Chapter 4 Isabella
The air is thick with the acrid tang of chemicals as I watch the workers chop at the white powder with a precision born of fear. They move like clockwork, their hands blurring in routine monotony, and yet the atmosphere is stifling, oppressive. The only sound that breaks the silence is the constant scrape of metal on metal.
“Pedro,” I call out, my voice cutting through the drone, “why do they only get five minutes for lunch?”
Pedro looks up from his clipboard, his eyes weary under the fluorescent lights. “It’s Juan’s decision,” he replies with a shrug.
“Five minutes isn’t a lunch break, it’s barely enough time to breathe,” I observe, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re the manager, Pedro. They would work better with more time to rest.”
He hesitates, the lines of his face etching deeper with conflict. “Isabella, you know how Juan is…”
“Juan isn’t here, Pedro. You are.” I stand firm, unwavering. “These people aren’t machines. Give them a proper lunch break.”
Pedro’s gaze shifts to the workers, then back to me, the weight of responsibility pulling at his shoulders. “Fifteen minutes,” he finally concedes. “I’ll see if productivity goes up.”
“Thank you,” I say, my relief almost palpable. “And think about thirty minutes in the future. Twelve-hour shifts demand at least that much.”
As I turn away, a flicker of pride warms me, mingled with anger at the injustice of it all. These workers are pawns in a game they never chose to play, and I’m caught in the middle, struggling to find a way to escape my family and yearning for freedom.
“ Pausa para el almuerzo de quince minutos ,” Pedro calls, announcing the fifteen minute lunch break. Several workers look up, surprised.
I trail behind a small group of women workers as they shuffle toward the exit, their steps slow from hours of laborious toil. Outside, the relentless sun beats down on the cracked pavement of the parking lot. I blink against the glare.
“Mind if I join you?” My voice feels alien in the stifling air, too polished, too out of place among these weary souls.
They exchange wary glances, their skepticism as palpable as the heat radiating off the concrete.
“ ?Por qué? Why would you want to eat with us?” one of them challenges, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
I flash what I hope is a warm and inviting smile. “Just looking for some company,” I lie smoothly. In truth, I’m desperate to peel back the layers of this operation, to understand the depth of the darkness we’re all drowning in.
They hesitate but eventually nod, gesturing to an empty spot on the curb beside them. I settle down, the rough edge of the concrete digging into my thighs through the fabric of my elegant slacks—a stark reminder that I don’t belong in this world. In truth, nobody should be a part of this. I want to understand why these women are here. This can’t be something they chose unless they were truly desperate.
Renata, her face lined with the kind of fatigue that sleep can’t cure, turns to me, a flicker of hope igniting in her tired eyes. “Isabella, have you… found out anything about Claudia?”
Her question stabs at me, guilt and frustration mingling in my chest. Claudia’s just a child, caught in the crossfire of greed and cruelty. If anything happened to her, I’ll never forgive my brother.
“I haven’t yet,” I admit, my throat tight. “But I won’t stop looking.”
“ Gracias ,” she whispers, the simple word heavy with gratitude and despair. She offers me a portion of her lunch, a homemade Mexican dish that reminds me of Abuela’s kitchen, of a time when life was about more than living in my brother’s shadow.
“Thank you, Renata. That’s kind of you, but I brought my own.” I pull out the modest lunch I prepared earlier, nothing like the feasts I once enjoyed without thought or care. It didn’t seem right to pack an extravagant lunch even though I could make one. Although I don’t have any money of my own, I can ask Juan’s assistants for anything within reason. They automatically purchase it for me unless it’s over a hundred dollars. Anything over that requires Juan’s approval.
As we eat in companionable silence, I can’t help but notice the contrast between us. Their hands are scarred from work, while mine remain unblemished. Their clothes are ill-fitting and stained with cocaine dust, while mine are clean and were carefully chosen to accentuate my curves. And yet, here we sit together, bound by the oppressive weight of the cartel’s chains.
I take a bite of my sandwich, the flavors bland compared to the rich aroma wafting from Renata’s meal. But it’s not the taste that matters, it’s the solidarity I’m trying to achieve. We share a fleeting bond in this moment of respite, and I’m hoping it will help them trust me.
And as we break bread beneath the unforgiving sun, I make a silent vow to these women, to Claudia, to myself. I will bring justice to this place, no matter the cost. Even if it means betraying my own blood.
Waves of heat radiate off the concrete, turning the warehouse parking lot into a sweltering open-air prison. I shift uncomfortably on the makeshift bench, my gaze sweeping over the weary faces of the women as they savor their precious minutes of freedom.
“Does Juan pay you weekly for your work?” The question slips from my lips casually, as though we’re discussing nothing more than mundane job details over our sparse lunches.
A woman with hollow eyes and deep lines that speak of better days snorts derisively. “Pay? We only settle debts here, mija .”
Confusion wrinkles my brow. “Settle debts? What do you mean?”
She hesitates, her eyes darting around before she leans in closer. “The cartel… they brought us here, promised a way out of Mexico. Ten thousand dollars each, they claimed. A debt to be worked off.”
My heart clenches at her admission. “But did you know what kind of work you’d be doing? That you’d be cutting cocaine?”
An older woman chimes in, her voice dull with resignation. “We didn’t ask questions. You don’t when your life’s hanging by a thread.” She glances toward the shimmering horizon, as if seeing her past unfold there. “The last few years, our town became a battleground caught between rival cartels. If we didn’t find a way out, we’d die. We did what we had to, for our children.”
I swallow hard, the taste of my sandwich turning to ash in my mouth. Their reality is a stark contrast to my own sheltered upbringing within the cartel’s sprawling compound. Despite all the rules I had to follow, I never truly feared for my life, and I never went without. Until now, my life has never been a burden. It was nothing like theirs, and even now, being forced to work for the family, I’m still freer than they are.
“You had to take that opportunity to escape the war,” I murmur.
“ Si ,” another confirms. “It was a chance for something better. Or so we thought.”
The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken stories of hardship and fear. I can almost see the shadows of the lives they’ve left behind, the desperation that drove them into the arms of my brother’s empire. I’ve known power and I’ve known privilege, but I’ve never known a courage quite like theirs.
“How long have you been in the country?” I asked, leaning to hear them better.
One woman’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes me, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. “Why do you wanna know so much, huh?” Her voice is sharp, a knife slicing through the uneasy silence. “Aren’t you Juan’s hermana ?”
The weight of my family’s legacy presses down on my shoulders. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, leaving a shiver of revulsion in its wake.
“I am,” I admit, not breaking eye contact. “But I’m not privy to all the details of our family’s business. I just want to understand your situation.”
“Could be a trick,” the skeptical woman warns, her gaze never leaving mine. “Don’t forget who she is.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trick anyone,” I insist, my voice firm but laced with frustration. However, I do understand their concern. Why would they trust me, the sister of the man responsible for their plight?
After a tense moment that stretches too long, another woman speaks up.
“ Seis meses ,” she says quietly. Her eyes don’t meet mine, instead are fixed on the cracked pavement at our feet.
“Six months…” I repeat softly. “How much do you still owe?”
A different woman answers, her voice hollow, “ Veinticinco mil .”
“Twenty-five thousand?” My voice rises incredulously. The numbers don’t add up in my head. “But it was supposed to be ten thousand per person, right?”
She nods, but there’s a bitterness in her eyes as she explains. “My daughter came with me. They started us at twenty thousand. Ten each.” She swallows hard, and I can see the pain etched into the lines of her face. “They charge us for caring for our children while we work. We don’t get to see them until we’re debt-free.”
A cold rage coils in my stomach, tightening with every word.
“Have any of you seen your children since you got here?” I demand, already dreading the answer.
Their collective silence speaks volumes.
“ Increíble ,” I hiss under my breath, thinking of Juan’s greed. “You should be paying down your debts, not owing more than when you arrived!”
“Juan doesn’t care about us,” one woman mutters, defeat lacing her tone. “We will be working forever.”
“Maybe not,” I say, anger simmering hot beneath my skin. I lock eyes with each of them, willing them to believe me. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll find out about your children.”
“ Gracias ,” another woman whispers, her gratitude wrapped in layers of skepticism. “At least someone will try.”
Their resigned faces haunt me as I stand up, dusting off my slacks. They’ve been chewed up by the gears of Juan’s empire, spat out as collateral damage in his pursuit of power. I’ve had family loyalty drilled into me since the day I was born, but now it’s beginning to falter. I can’t look away the way I used to, not when Juan’s forcing me to participate in this mess. Loyalty to family isn’t worth the price these women pay every single day. This conversation only serves to renew my desire to escape Juan’s clutches as soon as possible.
I glance at the battered silver watch on my wrist, an heirloom from my abuela . The second hand ticks away with relentless urgency. It’s time for the workers to shuffle back into the warehouse, their brief respite over. And it’s also nearing the hour when I’m due at Velvet, where I’ll trade my time for crumpled dollar bills.
I haven’t worked out the details yet of how I’ll juggle two jobs without arousing suspicion from Juan or Pedro. I can’t leave the family compound permanently until my pockets are heavy enough, so I’ll need to devise a plan to keep both lives separate, invisible to each other. It will be tricky, but I have to find a way.
With a deep breath, I push through the metal door and re-enter the warehouse. I’m immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of chemicals, sweat, and despair. I stride with feigned confidence toward Pedro’s office, my mind racing to fabricate a believable excuse.
“Pedro,” I begin, leaning against the doorframe of his meticulously organized space, “ no me siento bien . I need to leave early today.” My voice carries a hint of vulnerability I rarely allow myself to show. I place my hands over my abdomen and grimace.
He looks up, concern etching his features. “Should I call someone? A doctor?”
“No, I just need to lay down for a while.”
“Are you sure?” When I nod, he adds, “Okay, go. Take care of yourself.”
“Please, don’t mention this to Juan,” I implore quietly, playing up the fragility just enough to be convincing.
“Of course not,” Pedro assures me, his brown eyes softening. “Between you and me, I don’t think it’s fair that you’re working more than he is. It’s not right.”
“ Gracias , Pedro. Truly.” I offer a weak smile, genuinely touched by his empathy.
As I turn to leave, a flicker of hope ignites within me. Could Pedro be an unexpected ally in this world where trust is as flimsy as the paper money the cartel launders?
The possibility lingers in the air like the dust motes dancing in the slivers of light piercing the warehouse gloom. But there’s no time to ponder potential alliances now. I’ve got another stage to dance on, another mask to wear. And tonight, I’ll be dancing dangerously close to the fire.
I haven’t forgotten the way Ice looked at me. He knows who I am, and yet he didn’t bar me from working at the club. When I walked in to audition, I didn’t know the MC was running the place. As soon as I noticed their cuts, I almost left. I should have fled, but I didn’t.
Even now, I don’t fully understand why I got up on that stage, knowing I was dancing for the devil. For all I know, the men in that motorcycle club as just as bad as my brother. But I needed the money, and now I’ve got it, hidden in the floorboards under my cottage where Juan can’t find it. It’s not enough. I need much more if I’m going to disappear forever, so I guess that’s why I’m going back, despite my unease. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late. Not a good way to start a new job.
The last slivers of daylight slip away as I tear out of the warehouse parking lot. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, my heartbeat a relentless drum in my ears.
When I arrive, I’m ten minutes late, and I’ve got a feeling the men running Velvet don’t like to wait for anyone, least of all the cartel princess playing with fire.
I burst through the club’s back entrance, and the heavy door slams behind me. The thick scent of spiced rum and incense hits me like a physical force, wrapping me in an intoxicating embrace. Neon lights streak through the air, slicing the darkness into vibrant ribbons that paint a path toward the dressing room.
Hurrying in that direction, I’m not prepared for the wall of man that steps into my path, blocking it. I slam into his chest.
“You’re late!” The fury in Ice’s voice chills me to the bone. He’s glaring down at me like an avenging angel, all platinum hair and simmering rage. His motorcycle cut is a stark reminder of the dangerous game I’m playing. The patch on his cut, UVMC NOLA, feels like a brand against my skin. I quickly step back.
“Sorry, I—” I start to explain, but his piercing silver-blue eyes pin me in place, silencing any excuses.
“Why are you late?” he demands, not even giving me a chance to explain. His stance radiates anger from every taut muscle. He isn’t wearing a shirt under his cut, so every rippling muscle is on display. He’s gorgeous.
“I have another job,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. “I got off work late.”
“Another job?” His tone drips skepticism. “Your brother runs a cartel, Bella.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
“What kind of job could you possibly have, Bella ?” he asks, emphasizing my nickname and ignoring my request.
“That’s none of your business.” I square my shoulders, meeting his glare with defiance. “Do you want me to dance tonight or not?”
“Get changed. You’re up soon.” His words are clipped, a command that brooks no argument.
As I turn away, I catch the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides. But I also see something else in his eyes. Fascination. Desire. Lust.
Ice is dangerous, not just because he’s one of my brother’s mortal enemies, but because one look is enough to send molten heat to my core. I can’t remember the last time I ever wanted a man like this. Usually, I need to get to know someone first before I want them, but not with him. This kind of man, one capable of inflaming my entire body with a single look, needs to be avoided at all costs. I don’t know anything about him and it’s best that I keep it that way.
My heels click against the floor as I make my way to the dressing room. Several half-naked dancers glance at me with curiosity while others glare at their new competition. A few women whisper to each other. By the end of the night, I’m sure they’ll all know I won the amateur night competition. That might put a target on my back, so I’ll need to be careful. Ice isn’t the only threat in this place.
Trying to still my racing heart, I slip into the slinky hot-pink lingerie I asked one of Juan’s assistants to buy. It’s different from my usually muted colors, but the woman didn’t ask any questions. I’m hoping she won’t mention anything so personal to my brother. Once I make more money, I’ll be able to buy my own outfits. I could have used some of the five thousand dollars I won, but I want to keep all of it in case I need to run.
As I take the stage, blaring music carries me away. Each beat brings me one step closer to the freedom I crave. The world narrows until all I can feel are my movements, the heat of the lights, and the weight of Ice’s gaze upon me. I spot him in the shadows of the VIP booth. He’s alone and transfixed, unable to tear his eyes off my undulating body.
I taunt him, which might be incredibly stupid, but I can’t help it. No man has ever looked at me like he wanted to devour me before. My brother’s underlings wouldn’t dare. And I rarely leave the compound long enough to meet other men. This is a first for me, and I can’t help myself.
Power radiates through my veins. He’s not the only man who can’t stop staring. The open seats around the stage fill quickly as men move in from the shadows. Handfuls of dollar bills flutter onto the stage. More walk over to throw their money at me. It’s exhilarating.
I’ve never been shy about my body, so their lecherous stares don’t faze me. This is just a means to an end. It doesn’t define me any more than any other job would. Besides, I’ve heard how good the money can be, so it will all be worth it.
When the music fades and my set ends, I gather the scattered dollar bills, stuffing them into my purse with trembling fingers. Each crumpled note is a tiny victory, a whisper of hope amidst the roar of danger that surrounds me. But this is a dangerous balancing act. If Juan finds out I’m dancing in enemy territory, Ice’s wrath will be the least of my worries. There’s no telling what Juan will do, so I must work as hard as possible to get the money I need to run away for good.