understanding wife. By the time they finished their meal, the mistress was practically gushing with gratitude for Savannah's maturity and kindness.

"Would you like to continue this conversation somewhere more private?" Savannah suggested. "Perhaps your apartment?"

Isabella hesitated only briefly before nodding. "I'd like that."

As they drove through Chicago's evening traffic in Savannah's sleek black Bentley, she sent a text to an unregistered number: Bringing home a guest. Make sure Armando is there to greet us.

The reply came instantly: Done.

Isabella's apartment was exactly what Savannah had expected,expensive but tasteless, dripping with Armando's idea of luxury. Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and a view of Lake Michigan that probably cost more than most people made in a year.

"This is lovely," Savannah commented, trailing her fingers along a marble countertop.

"Thank you." Isabella moved to the bar. "Would you like a drink?"

"Perhaps later," Savannah replied, examining a framed photograph on the wall,Armando and Isabella on a yacht, his arm possessively around her waist. The same way he held Savannah at public events. "Tell me, how did you meet my husband?"

Isabella's smile was genuine. "At my father's restaurant. I was waiting tables, and Armando kept coming back. I thought it was for the food." She laughed softly. "But it was for me."

"How romantic," Savannah murmured, slipping her hand into her purse, fingers wrapping around the handle of a custom blade,eight inches of Damascus steel with an ebony handle, a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday. "And do you love him?"

The question caught Isabella off guard. "I,yes, I think I do."

"And does he love you?"

Isabella's hesitation was answer enough. "He cares for me," she said finally. "He says I make him feel human."

Savannah moved closer, her expression softening with practiced sympathy. "Oh, Isabella. The only thing Armando Leon loves is power."

The sound of the front door opening cut through the tension. Isabella's eyes widened in panic. "I'm not expecting anyone,"

Armando stepped into the apartment, freezing momentarily when he saw Savannah standing beside his mistress. His dark eyes narrowed, calculating, as he assessed the situation.

"Querida," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "This is unexpected."

"Is it?" Savannah smiled. "I thought we should all get acquainted. Isabella has been telling me about your... relationship."

Isabella looked between them, confusion washing over her features. "You said he knew,"

"And you believed her?" Armando laughed, a cold sound devoid of humor. "My wife is many things, Isabella, but honest isn't one of them."

"Your wife," Isabella repeated, the full reality of her situation finally sinking in. "Oh god."

Savannah moved with the speed and precision of someone who had trained her entire life for moments like this. The knife was in her hand and then buried in Isabella's side before either of them could react,a precise strike that slipped between ribs and into vital organs.

Isabella gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she clutched at Savannah's arm. "Why?"

"Because you're in my way," Savannah whispered, twisting the blade before pulling it free.

Blood bloomed across Isabella's white blouse like a macabre flower. She collapsed to her knees, one hand pressed against the wound, the other reaching toward Armando.

"Help me," she pleaded.

Armando didn't move. His expression remained impassive, almost bored, as he watched the woman bleed out on her imported Italian marble floor.

"You should have chosen someone smarter," Savannah told him, wiping her blade on Isabella's sleeve. "This one actually believed you cared."

"She served her purpose," Armando replied, his eyes never leaving Savannah's. "As all pawns do."

Understanding dawned on her then,cold and clear. Isabella had never been his mistress. She'd been bait.

"You wanted me to find her," Savannah said, anger rising in her throat. "You left those files for Nala to find."

His smile was slow and predatory. "I was curious what you would do." He glanced down at Isabella's now-still form, blood pooling beneath her. "Now I know."

He stepped over the body, closing the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, smearing a drop of blood.

"My father warned me you were dangerous," he murmured. "I'm glad to see he wasn't exaggerating."

Savannah didn't flinch from his touch, even as rage coursed through her veins. "Was any of it real? Did you f**k her, or was she just a prop in your game?"

"Does it matter?" He brushed a strand of ginger hair from her face, his touch almost tender. "You've made your move, mi reina. A bold one."

"This isn't a game," she hissed.

"Everything is a game." His grip on her chin tightened. "Play yours, Savannah. But remember,I play to win."

He released her and stepped back, pulling out his phone to make a call. "Michael," he said when the line connected. "We need cleaning at Isabella's. Tell Alex to handle the police if necessary." He ended the call without waiting for a response.

"You've been busy today," he continued. "Perhaps it's time we went home."

"You go," Savannah replied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her. "I'm not finished here."

For a moment, something like genuine surprise flickered across Armando's features. Then he nodded, gestured toward the door. "After you, then."

Savannah moved past him, careful not to turn her back fully. At the doorway, she paused, looking over her shoulder at the bloody scene behind them.

"You underestimated me, Armando. That was your first mistake."

His laugh followed her into the hallway. "Oh no, querida. Underestimating you would be a mistake. I'm simply raising the stakes."

They rode the elevator down in charged silence, the tension between them electric. In the lobby, they were met by Michael Jones,one of Armando's most trusted men and a high-ranking government official who ensured their operations remained untouched by law enforcement.

"Boss," he nodded to Armando, then to Savannah. "Mrs. Leon."

Take care of this quickly," Armando instructed. "And find out everything you can about Isabella's real connections. I want to know who she was working for."

Savannah's head snapped up. "What?"

"You didn't think I'd waste time on an ordinary mistress, did you?" Armando's smile was cold. "Isabella Cruz was feeding information to the Romeros. Using her to flush you out was simply... efficient."

The Romeros,their biggest rivals in the Midwest. If what Armando said was true...

"You're lying," she accused.

"Am I?" He shrugged. "I guess we'll see what Michael finds."

Outside, their respective cars waited. Before Savannah could move toward hers, Armando caught her wrist, pulling her close enough that his lips brushed her ear.

"When you decide to kill me, querida, have the courtesy to do it yourself. Don't send others to do your dirty work."

She pulled away from him. "Is that a challenge?"

"It's advice," he replied. "From a husband who knows his wife's potential."

As he walked to his car, Savannah called after him. "This was just a warning, Armando."

He turned, eyebrow raised in mock curiosity.

Savannah wiped the blood from her hands with deliberate slowness. "Next time, I won't stop at her."

His smile was genuine then,predatory and dark and filled with something that might have been pride.

"I'm counting on it."

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