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Steeling myself, I step deeper into the warehouse, the air thick with the scent of danger and illicit substances. The stark reality of my surroundings presses in on me. I move through the rows of tables, my practiced gaze sweeping over the workers who measure and weigh cocaine with mechanical precision.

Every gram is a testament to our entrapment. Every scale weighs more than just illicit drugs, it weighs the delicate balance between survival and death. I can’t imagine the stress these workers are under, but I’m powerless to do anything about it. Even if I could manage to free them from this place, would they leave without their children? I can’t imagine that any of them would make that terrible choice, gaining their freedom while losing their family.

“Careful with that,” I instruct one of the newer workers, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Every mistake herehas its price.” My words hang in the stillness, a veiled threat wrapped in the guise of guidance.

As I oversee the operation, I feel the weight of their gazes. These women work under my command. They look to me for direction, for reassurance, and yet they know nothing of the plans that churn behind my stoic façade. To them, I am their leader and their captor, but what they don’t realize is that I’m also their fellow prisoner. And each day, the reality of our shared situation tightens around my soul like a noose.

Caught in this oppressive atmosphere, under the watchful eye of Los Serpientes de Cristal soldiers, I fight to maintain the façade of loyalty. But every fiber of my being screams for rebellion. For freedom. For a life beyond these walls where I’m not suffocated by the sins of my brother’s empire.

For now, I must play my part, marking time until the moment when I can shed this skin and emerge anew, untethered from the chains that bind me.

The scales before me groan under the weight of white powder as I watch a worker portion out another kilo. Her hands are steady, but inside she must be a bundle of nerves. The warehouse air is perpetually thick with tension, as if everyone inside is afraid to breathe.

Hours pass. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost time for Renata to come over. She always does, right after her lunch break. Today is no different. With anticipation etched deep into the lines of her weary face, she approaches me.

“Isabella,” she whispers, sidling up to me with that same look of quiet desperation in her eyes. “Any news about Claudia?”

I pause, let out a slow breath. “Not yet, Renata,” I admit, and it pains me to see a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. “But don’t lose faith. I’ve got a new… friend who might be able to help us.”

“Really?” Her voice is a mix of skepticism and hope, a dangerous cocktail.

“Si, pero,we need to be patient.” My gaze locks with hers, willing her to believe me. “Trust me, okay? Let the others know I’m doing everything I can.”

Renata nods, squeezing my bare wrist in gratitude before slipping back into the sea of workers.

My attention shifts back to the task at hand when the door swings open. Juan strolls in, an aura of control rolling off him like a humid breeze. I straighten up, readying myself to face him. This is the second day in a row he has visited this facility to check up on me. I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“Juan,” I greet him, masking my disdain with a professional smile. “The women are working hard today.” I gesture to the bustling room, the clatter of scales and rustle of plastic bags filling the space.

He surveys the scene, nodding as if he owns every soul in the room—which, in a way, he does. “They always do,” he remarks, his tone indifferent.

“Maybe you should reward them,” I suggest casually, watching him closely. “Let them visit their children. It would boost morale.”

“We’ll see,” he says noncommittally, his eyes narrow for a fraction of a second before he schools his expression.

“What does that mean?” I demand.

His dark gaze meets mine, unyielding as ever. An undercurrent of impatience clouds his tone. “There are things you don’t understand about their situation.”

“Like what?” I put my hands on my hips in frustration. Part of me knows I should back off, but the rage boiling in my blood won’t let me stop. I want answers and he’s just standing there, staring. “Look, if I’m going to be an effective part of this business, you need to trust me with more information.”

For a moment, we’re locked in a battle of wills. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, silently refusing to back down. Finally, he sighs, a slight concession in his otherwise rigid stance.

“Let’s talk outside,” he says, motioning toward the door.

The sun glares across the pavement, momentarily blinding me. Squinting against the onslaught of heat, I follow Juan away from the warehouse doors. He doesn’t stop walking until we’re on the far side of the parking lot, ensuring privacy from anyone who might try to listen in.

“Here’s the thing, Isabella.” He leans back against a sleek black SUV, arms folded across his chest. “When families come over the border, they owe us a debt. Splitting them up ensures the parents work to pay off the family debt. They’re less likely to run or cause trouble when their kids are in separate places.”

My stomach roils with disgust. I fight to keep my reaction hidden beneath a mask of understanding. I knew Juan was ruthless, but this? It’s a whole new level of cold.

“That makes sense. They’re less likely to disappear,” I echo, keeping my tone neutral. My mind races as the pieces of the puzzle fall together, forming a picture I wish I could unsee.

“Exactly.” A shadow crosses his features and although it might resemble remorse, I know better. He doesn’t feel things like remorse or regret. The only emotions he understands are fear and greed.

“Alright, I understand,” I say, swallowing my revulsion. “Where are the kids now?”

“Depends on how old they are,” Juan replies with a shrug, sending a ripple of dread through me. “Some are old enough to work.”