Page 1 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)

Chapter One

T hiago Santana’s bare feet struck the mat in a steady rhythm as he moved through the ginga —a fluid, swaying motion that was the foundation of capoeira .

He dipped low, then rose into a spinning kick that sliced through the air, close to his trainer’s face.

Sweat dripped down his bare back, soaking into the waistband of the white, loose-fitting pants he wore.

In the background, the steady twang of a berimbau spilled through the speakers in the practice room.

The single-string instrument didn’t look like much, but it controlled everything—the rhythm, the energy, the pace of his movements.

It dictated whether the moves remained playful or turned into a real fight.

“Nice,” his trainer said, stepping aside as Thiago lunged forward and pivoted into a defensive crouch. Dexter was a tall man with coffee-colored skin, a capoeira master Thiago had been lucky to find. “You have the fire of capoeira in your gut.”

Thiago let out a breathless, appreciative laugh.

Capoeira was Brazil’s oldest martial art, created by enslaved Africans and indigenous Brazilians.

It incorporated self-defense techniques, acrobatics, and dance choreography and provided a good workout.

He had learned capoeira during his time in Brazil.

What started as a curiosity quickly became an addiction that gave his restless energy somewhere to go.

Demanding focus, the art form left no room for distractions.

He needed to focus—especially now, with the pressure that came from taking over his father’s company.

Running a multimillion-dollar company was no easy task.

He dreamed of expansion and had already moved the company away from some of the systems his father had implemented over the years.

Thanks to all his hard work, Santana International was turning into the type of conglomerate he envisioned—a streamlined juggernaut upending the norms across various industries: consulting, tequila manufacturing, real estate, and more.

Thiago launched into another sequence—step, duck, spin, strike—enjoying the high from the fire in his limbs and the burn in his lungs. Capoeira didn’t give him answers to the questions he faced each day, but it gave him space to think while keeping his body fit.

Their one-hour session ended minutes later, and Thiago thanked Dexter, grateful for the workout before he had to start the workday. Chest heaving, he rested his hands on his hips.

“I’ll see you next week,” he said.

Dexter nodded, using a remote to turn off the rhythmic music. “Same time?”

Thiago also nodded. “Same time.”

As Dexter left the house through the front door, Thiago jogged upstairs and took a shower.

When he exited the bathroom, his clothes were already laid out on the bed by his housekeeper.

While he dressed, his brain ran through everything he had to do when he arrived at the office.

Take phone calls, respond to messages, and conduct meetings, all required for building relationships, strategic planning, and networking.

Briefcase in hand, he walked down to the first floor.

“Good morning,” his housekeeper greeted him as he entered the kitchen.

Thiago took the paper sack and the travel mug filled with coffee from her, balancing them in his free hand.

“Good morning. I was thinking, although I won’t be back for dinner, I would like you to make something light in case I get hungry later in the evening.

” On Friday nights he didn’t eat dinner at home because he had plans.

“Yes, Mr. Santana.”

He left the kitchen, exiting through the front door and into the frigid February air, where his chauffeur was leaning against the black limousine, waiting.

He straightened when he saw Thiago.

“Good morning, Mr. Santana.”

“Good morning, Gonzalo. Looks like rain today,” Thiago said, glancing at the gray clouds overhead.

“Fifty percent chance of thunderstorms,” Gonzalo said, opening the door.

Thiago groaned while his chauffeur chuckled. Atlantans didn’t know how to drive in heavy rain. There would be accidents galore, blocking traffic and causing delays.

They drove away from the house, and Thiago pulled out his phone to review a report. As he read the document, he ate the breakfast burrito filled with cheese, eggs, and chorizo that his housekeeper had prepared.

He worked hard all week, but later tonight, it would all be worth it when he had the opportunity to relax for a couple of hours.

With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened, and Thiago stepped onto the executive floor.

Typically, he was one of the first to arrive, which gave him a period of quiet time before the buzz of activity began when employees came through the doors.

He strode across the carpeted floor, numbers and strategy dominating his thoughts.

Halfway down the hall, his ruminations were interrupted when he heard low, tense voices around the corner. His steps slowed as he listened.

“I understand, but she—she’s my daughter. She’s still in the hospital, and I need another day to be with her. I’m only asking for one more day.” He didn’t recognize the voice, but the man’s plaintive tone revealed his distress.

“You’ve already used all your leave. You can take off, but if you don’t come in on Monday, we’ll have to dock your pay.” The other voice was clipped, irritated, and one he recognized. Sam, the VP of logistics.

Thiago rounded the corner, and both men straightened up.

“Good morning, sir,” Sam said, shooting Thiago a friendly smile.

“Good morning,” the other man said with less enthusiasm, his voice dull and defeated.

Thiago recognized him, though he didn’t know his name. He’d obviously come in early, making his way up to the top floor to have this meeting with his supervisor.

Thiago nodded at the men and continued down the hall as if he hadn’t heard their tense conversation. He pushed open one of the heavy double doors to his expansive office, which he’d created by merging two offices into one during a custom renovation.

The space was the epitome of sleek sophistication, perched high above the city with floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around two walls and flooding the office with natural light.

The design matched his office in Brazil, where he’d spent most of his professional career working in the consulting arm of Santana International.

The room was minimalist and masculine, with clean lines and polished concrete floors.

The sitting area featured dark-brown leather chairs offset by colorful textured pillows, and a glass coffee table with a metal base in the middle of the grouping.

Beyond that, a conference table made of smoked glass and brushed steel provided a dedicated space for high-level meetings.

Thiago placed his briefcase on his glass-topped executive desk, which was supported by a geometric chrome base. Using the remote control, he lowered the shades on the windows closest to him, effectively cutting off the sunlight pouring through and reflecting off the chrome accents in the room.

He sat in his leather chair and took time to skim messages for emergencies from other time zones overnight. When he didn’t see anything that needed his immediate attention, he picked up the phone and dialed Sam’s number.

“Yes, Mr. Santana,” the VP answered.

“I need to see you in my office,” Thiago said, hanging up without waiting for a reply.

Sam arrived right away, the same friendly smile on his face as he approached. Thiago didn’t have guest chairs in front of his desk because they encouraged people to sit and stay, which he wanted to discourage. He had a lot of work to do and didn’t like wasting time in pointless conversations.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “Do you have children, Sam?”

Startled by the question, Sam’s eyebrows shot higher. “Me? Uh, yeah. A boy and a girl.”

“You love them?”

He laughed. “Yes, of course.”

“So if one of them were seriously ill, you would be a mess, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded vigorously. “Absolutely, I…” His voice trailed off as realization dawned.

Thiago deliberately let the seconds tick by without saying a word, observing the color in Sam’s cheeks go from pale to pink. “If someone on your team needs time off because their child is in the hospital, you do not threaten to dock their pay,” he said evenly.

Sam shifted on his feet. “H-he’s completely out of leave, Mr. Santana. He has no sick leave, vacation, or PTO left. It would be unfair to the rest of the staff if I allowed him to take approved time off. Going against policy would set a bad precedent.”

“Come to me if you are concerned about breaking the company policy. Explain the situation and advocate for your staff. I can override the manual, Sam,” Thiago said in a derisive tone.

The director swallowed, the color in his cheeks deepening as he became aware his response had reflected badly on him.

“Give him all the time he needs and make sure his paycheck stays the same. Understood?”

Sam gave a stiff nod. “Understood, sir.”

“Close the door on your way out.”

Thiago watched him walk out of the room with a lot less bounce in his step than when he first came in. When the door clicked shut, he shook his head in disgust. “And people say I’m an asshole,” he muttered before opening his laptop and diving into the day’s agenda.

He spent the next few hours working uninterrupted.

By ten-fifteen, he had finished reading the morning reports and responding to electronic correspondence that had come in overnight.

Taking a break, he stood and rolled his shoulders.

Then he traversed the room, his footsteps muted by a plush charcoal rug grounding the central area.

He approached a double-door cabinet built into the wall, which blended into the surrounding paneling.

Opening it revealed a stocked refreshment center with an array of premium bottled waters, protein bars, trail mix, and other snacks, along with a selection of the finest spirits, including the company’s premium tequila—Don Bene—named after his father.

He lifted out a protein bar and a small bottle of sparkling water, consuming them as he mentally reviewed the rest of the morning. In a few minutes, members of the marketing team would arrive to present their new ideas for the company’s tequila.

Anticipation hummed beneath his skin. Not only because he’d finally see the marketing proposal that could help him meet his second-quarter goals for the company, but also because he’d get his first glimpse of the woman who occupied way too much of his thoughts. His favorite distraction.

India Monroe.