Victor
Two weeks. That's how long I managed to resist. And here I am, back in Santa Marta. Nothing's changed since I left, except for me. I'm consumed with madness. I can't focus on anything else. My mind is consumed by her, from dawn to dusk without respite.
I have a nagging feeling that Rafael is keeping something from me. It's as if all my orders have been disregarded. Call it intuition or whatever you will, but deep down, I sense that something's amiss.
Something urgent compelled me to return home. And I pray that whatever it is doesn't leave Rafael wishing he'd never been born.
As I step into the hall, I'm greeted by an oppressive silence. Why do I feel like a betrayed husband, poised to catch his wife in the arms of her lover?
My heart pounds deafeningly, and a lump forms in my throat, hindering my breath. I make my way to the kitchen, but it's deserted. Given the hour, she's likely in her bedroom.
Each step I take feels heavier than the last. Far from finding peace, I'm engulfed by a storm of emotions. However, a fleeting sense of relief washes over me when I notice her door slightly ajar.
She's not inside.
I had insisted that the door remain open when she wasn't present. I made a promise to her that I wouldn't intrude under any circumstances. So, if the door is closed, I'll know better than to disturb her.
Except for that one night I spent in her bed. But that was different. It was for her sake. I couldn't leave her to battle her nightmares alone.
Finally, I call one of the employees responsible for the house's security.
"Where is she?" I snap into the phone involuntarily.
"At the pool, Patrón!" comes the immediate response from the speaker.
My heart starts pounding once more, a heavy weight settling over me. I know she's with that scoundrel. The one I'm paying to keep watch over her.
I follow the stairs leading to the private pool, the pool that only my cousin and I have access to. And now, Bernoulli's daughter too.
I don't even get the chance to open the huge glass doors before my eyes fixate on their bodies. If I had my gun, his brains would already be splattered on the white marble.
She's laughing, her hands softly resting on his neck.
That's not what I'm paying him for.
I push open the doors, for a moment thinking I might have shattered them. They both startle at my entrance. The scoundrel breaks away from her and rushes out of the pool, putting as much distance between us as possible. He avoids my gaze. Hellena, on the other hand, meets my stare head-on.
This troublemaker challenges me with her gaze. She seems angry, clearly displeased with my interruption of her intimate moment. Adjusting her bathing suit bra, she starts swimming, completely oblivious to the tension.
"Patrón!"
"Lopez, you know you're paid to ensure she doesn't escape, not to screw her, right?"
"So, I'm back to being your prisoner?" I hear Hellena's muffled voice from across the pool.
I steal a brief glance at Hellena before refocusing my attention on Lopez. I'll come back for her later.
"Patrón, I..." he starts, his words trailing off as he struggles to find an explanation.
"In my office, Lopez," I interject firmly.
Without waiting for his response, I turn and stride away. I'm on the verge of grabbing him by the neck.
There's a bitter taste in my mouth, and despite my reluctance to acknowledge it, my cousin's words echo in my mind. Love is sister to pain. Just as life is sister to death. One cannot exist without the other.
"You touched her!" I claim as soon as we're in my office.
My own words burn within me, igniting a searing pain I never imagined I would feel for a woman. One I don't even possess. Rafael hangs his head, unable to meet my gaze. This coward lacks the courage to answer me.
"What did I tell you? That no one is allowed to touch Bernoulli's daughter. It seems no one in this house gives a damn about what I say. You are not an exception from this fucking rule!"
I circle around the desk and retrieve the gun from the drawer, savoring the weight of it in my hand as I play with it. The terror on the bastard's face is palpable. And I love it.
"Did you fuck her?" I place my finger on the trigger and continue to toy with the gun as I watch the blood drain from his face.
"No, Patrón!" He responds immediately, his voice tinged with panic as he steps forward. "We didn't get that far, yet!"
Yet. He hasn't, yet. He bites his lip, realizing his mistake in admitting anything at all.
"But how far have you gotten, Lopez?" I press, my voice cold and controlled.
"Patrón, it was mutual. I swear! I didn't force anything. And nothing more than some insignificant kisses happened," he stammers out.
His answer only fuels my anger. Mutual? That little brat is not here to seduce my employees.
With a deep breath, I replace the trigger lock and throw the gun back into the drawer. "I'm not in the mood to blow your brains out today, but you're not working for me anymore! Get out!"
He appears disappointed by my decision. In our world, being expelled is deemed a disgrace. It's considered more honorable to meet one's end at the hands of a Marquez than to face dismissal.
Lowering his head, he heads for the door without uttering another word. I know my cousin will likely take him under his wing. Rafael is one of the most loyal employees, but I have no intention of keeping him around me or Hellena any longer.
As he cracks the office door to leave, he comes face to face with the daughter of danger.
Hellena scrutinizes him from head to toe, then shifts her gaze to me.
"I just wanted to make sure you are still alive," she says, her words aimed at him but her eyes locked onto mine.
Rafael gives a curt nod and maneuvers around her, vanishing from my sight. Hellena lingers in the doorway, her stare laden with annoyance and accusation, fixed upon me.
"How long are you going to keep me here?" she demanded, taking a few steps closer to the desk. "It's been more than two weeks already!"
With each heavy step she takes, her breasts bounce, accentuated by the yellow bra she's wearing.
Of course, she had to choose the most provocative swimsuit. I'm starting to understand Lopez, and why he succumbed to the temptation of the annoyance standing before me.
"I haven't heard from your father yet."
"How long are you going to keep using that excuse? You know damn well he won't give a damn about me! I might as well just die here; it wouldn't matter to him."
Her voice is laced with pain, and I know she's not lying. But if I let her go, anyone who learns of her existence would try to kill her. I can't reconcile myself with that thought.
Yes, I could make her life easier, offer her the protection of the cartel, but that would mean risking everything I've worked for and the reputation of my family that I've managed to salvage. And I'm not willing to do that.
At least, not for someone named Bernoulli.
"You'll stay here for as long as I deem necessary."
I open a file that doesn't require my immediate attention, but I need to distract myself from her presence.
"Leave! I have work to do."
I don't bother looking up from the papers as I dismiss her.
I can feel her seething in front of me. If looks could set fire, I'd be reduced to ashes by now. When I finally glance up, I try to act as disinterested as possible, especially in her attire.
She stares back, and it's anything but friendly. "Where is Rafael?"
Just the way she says his name ignites a surge of rage within me.
The image of the two of them in the pool flashes in my mind again—him touching her, making her moan, demanding more. Anger threatens to blind me, and I don't want her near me in this moment.
"Get out, Bernoulli! Now!" I slam my hands on the wooden surface, causing her to flinch.
She widens her eyes at me but doesn't budge an inch. She's defying me, yet I can see the fear lurking behind her defiance. She opens her mouth as if to speak but remains speechless.
I rise from my chair and circle around the desk, leaning against it, closer to her.
"What else do you want?" I grit my teeth, my patience wearing thin.
She doesn't seem fazed by my demeanor. Instead, she stands her ground, unwilling to back down.
I'd give anything to know what's going through her mind right now.
"Where is Rafael?" she asks again, her tone more restrained.
I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper.
How was it? Count to ten backward? I'm on the verge of smashing the wooden desk behind me. Yeah, I've got anger issues. I know. And I don't want her to see this side of me
"Hellena, I'll tell you this just one more time. Leave!"
"Nope!" she immediately retorts.
I feel every ounce of patience draining menacingly from my body.
I don't know what I'm going to do when it's all gone.
I circle around her and head to the bar in the corner of the office. Pouring myself some whiskey, I down it in one gulp, hoping it will calm my nerves.
"Where is Rafael?" she asks for the third and final time.
I stride to the door and close it, not willing to risk any interruptions.
"Why the hell do you care?" Anger seeps into my voice.
"He's the only one I get along with around here!" she snaps, her words dripping with sarcasm.
I halt behind her, observing her from behind.
With her minimal attire, it's almost as if she's not dressed at all. Just a few yellow strings tied around her waist and neck, and the bikini—barely more than a bunch of strings and a tiny patch attempting to cover the area between her legs. I bet if I bent her over the desk, that thing wouldn't even cover much, and I'd be free to admire her in all her glory.
"You mean the only one who wants to screw you, around here!" The words escape my lips before I can stop them, and I immediately regret it.
She turns toward me, clearly offended by my remark.
"You're a total jerk, Victor. And you know what? At least he's willing to!" She squints at me threateningly.
"Is that what's bothering you, sweetheart? That there's no one here willing to screw you? Rafael has been fired. Now get out of my office."
She glares at me, her anger palpable. Perhaps even more intense than mine. Then, for a fleeting moment–long enough for me to notice–her eyes drop to my lips. It's that kind of look you give when you're restraining yourself. When you desire something but know you can't have it.
She can't have me. I repeat this mantra in my mind.
The problem is, I already belong to her. No matter how vehemently I deny it.
She takes three small steps toward the exit, but in passing, she brushes against my shoulder. I'm unsure if it was deliberate or not, but I find myself strangely content that it happened.
In that brief contact, I saw a flicker in her eyes. Amidst all that darkness, a glimmer of life seemed to ignite. But it quickly faded.
I'm sure it wasn't my imagination. And judging by the way she swiftly leaves my office, she was equally taken aback by whatever she felt.
This isn't going to end well.