The world outside was chaos. Tires screeched, engines roared, and men shouted commands in a language Elena didn't fully understand but felt deep in her bones — danger. The sound of boots hitting gravel was like a countdown. Her mother's last words echoed in her head, "He will come. Be ready."
Camila stood frozen, her once-perfect poise now cracking into fear. Elena's hands trembled, not from weakness, but from the storm that now lived inside her. The gun still pointed at her mother's chest, her pulse matching the thundering steps drawing closer.
"Who are they?" Elena demanded, her voice sharp and cold. "Tell me before I make you bleed for the truth."
Camila swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the window. "They are his men," she whispered. "He knows I came here. He knows you're alive."
A sharp knock hit the front door like thunder. Three heavy pounds. Then silence.
"Open the door, Señora Camila," a man's deep voice called out from outside, calm and controlled. "You've hidden something that belongs to him."
Elena's stomach twisted. "Belongs to him?" she repeated, her tone filled with disbelief and rage. "I'm not anyone's property."
Camila turned to her slowly. "You don't understand, Elena. You were never meant to exist — not like this. Your father's blood carries power and enemies. He's not a man… he's a storm that destroys everything he touches."
Elena's finger twitched on the trigger. "And you loved that storm enough to bear me, didn't you?"
Camila's eyes softened for the first time. "No. I feared him enough to run."
The door burst open before Elena could speak again. Three men in black tactical suits stormed in — faces covered, weapons raised. Their movements were swift, military, disciplined. One of them barked a command in Spanish, and two more followed, spreading through the room.
"Drop your gun!" one shouted.
But Elena didn't flinch. Her arm remained steady, the gun still aimed at her mother. "Try me," she hissed.
The men hesitated — not because of her threat, but because they saw it. That same burning fire in her eyes. Something that reminded them of someone else.
One of them muttered under his breath, "Dios… tiene los ojos de él."
(God… she has his eyes.)
Camila stepped forward suddenly. "Don't shoot her! She's his daughter!" she screamed.
The room went still. The three men looked at one another in shock.
"La hija del patrón?" one asked, disbelief thick in his voice.
(The boss's daughter?)
Elena's breath caught. Every nerve in her body burned as the words sank in. The boss's daughter.
Her hand lowered an inch. "My father… he sent you?"
The man who seemed to be their leader nodded slowly. "We were sent to find her. To bring her home to Mexico." His tone was respectful — almost reverent. "Alive."
Camila turned toward Elena, her lips trembling. "I told you… he would come."
Elena's anger boiled over. "And what? You think I'll just go with them? After everything? After what you made me do?"
Camila took a hesitant step closer. "You can hate me, Elena, but you can't run from who you are."
Before Elena could answer, another sound filled the air — a low, rumbling voice behind the soldiers. The kind that carried command without shouting. The kind that froze even killers in place.
"Step aside," the voice said in Spanish. "Let me see her."
The men parted immediately.
A tall figure stepped into the villa. His presence filled the room before his words did — broad shoulders, dark hair streaked with gray, eyes that mirrored Elena's fire. The moment she saw him, she understood what Camila meant. He wasn't a man; he was a storm.
He stopped a few feet away, studying her with calm, terrifying composure. Then, in perfect English, he said, "So… this is the daughter you tried to hide from me, Camila."
Camila's breath hitched. "Alejandro, please—"
"Silence." His voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut through glass.
Elena felt her throat tighten. "You're Alejandro?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong. "The one everyone in Mexico fears?"
A small smile tugged at his lips — not warm, but curious. "So they've told you about me." His gaze dropped to the gun in her hand. "And yet, you point a weapon like it's part of you. That's my blood right there."
She stepped back, disgust curling her words. "Don't you dare talk about blood. I don't know you."
Alejandro took another step forward. "You will."
Camila suddenly moved between them. "Alejandro, she's not like you! Don't drag her into this world—"
But he backhanded her hard across the face before she could finish. The sound echoed in the marble room.
"Stay out of this," he said coldly. "You've done enough."
Elena lunged forward, fury blazing through her veins. "Don't touch her!" she shouted, firing a warning shot into the wall just inches from his head.
Every guard in the room raised their guns instantly — but Alejandro only smiled, unfazed. "You're brave," he said softly. "Reckless. Just like me."
"I'm nothing like you," Elena spat.
His smile faded. "You will be, sooner than you think. You've already killed your first man. You've already chosen your side without even knowing it."
"I chose nothing!" she screamed.
"Oh, you did," Alejandro said, stepping closer until his shadow fell over her. "You chose love — Lorenzo. A man who has already made deals with me without realizing whose daughter he was protecting."
The world stopped spinning. Elena's breath caught in her chest. "What did you just say?"
He smirked. "Ask him, when you see him. He owes me blood, Elena. And now, so do you."
She froze. The sound of her heart pounding drowned everything else. Her whole life — the lies, the killings, the pain — had led to this moment. Her father was alive, standing before her, and he was already threatening the man she loved.
Alejandro turned toward his men. "Take her," he ordered. "She comes with us. She'll learn who she truly is."
But before they could move, Elena raised her gun again, her voice shaking but fierce. "I said don't touch me!"
The men hesitated, waiting for their leader's command.
Alejandro stared at her, admiration flickering behind his cold eyes. "You've got your mother's anger and my fire," he said. "That's a dangerous combination."
Then, lowering his voice, he added, "I'll give you time. One week. Come to Mexico on your own… or I'll drag Lorenzo into this war and destroy everything you love."
With that, he turned and walked out. His men followed, their boots echoing against the stone floor until the house fell silent again.
Elena stood frozen, her hand shaking as the gun slowly lowered. Camila was sobbing quietly in the corner, the mark of Alejandro's slap red on her cheek.
But Elena didn't move toward her. She didn't speak. She only stared at the doorway he had just left through, her voice a whisper carried by the wind.
"One week," she said. "Then the war begins."