Page 10

SERGIO

Don Carlos stood in the middle of the room like he was holding court. I dared not call him father. He was no father of mine. All I do is try to endure and stop myself from aiming higher next time I have a gun in my hands and he is in front of me. His hands rested on the back of his chair, and his voice was cold enough to freeze fire. “You know what’s at stake, Sergio. If you fail, you’ll bring shame on this family, and shame is something I don’t forgive.”

I almost cackled at the thought of bringing shame to a family I would rather cut tiles with—a family name I would put into extinction if I had a chance. It was almost laughable. But I held back.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, letting him rant. He loved his theatrics. His voice carried the weight of years of threats, but I didn’t flinch. I’d heard it all before.

“Are you done?” I asked, my tone sharper than a blade.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t test me, boy.”

Boy. That word grated on my nerves. I straightened, stepping closer. “You don’t have to remind me of what’s at stake. I know better than anyone. ”

“You act like you’re untouchable,” he squinted his gaze, his voice rising. “One slip, and—”

“One slip, and I’ll fix it,” I cut him off. “I’ve been cleaning up messes for this family long before you noticed.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew better. I turned to leave before he could spit out another lecture. Behind me, I heard him mutter something about my attitude, but I let it slide—for now.

The drive was long, but the company was interesting. Mirella sat in the passenger seat. Her gaze was fixed on the road ahead. But every so often, she’d glance at me. I caught her once, and she quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the scenery.

I couldn’t help but smile. She was terrible at hiding things.

Ryan sat in the back, humming along to some old rock song playing on the radio. “This is a nice change of pace,” he said. “Usually, these trips are just me and you, Sergio. Miserable silence and your bad music.”

“Hey, my music’s great,” I retorted with a hint of playfulness in my tone, turning up the volume just to annoy him.

Mirella laughed softly, and it made the whole car feel lighter. “Bad music is an understatement,” she teased and let out a chuckle.

I feigned offense. “You too? I thought you had better taste, Mirella.”

She smirked. “I do. That’s why I know this is terrible.”

Ryan leaned forward, grinning. “Finally, someone who gets it. Mirella, you might be my favorite person now.”

“Glad to know I’ve got someone on my side,” she teased, her voice sounding almost taunting, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

I shook my head, pretending to be hurt. “Traitors. Both of you.”

By the time we reached the hotel, the sun was already setting. We normally make use of the road during trips like this, trying not to raise suspicion. But it was also exhausting and took longer, and now, the night was already painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. We checked in quickly, each taking a room. But instead of retreating to rest, we ended up in Ryan’s room, sharing stories over the cheap snacks he always managed to pack.

Ryan was mid-sentence about a mission we’d been on years ago when he paused, pointing at Mirella. “Did Sergio ever tell you how he saved my life?”

Mirella tilted her head, curious. “No, he didn’t.”

I groaned, already regretting being here. “Ryan, don’t—”

“Oh, I’m telling her,” Ryan declared, ignoring me. “So, there we were, pinned down by enemy fire—”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” I interrupted.

“Let me have this,” Ryan snarled in a playful tone, waving me off. “Anyway, we were pinned down. I was out of ammo, and this idiot here runs straight into the open, bullets flying everywhere, just to pull me out of there.”

Mirella’s eyes widened, a mix of admiration and disbelief. “You did that?”

I shrugged, uncomfortable under her gaze. “He would’ve done the same for me.”

Ryan snorted. “I’m not as crazy as you. But yeah, he’s the reason I’m here today.”

Mirella smiled softly, her gaze lingering on me. “That’s… impressive.”

“It was reckless,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Don’t let him make it sound like I’m some kind of hero.”

Ryan leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’ll never admit it, but you are.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of his words lingering. I had never felt like a hero. It was something I did without thinking, and even if the outcome would have been different, I would have still done it. Mirella looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she just nodded, her expression thoughtful.

The conversation shifted. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at Mirella. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, her posture relaxed. Every time she laughed or smiled, it felt like the room got a little brighter.

She caught me staring once, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, looking away.

Ryan noticed and smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything. For once, he decided to let it slide .

Later, when we finally decided to call it a night, I lingered in the hallway as Mirella opened her door.

“You good?” I asked, my voice quieter than usual.

She looked back at me, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just… tomorrow’s a big day. If you’re nervous or anything—”

“I’m not,” she cut in, her tone firm but not unkind. “I told you. I can handle myself. You don’t have to be a hero all the time.”

I nodded, but something about her tone made me pause. “I know you can. Just… be careful, Mirella.”

She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Goodnight, Sergio.”

“Goodnight,” I said, stepping back as she closed the door.

Back in my own room, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Don Carlos’s words echoed in my mind, but they weren’t what kept me awake. It was Mirella. Her laugh, her smile, the way she carried herself. She was a storm I couldn’t ignore, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

The next day, I stood outside Mirella’s door, my hand hovering over the wood for a moment before knocking. The hallway was too quiet, and every sound seemed amplified—the soft hum of the air conditioning, the distant murmur of someone talking. I wasn’t sure why I was here that early, but something about the thought of sharing breakfast with her before the chaos felt necessary.

Three sharp knocks. I shifted my weight, waiting. A few seconds later, the door opened, and there she was—wrapped in a towel, damp hair falling over her shoulders, skin glowing as if she’d just stepped out of a dream.

I froze.

Mirella looked equally surprised, her eyes widening. “Sergio? What are you—”

“I thought you were room service,” she finished quickly, clutching the towel tighter around her.

I tried to look away, but my gaze betrayed me. The curve of her shoulder, the drop of water trailing down her neck, stopping right on her chest, the little flash of her round breast being closed midway by the towel—it all brought back memories I’d buried too deep--memories of her skin against mine, her breath mingling with mine, the taste of her. It had been a long time, but the thought of that night still haunted me in ways I couldn’t explain.

She cleared her throat, snapping me out of my daze.

“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping back. “I should’ve—”

She laughed lightly, cutting through the tension. “It’s fine, Sergio. What do you want?”

“Breakfast,” I blurted out, my voice steadier than I expected. “Thought we could eat before the shipment arrives later on. You know, to calm the nerves.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and for a second, I thought she might turn me down. Instead, she nodded. “Give me five minutes. Wait here.”

She stepped back into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. I hesitated, then peeked in, catching a glimpse of her as she disappeared behind a partition. The room smelled faintly of her—cherries, citrus, and something floral I couldn’t place.

“Turn around,” she called out from behind the partition.

I turned, focusing on the wall, though it did little to quiet my thoughts. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little,” she teased, the sound of fabric rustling in the background.

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “That’s fair.”

A moment later, her voice carried over again. “I need a hand.”

I turned halfway, cautious. “With what?”

“My dress,” she said, stepping out from behind the partition.

She was holding the sides of the deep green dress she’d slipped on, her back to me. The zipper was stuck halfway, exposing the smooth expanse of her spine. My feet moved before I could think, closing the distance between us.

“Hold still,” I said, my voice lower than I intended.

She stood perfectly still as I reached for the zipper, my fingers brushing her skin. It was warm, soft, and familiar. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air, and for a brief moment, I forgot why we were there. All I could think about was how close she was and how her breath hitched slightly when my fingers lingered too long.

I pulled the zipper up slowly, almost reluctantly. When it reached the top, I let my hand rest there, just for a second. Her skin was under my palm, and she didn’t move. Neither did I.

“It’s done,” I murmured, though I didn’t step back right away.

Her head turned slightly, just enough for me to catch the faint curve of her profile. “Thanks,” she said softly.

The moment stretched and the ambiance centered between us. My gaze dropped to the curve of her neck, and I leaned forward without thinking. My hand stayed on her back, and I felt her shift closer, just barely. It would’ve been so easy to close the distance, to lose myself in her for just one more moment.

But then I remembered why we were there. The shipment. The stakes. Don Carlos’s threats.

I stepped back abruptly, my hand falling to my side. “We should go,” I whispered, clearing my throat.

She turned fully to face me, her expression unreadable. For a second, I thought she might say something, but she just nodded. “Let’s go.”

The elevator ride to the lobby was silent, but I could still feel the weight of her presence beside me. Every so often, our arms would brush, and it sent a jolt through me each time. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked, breaking the silence as we stepped out.

“Whatever you want,” I winked, teasing her. “Your pick.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Generous.”

“Just don’t pick anything too fancy. I left my wallet upstairs,” I joked, earning a laugh from her.

That laugh—it was worth more than I’d admit. She is worth the fight. I know she said I shouldn’t protect her, but I will be there to protect her when she needs me. My existence, everything about my being, I live and breathe for Mirella now. She is the one I care about, the only one. I am not playing hero, but when bullets start flying, I won’t think twice before taking one for her .

“Mirella,” I whispered. She veered around to glance at me and my eyes met hers.

“Whatever happens today, know that I will be there for you. I won’t ever let anything happen to you. I would rather die,”

She stared at me in silence. I meant it.