“You found more fuel for the fire,” I praise the capo, like a seasoned puppet, molding my lips into a grin.

Valeria bows her head to Governor, the purple amethyst swinging from her neck like a hypnotic charm. “A gift for you on the twins’ day of birth.”

I rip my eyes from Ava to look at Roth. This grand show, this entire escapade, was designed to impress and dazzle him—her estranged dad, the Lone Star.

He looks anything but pleased. With his hardened facade fixated on Ava, he puts up a good front, but from this close, beneath his stiff, regal uniform, I can see he’s sweating bullets.

Roth detests surprises. Unless he’s the one wielding them, of course. And odds are high he’s recalling what happened the last time one of his family brought him a Goodwin as an offering.

Things didn’t end well.

“I lay at your feet what your boys could not,” Valeria says, her silky voice triumphant.

My dad. My half brother.

All failed to give Roth what he wanted.

The twin thorns in his side, the traitors, the catalysts of his downfall.

“Where is the other one?” Roth asks, his black eyes boring holes into Ava’s.

Valeria’s grin widens, devilish. “What is a show without an audience?”

Like a grand master of ceremonies, she directs our attention to the reservoir below with a dramatic wave of her arms. A powerful spotlight illuminates her stage.

Right on cue, a large pipe spits out what looks like bodies, one after the other launching into the pitch-dark water. Six splashes. I hold my breath, waiting for heads to surface.

Common members? Militia rebels?

Ten seconds pass, and then faces and floundering arms emerge. Frantic screams bounce off the water. Valeria titters.

The group, all clad in black uniforms, struggles to help each other swim to a gravel embankment on the east shoreline of the lake. When they make it, weak and coughing, one girl gets to her feet. She sways, lifting her head up to the walkway.

Mira.

My heart soars before it falls.

My dad appears at her side, then Haven, Barend. Two other girls I don’t recognize stand with them.

Valeria has trapped them all.

Mira, run! I want to call out.

Y huiré contigo. And I will run away with you.

But a dozen cartel men clutching automatic rifles move in to meet the new arrivals on the embankment.

“Did you really think you could enter my territory and I wouldn’t notice?” Valeria sneers to Ava. “The capo sees all.”

But they’re not the only witnesses she’s gathered. More armed cartel arrive, herding at least fifty additional captives onto the bank and into the floodlights. The People’s Militia.

Director Wix and the lieutenant share lost looks, gripping the metal railing. President Moore clutches his briefcase tighter to his chest and puts several steps between Valeria and himself. It seems they weren’t privy to tonight’s program either.

“What is this?” Roth asks, calm as the reservoir’s surface. But I catch the hesitation in his voice, the same way my dad sounds when he’s trying to project that he’s still the one in control.

“Ava!” Mira’s voice reverberates across the dam.

Another gruff cry rings out. “Andrés!”

Strapped to a chair by the dam’s ledge, Andrés fights against his restraints, Ava against the cartel women’s hold.

“My mother’s rule will be humble compared to the power I will wield,” Valeria says, face glowing with excitement. “This is how our new alliance begins . . . forged with the flames of our enemies.”

She glides over to me in her daggerlike heels and places a familiar hand on my shoulder. “Theo helped inspire this little show. You were right to spare him.”

“I hope you’re pleased, Governor,” I say, forcing my eyes level with his.

I coerce myself to remain still, silent, to not prematurely show my hand.

Roth just shifts his glare back to Ava.

My aunt leans in close, whispering velvety-toned words in my ear. “Your part’s not done yet, nephew. Our family’s rivals have to learn. Choose the lesson. Ava and Andrés, or the crowd of people below. Two lives or many? Your choice.”

She gives a cold, dismissive shrug. It’s no matter to her who lives or who dies. Because really, for Valeria, it’s just a matter of who dies first.

And who is forced to watch.

On the embankment below, the line of cartel men lifts their guns. They aim their barrels at Mira, my dad, Andrés’s people.

Everything about Valeria is poison.

The power-hungry capo isn’t going to allow either group to leave her stronghold alive.

She just wants to see what hand I’m holding.

“Ava or Mira?” she presses, relishing in her grand scheme. Right now, she’s outplaying us all. Myself, Governor. The Common and the People’s Militia.

But I have my own master plan.

Concentrate, puppet. It’s show time.

The moment has finally come to cut my strings.

“Ava,” I choose.

With a nod from Valeria, the cartel women drag Ava to the empty chair next to Andrés. Inwardly, I smile when she manages to land a kick to one of their kidneys before she’s thrown into the chair. Outwardly, I screw my face into a scowl.

They zip-tie Ava’s ankles and wrists, then the woman wearing Andrés’s eyepatch cuts a lock of Ava’s famous fiery hair. Keepsakes of her victims. They laugh as they fall back in line behind Valeria.

I feign tightening Ava’s restraints, trying to get her to look me in the eyes. I need to tell her what my voice can’t.

“Don’t worry,” I say when Ava won’t meet my gaze. “It won’t hurt.”

The translator distorts my assurances into a taunt.

Valeria and her women laugh.

“How vicious of you, nephew.”

Don’t waver now.

I snap my fingers to Roth’s servant. The girl comes forward holding cans labeled “gasolina.” Quiet and unassuming.

The perfect spy.

“Help me prepare the prisoner,” I order.

I take one can from her, and we start dousing Ava.

Ava begins to shake uncontrollably. “Theo, please don’t do this,” she begs. Tears mix with the shiny fluid that drenches her cheeks.

“This is the way it has to be,” I say, struggling to keep my face cold.

I’m going to be sick.

Nausea burns my throat, and I have to step away.

Valeria takes my place. She holds out her hand for the gasoline. I almost choke on my rising panic.

I’m not the kind of girl who likes to just sit and watch, she warned me.

The militia spy hesitates, then surrenders the can to Valeria. Looking the happiest I’ve ever seen her, Valeria dumps the entire contents over Ava’s sodden head. Her face splits into a smile.

“If you want to guarantee the best results, it’s better to do things with your own hands,” she says to Ava. “Even if it means getting them dirty.”

Valeria tosses the empty can to the ground. “Justice by your own hands,” she says, turning to Andrés. “Isn’t that what you mice like to say?”

She straightens the lapels of her pure-white jacket, toying with the amethyst. Governor eyes the gemstone, the ghost of a snarl on his thin lips.