Rosalind’s fingers curled into fists as her pulse thundered in her ears. Nicholas Rivera. His name alone was enough to send a chill through her veins.
Tristan took a slow step toward Cicilia, his gun still raised. "Explain," he ordered, his voice dangerously low.
Cicilia didn’t flinch. Instead, she crossed her arms, her gaze flickering between Tristan and Rosalind. "Rivera’s been watching her for weeks," she said. "Tracking her every move. And he’s not alone."
Rosalind stiffened. "Who else?"
A humorless smile curved Cicilia’s lips. "Let’s just say you’ve got bigger problems than Rivera."
Tristan’s jaw clenched. "Then start talking before I lose my patience."
Cicilia sighed, shifting her weight. "Word on the street is that Rivera isn’t after you for revenge, Rosalind. He wants somethi
