Let's Get Wed or You're Dead

CH 7: Consequences

CHAPTER 7

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

Samantha answered without looking at the screen. She already knew who it was.

"What's the result?" her uncle asked. Hector's voice came through the line, expectant, knowing that this kind of order was a piece of cake for her.

She breathed first as if bracing herself for the impact of what she had to report. "The sniper missed. Jeff is still alive."

There was silence from the other line.

"You should have taken over," Hector responded with a hard edge in his voice, not with disappointment yet. "You were there."

"I was," she replied. "And I was about to finish it. But a civilian intervened. I couldn't reach the target without exposing myself."

Silence pressed against the line again. Samantha could hear his breath, slow and deliberate. She knew that sound. It meant restraint, not acceptance.

"You allowed interference," Hector said at last. His voice stayed low, but the anger was contained so tightly that it still hummed through her senses. "That man should be dead."

"I won't compromise the operation. Not in front of witnesses."

There was another pause but longer this time.

"Do whatever it takes," his voice was loosening its controlled anger. "Make sure he doesn't speak to the police. And make sure he never mentions our family. Not even by accident."

Then the line went dead.

Samantha stared at her phone for a second longer than necessary before lowering it into her lap. The car felt smaller suddenly. The silence inside it was thick and suffocating. Frustration coiled in her chest, tight and restless, with nowhere to go.

She lifted her eyes to the hospital entrance again.

"George," her voice sounded quieter now. "Any update?"

George checked his phone, scrolling his thumb over the screen twice. "Surgery's still ongoing. They're saying at least an hour."

Samantha nodded. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her jaw was set as she leaned back against the seat. There was nothing she could do. Not yet. No move to make that wouldn't ripple outward and draw too much attention. Waiting was excruciating in this kind of situation. But it was all she could do for now.

Not more than fifteen minutes passed before movement caught Samantha's eye.

Another car pulled up near the hospital entrance. A man stepped out. He was in his early forties and had a confident posture. Almost at the same moment, the striking doctor emerged from the hospital doors.

The man approached him without hesitation and patted his back like they had known each other for a long time. The doctor turned, surprise flashing briefly across his face before it softened into a smile. They exchanged a few words, their body language relaxed and close.

One of her men stood near the entrance, half-absorbed into the background. His attention was trained on a nearby exchange between police officers and medical staff. He leaned a little closer, carefully not to seem suspicious, just to hear what the newcomer and the doctor were saying.

The doctor smiled again. Wider this time and he returned the greeting. His hand lifted briefly as if to reassure the man beside him.

Her eyes lingered on their scene.

She slightly flinched when her phone rang. It was her uncle again as she glanced at the screen. She could only expect the worse for this.

"What happened?" Hector demanded, his voice already edged the moment she lifted the phone to her ears. "The police contacted the office. Jeff's family claims we're responsible for the shooting."

Samantha stiffened. The speed of it hit her like a blow. Jeff's family.

"What did they say?" she asked, though she already knew the answer would not change. Her men were too late to contain them.

"They named us," Hector said. "They told the police we're suspects."

Her chest tightened. She had warned Jeff. She had made it clear what defiance would cost him. And still, he let his family take over for him.

Before she could respond, Hector continued, colder now. "Police also flagged CCTV footage. You were seen near the crime scene. Witnesses, too. And outside the hospital."

Samantha closed her eyes.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, fingers pressing hard between her brows, and leaned her head back against the seat. For a brief moment, she allowed the frustration to wash over her. Thick and suffocating.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Don't worry," she said at last, forcing steadiness into her voice. "There's no solid evidence. My men are already handling it. For now, it's just accusations from a traitor's family."

There was a pause. Then Hector spoke again, slower and firmer. "It's the same prosecutor."

Her eyes opened.

"The one who's been circling us since last year," he went on. "They were already watching. This gives them an opening. Speculation becomes investigation. Maybe it's time we change strategy, Samantha. Maybe it's time we replace you. Bring in your younger brother."

Her jaw locked so tightly it ached.

"No," she said sharply, cutting him off before he could finish. The word scraped its way out of her clenched teeth. "I'll fix this."

Silence crackled on the line.

"Leave it to me," her voice was low, and she didn't try to hide the danger in them. "I won't let this escalate further." She ended the call before he could respond.

Samantha exhaled through her nose a short, rough breath and hurled the phone onto the seat beside her. It landed with a dull thud.

Her hands curled into fists as she leaned back again and closed her eyes. Her forearm rose, knuckles touching her forehead and thudding on it, as if knocking for anything that could end her current dilemma.

Fuck it.

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She would never let Hector Aguerrie stain her younger brother's hand with blood and crime. She stepped up for the position to not let her only sibling left touch the dark side of their family. She had to gain a strong foundation to protect him from the rest of their relatives. But at some point, she was pushed into a situation again in which she had to make a lightning-fast, concrete plan to solve the consequences of her failed assassination.

Everything was tightening. And she was running out of room.

A minute passed in strained quiet before George spoke again. "Our men picked something up," his voice was low but edged with urgency. "The one the doctor was talking to. They heard his name."

Samantha didn't respond. Her eyes were still closed, knuckles pressed against her forehead, frustration pulsing there like a bruise.

"He was speaking to Prosecutor Morgan," George continued. "And… the doctor called him 'uncle'."

That did it.

Samantha's eyes opened slowly. She lowered her hand, fingers uncurling as the information settled. The tension in her posture didn't ease. It only sharpened.

She didn't know how Prosecutor Morgan even followed their movements in this city. That was why her uncle was getting alarmed as well. And now knowing that the prosecutor and the doctor were related, everything would just get more complicated. Messier.

"Go on," she urged.

George glanced down at his phone. "They exchanged short greetings. Then Morgan asked him what he witnessed at the scene. The doctor said nothing unusual. Said he was focused on rescuing the victim. Just wanted to save him."

A faint, humorless breath left Samantha's nose.

Focused. Of course he was.

"Our men couldn't get any closer," George added. "They stayed at the side of the entrance. At the isolated spot. It's too risky to approach without being noticed."

Samantha leaned forward slightly and looked through the windshield.

Across the far side of the building, the doctor and the prosecutor were still there, standing apart from the crowd, heads inclined toward each other in quiet conversation. They were family indeed, by the looks of it. And suddenly, the crowd, the media, the police, and the timing—all of it rearranged itself into something far more dangerous.

As Samantha stared, something dark and deliberate began to take shape in her mind.

George's voice cut back in. "I got the doctor's details. Already sent them to your phone."

Her phone vibrated softly beside her.

"Read it for me." She ordered.

George straightened slightly. "Name's Alesandrie Reiyu. Half Japanese. Trauma surgeon. Thirty-two years old. Unmarried. No children."

"That's enough," Samantha said. "Get Dran here."

George miscalled the other man, one of their patterns, to come at once. In just a minute, the younger bodyguard hopped in the car. Dran was the same age as Samantha. Twenty-nine years old. While George was already in his 40s, he was still young-looking and very active. He was also her closest ally and worked with her most of the time.

Samantha's gaze never left the scene outside.

At that moment, the doctor shifted, offering the prosecutor one last nod before stepping away. He moved with unhurried confidence, hands slipping into his pockets as he headed toward the highway.

She followed him with her gaze.

"Let's follow him," she instructed.

The car eased back into motion as Alesandrie Reiyu walked away from the hospital, unaware that the woman watching from the shadows had just made him part of her next move and something unimaginable.