Two weeks had passed since that dinner—a gathering that felt more like a meeting than a family meal. The days blurred together, each filled with hushed conversations, encrypted messages, and the constant hum of tension that settled over our estate like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.
I found myself spending more time at the main house, not out of necessity, but perhaps a subconscious need to be closer to the epicenter of our family's unraveling empire. The penthouse, once my sanctuary, now felt too detached, too isolated from the brewing chaos.
Our legitimate businesses had become the focus, a façade to divert attention from the undercurrents threatening to pull us under. Shipments were halted, meetings with allies became more frequent, and every move was calculated to reduce scrutiny. Yet, the pressure from federal investigations remained relentless, their gaze unyielding.
We'd been under investigation before—small ones, minor slip-ups. A briefcase of money here, a favor called in there, and poof, case closed. That was the game, and we—correction, they—were damn good at it, for a long time. But this… this was different. Too many eyes watching, too many mistakes, too many loose ends, too many damn pieces of evidence we couldn't sweep under the rug.
...
One evening, after a long day, I retreated to my room. The silence was comforting, a contrast to the constant activity elsewhere in the house.
As I settled into the armchair by the window, the sudden roar of engines disrupted the peace. I stepped onto the balcony and saw a convoy of sleek black vehicles pulling up. Men in dark suits emerged, moving with purpose.
My father and Ignacio greeted them, their faces unreadable. After brief nods, they all disappeared into the house. I watched, a sense of anticipation building within me.
Returning inside, I paced, the echo of footsteps outside my door growing louder. The house was eerily quiet and the footsteps loud.
They moved with intent, heading straight for my father's office. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing whatever secrets lay within.
---
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the estate. I stirred awake, the cool surface of my phone pressed against my cheek. I must have dozed off after those four mysterious men arrived earlier. Their presence had unsettled me, but I had distracted myself with trivial tasks until sleep claimed me.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten all day. I stretched, trying to shake off the grogginess, and made my way to the kitchen.
The kitchen was warm and filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauces. A few maids were bustling about, preparing dinner. They usually kept to themselves, but I had a knack for drawing them into conversation.
"What's on the menu tonight?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
Himena, one of the maids, looked up from her chopping board. "Just something for you, Miss Valerie. The rest of the family won't be dining tonight."
I nodded, not surprised. It had become a pattern lately. Dad and Nacho were likely still locked in their intense meeting. Mom was probably tucked away in some corner, indifferent as ever. And Sofia had been MIA for two days.
I stayed in the kitchen, watching the maids work, the rhythmic chopping and sizzling sounds oddly soothing. When the meal was ready, I sat at the small kitchen table and ate in silence, the maids cleaning up around me.
Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the sound of a door opening, followed by muffled voices that grew louder. The meeting was over.
Then came the unmistakable sound of the main door closing and engines starting up, the vehicles driving away into the night.
Ten seconds later, shouting erupted.
"What the FUCK was that, Dad?!" Nacho's voice rang out.
"Watch the way you speak to me," Dad replied, his tone cold.
"No, you don't get to tell me anything after the shit you just pulled. What the fuck were you thinking?" Nacho shot back.
The air grew thick with tension. I stood up, my heart pounding, and moved cautiously toward the voices.
"I'm trying to get us out of this mess, so you shut up and mind the way you speak to me," Dad said, his voice firm.
"Bullshit," Nacho retorted.
"I won't say this again, and not a word of this to anyone, especially her," Dad warned before walking away.
I turned the corner to find Nacho standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight.
"What was that about?" I asked softly.
He looked at me, his gaze softening slightly, but his voice was sharp. "Don't worry about it," he said before stomping off.
I stood there, stunned, as the sound of a car starting and driving away echoed through the night. Nacho had left.
I sighed and returned to my room, my mind racing with questions. What had happened to make Nacho raise his voice to Dad like that? Something was definitely wrong.