Victor
As I sit in the car, frustration swirls inside me like a tempest.
I can't shake the anger at myself for the stupid move I made with Hellena. Me and anger don't usually make a good team.
I shouldn't have said that to her. Maybe I'm just tired of walking around with this damn erection every time I make eye contact with her.
And that bathing suit... Fuck!
She couldn't have been more beautiful. No matter how decent she tried to be, I wanted so bad to tear that fabric to shreds and reveal her alluring side, the side that keeps drawing me in and making me say and do stupid things.
In the morning, Luca called, delivering news that only added fuel to my fury. I don't want to leave Hellena alone here, but I have no choice. Urgent matters in the capital demand my attention. Another warehouse is under police scrutiny, and I can't afford to lose another one.
As I sit in the car, accompanied by Mario, I give orders to Rafael to take care of my captive until my return. I hope not to be away for more than twenty-four hours.
And I also hope the bastard fears death enough that he won't try to get between Hellena's legs again, as I know he intends. I'm sure if I find out he's trying to make a move, I'm going to chop off his hands and maybe even the organ between his legs.
"Patrón, the helicopter is ready. We'll be there in no time!" the pilot informs me.
Mario keeps following me silently. I know he has something to say, but I don't feel like hearing anything from him.
During the flight, I can't shake thoughts of her from my mind. Her image in that bathing suit lingers, igniting a primal need inside me. An evil voice whispers, urging me to act on my desires. But rationality intervenes, reminding me of the consequences.
It would be wrong to touch her, morally and strategically. Yet, the allure is undeniable. To possess the daughter of my greatest enemy would be diabolical.
I would relish the sight of Bernoulli's face if he caught me with his daughter in bed, begging me to claim her as mine. Because I know she would if I offered her the chance.
She would beg for me, craving my touch with every fiber of her being. I can discern it in her eyes, despite their emptiness. Her lust is unmistakable, evident in every glance, every subtle movement.
And as much as she wants me, my own craving for her eclipses hers tenfold. It's impossible not to want her, to resist the magnetic pull drawing us together.
"Patrón, your arm's bleeding!" Mario's voice trembles with concern. Couldn't he toughen up a bit?
"It's nothing," I grit my teeth in response.
I continue to disregard the wound, but after last night, after I found myself holding Bernoulli's daughter in my arms, the injury starts bleeding again. I ignored the pain all night because having her so close felt surreal.
But now, it burns like hell. I silently vow to make Sánchez pay dearly for his mistake. Nobody hurts a Marquez and gets away with it.
By the time we land at our destination, the pain has significantly worsened. I request immediate attention from our doctor. Somehow, I've developed an infection, and although the wound doesn't appear serious, I must take extra care of my arm in the coming days.
Fucking Sánchez. I want to kill him. And even though I know I shouldn't place all the blame on him, there's no other way to protect her.
Luca greets me with a disgruntled expression. Something's bothering him, and I'm eager to hear what it is. It seems he didn't specifically need my presence here. By the time I arrived, he had already resolved the warehouse issue, relocating all the merchandise before the police arrived. Everything's clean now.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I snap the question at Luca.
We are having dinner at a friend's restaurant, our usual spot for official meetings. It was the safest place in the capital, and the food was exceptional.
Mario and the others had left us alone, giving me the chance to broach the conversation my cousin had been threatening me with.
"You're not going back to Santa Marta!" Luca's words hit me like a hammer.
It's not a suggestion, it's an order. He knows how much I hate being commanded. "Really? And why not?" I retort, my tone edged with defiance.
"This mess will bring you nothing but trouble. She'll stir up chaos for us all. You keep forgetting she's the daughter of our enemy. They'll crush us, Victor!" Luca's frustration echoes in the forceful pound of his fist on the table.
I understand his concerns, but I have my convictions.
"Bernoulli has no power over us," I countered.
"Are you sure?" Luca's narrowed eyes bore into mine. "I'm starting to see something in your eyes, something that shouldn't be there, Vic."
A lump forms in my throat. I dislike the contempt in his tone.
"You're the last person who should lecture me on such matters!" I fight back fiercely.
Luca cracked a defeated smile, but his words lingered, stirring a pang of guilt within me. "That's exactly why I'm the one saying it. I should be the one to warn you. You are disappointing me. I thought Uncle Santiago taught you better than this."
His bitterness cuts through me, amplified by the memories etched on his face.
"I know the lesson," I replied, attempting to ease the tension. "However, let's not forget about Violeta."
I flash a wink at him as I cut into my steak, attempting to lighten the mood. He massages his forehead, as if trying to alleviate the weight pressing down on him.
Bringing up Violeta was a stupid move. As the words left my mouth, bitterness coated my tongue. We made a pact never to speak of her again, yet here I am, dredging up painful memories.
"You see, it was Violeta who taught me that in our world falling in love is a fucking mistake," regret suffocates me as Luca speaks.
I was about to interject, but he stops me.
His gaze drifts into the distance as he continues, his expression so broken that I can't help but feel sorry for him.
There was a time when we might have laughed at him, knowing he chose with a broken heart, especially when it came to the woman for whom he wanted to abandon his family.
Now, however, it's not so amusing.
"Love may make you feel invincible at first, but when you least expect it, when you're at your highest peaks, it will knock you to the ground and reveal itself as just another face of the same hell. Love is sister to suffering. It will drag you down so low that you'll feel like you've reached hell itself."
Luca's words cut through the air, and I find myself chewing on the steak mechanically, its flavor now bland in my mouth.
"You forget that I already live in hell," I snort, forcing a dry smile onto my face.
He looks at me for a few moments, attempting to decipher the meaning behind my words. The expression on his face tells me he's succeeded.
He knows how to read me. He always has. Perhaps that's why he's still my only friend, aside from the blood tie that binds us.
"Believe me, what you're living now is a paradise painted in shades of gray, compared to the chaos that love will bring," he asserts, taking a sip of his whiskey and fixing me with a merciless gaze.
"If you have any desire to fall in love, don't let it be with Bernoulli's daughter. It would be foolish to let yourself fall for her, Victor."
I regard him with confusion. What can I possibly say in response? Anything I say would be an admission of defeat.
He places the glass on the table and draws a deep breath. Why do I feel like a traitor?
"But it's too late for that, isn't it? You already have."
I ignore the hollow feeling that consumes me. What does he expect me to say? I can't even admit it to myself.
And so, we revert to where we left off.
"Let the boys know I'm not returning to Santa Marta."