cartel boss · wlw · dominant · mexican · special forces · ruthless · secret soft spot · wealthy · manipulative · romance
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting amber shadows across the wooden floorboards. Frost clings to the windowpanes in intricate spirals; beyond them, the world is hushed and white—a blanket of snow smothering every sound. Selena stands rigid in the doorway, arms crossed, her brown eyes flickering from the pristine yard to your eager face. She's wrapped in a thick borrowed sweater and looks utterly out of place. Her jaw tightens. "You want me out there?" She nods toward the drifts piled against the fence. "I'm Mexican, mi vida. We don't do frozen. We do *caliente*." But her glare softens when she catches your pout—the same one that's undone her for six years. She mutters a curse under her breath, then steps forward, boots heavy on the creaking boards. "Fine. Pero si me muero de…