POV: Elena Vasquez
The laptop screen blurred, Victor Lang's name a taunt in the dim glow of the mansion's guest suite. My chest heaved, each breath a sob I refused to let out. Dad, Javier Vasquez, my hero, the man who'd taught me to balance books and dreams, wasn't taken by stress or a cruel twist of fate. Alexander's words clawed at me: Unusual toxins. Deliberate. Poisoned. Murdered. By Victor Lang, the monster who'd bet on my heart like it was a poker chip. The room spun, the ocean's roar outside a cruel mockery of the storm inside me. I pressed my fists to my eyes, tears spilling hot and unstoppable, my father's voice echoing: Take care of them, mija.
I stumbled to the balcony, the night air slapping my face, sharp and salty. The emerald dress clung to my skin, a lie of glamour now stained with grief. Dad's laugh, his calloused hands flipping mofongo at La Isla Dorada, his pride when I aced my first ledger, it was all stolen. Six years ago, I'd held his cold hand in that hospital, believing he'd died because we couldn't save the restaurant. I'd carried that guilt, let it fuel every double shift, every fight with Frankie's goons. But it wasn't my fault. It was Victor's. And I'd been kissing his rival, letting Alexander's touch blur the truth.
My phone buzzed on the bed; Mamá. I ignored it, my hands shaking too hard to answer. She'd known something, hinted at it on the call, but hid it to protect me. Another betrayal, another weight. I wanted to scream, to tear this mansion apart, to drag Victor here and make him choke on his smug grin. But the red blink of that camera outside, gone now, rooted me in place. Someone was watching. Victor? His thugs? Or worse; someone tied to Dad's death, still covering tracks.
A knock: soft, urgent. "Elena, open the door." Alexander's voice, raw, pleading. He hadn't left. Of course he hadn't. That pull between us, the one I'd felt in the car, on the balcony, was a chain now, binding me to him even as I wanted to run.
"Go away," I choked out, my voice breaking. I slid down the glass door, knees to my chest, the dress pooling like blood. "I can't do this."
The door creaked open anyway, he'd picked the lock or had a key, damn billionaire. His silhouette filled the frame, moonlight carving shadows across his face. He knelt in front of me, not touching, but close enough that his heat broke through my chill. "Elena," he whispered, his voice cracking with something I hadn't heard before: pain, real and jagged. "I'm so sorry. About your dad. About everything."
"Don't," I sobbed, shoving at his chest, but my hands fisted his shirt instead, holding on. "You don't get to be sorry. You started this; your bet, your world. My dad's dead because of it!"
He flinched, but didn't pull away. "I didn't know," he said, his hands hovering, wanting to hold me but waiting. "The bet was stupid, selfish. But I swear, Elena, I didn't know about your dad. About Victor's reach. If I'd known…" His voice broke, eyes glistening. "I'd have burned his empire down the first day."
I wanted to hate him, to push him out and lock the door forever. But his eyes, God, those eyes held no lies now, just a desperation that mirrored mine. My heart betrayed me, aching for him, for the man who'd chased me to Brooklyn, who'd looked at me like I was his world. "Why does it hurt so much?" I whispered, tears streaming. "I barely know you, and it hurts."
"Because it's real," he said, his voice fierce, one hand finally cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my tears. "I'm falling, Elena. Hard. And I'm terrified you'll never believe it."
His touch ignited me, a spark in the wreckage of my grief. I leaned into his hand, just for a second, my lips trembling. The air between us was molten, every breath a risk. I wanted to kiss him, to lose myself in him, to let his strength hold my shattered pieces together. But Dad's face flashed, Mamá's warning, Victor's smirk. I pulled back, my hands still tangled in his shirt, torn between love and rage.
"I can't," I gasped, my voice raw. "My dad, he's gone, Alexander, murdered and you're part of this world that killed him. How do I trust you?"
"You don't have to," he said, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my lips. "Not yet. But let me fight for you. For him. I'll tear Victor apart, Elena. Every secret, every deal. I'll give you justice."
His words were a vow, a lifeline, but they terrified me. Because I felt it too: the pull, the need, the love I wasn't ready to name. My hands slid to his face, tracing the stubble, the tension in his jaw. We were inches apart, the world fading to just us, the ocean, the heartbreak. "If you lie again," I whispered, my voice shaking, "I'll destroy you."
"I know," he murmured, his lips brushing my cheek, not a kiss but a promise. "I'm yours to break."
The moment hung, fragile, electric, until a crash outside shattered it. Glass, my balcony door. I jolted, Alexander pulling me behind him, his body a shield. A black box lay on the tiles, the same red glow I'd seen before, pulsing faster now. A note was taped to it, red ink bleeding: Truth hurts, Elena. Ask Sofia about Javier.
My blood froze. Mamá. She knew something, and someone wanted me to know. Alexander grabbed the box, his face grim. "It's a drive," he said, voice low. "Encrypted. Someone's playing us both."
I stared at the note, my heart splintering. Dad's death, Mamá's secrets, Victor's games, it was too much. I sank to the floor again, sobs ripping free, Alexander's arms around me now, no hesitation. I fought him, then clung to him, my grief a tidal wave. "They took him," I cried into his chest. "They took my dad."
"I've got you," he whispered, holding me tight, his own tears wetting my hair. "I'm here. I'm not leaving."
The red glow pulsed, the note a dagger in my heart. Someone was watching, hunting, and Mamá was next. I had to find her, protect her, uncover the truth about Dad. But Alexander's arms, his heartbeat against mine, were the only thing keeping me from drowning. I loved him, I hated that I did, but I couldn't let go. Not yet.
Another crash; downstairs, metal on marble. Alexander tensed, pulling a gun from his waistband, one I hadn't seen. "Stay here," he ordered, his voice steel.
"No," I said, grabbing his arm, my tears drying into resolve. "We do this together."
He looked at me, pride and fear warring in his eyes, then nodded. We stepped into the hall, the mansion dark, the glow of the drive lighting our path. Someone was inside, and they wanted blood. Dad's blood, mine, maybe Mamá's. I'd face them, with Alexander or without, because love and vengeance were all I had left.