Chapter 10 Isabella
Waves of sunlight shimmer off the asphalt as I park my car in the lot outside the warehouse. I rub my palm across my wrist where my abuela’s watch should be resting. Amidst the chaos of last night, I completely forgot to ask Ice to give it back. I haven’t heard from him since last night’s charged encounter, but I’m hoping he will contact me today. Until then, I’ve got to be careful.
I’m early. Juan’s cunning eyes could be watching me, or he could have someone following me. So far, I haven’t noticed anything unusual, but paranoia is becoming an increasingly persistent shadow, following me everywhere I go.
As I stride towards the looming metal doors, the low hum of activity from inside the warehouse fills the air. I rest my hand on the doorknob and take a deep breath, trying to steady my thundering heart.
When I pull the door open, several workers glance at me before returning to their work. Everything seems the same as always, which is a relief. Ever since Juan left my cottage, I’ve been worried about walking into a trap. I must have been convincing enough to ease his suspicion.
“Isabella!” The sound of Pedro’s voice slices through the morning stillness. I turn to find him jogging over, his brow creased with concern.
“Hey, Pedro.” I offer up a smile even though I don’t feel like it. “What’s up?”
He hesitates before speaking, his gaze flickering to the ground and back up. “I’m sorry… but I had to tell Juan you left early yesterday.” His voice is a low murmur, meant only for my ears.
“Ah, don’t sweat it,” I reply with a casual shrug, though my insides twist with unease. Trust is a luxury in this line of work, and loyalty is everything. I don’t blame him for telling my brother the truth when he came looking for me.
“Is everything okay?” Pedro’s brown eyes hold mine, but I don’t detect anything nefarious in his gaze. I think he still trusts me.
“I was just visiting a sick relative,” I lie smoothly, the words rolling off my tongue with practiced ease.
Pedro frowns slightly, confusion etching lines on his face. “But I thought you were the one who was sick.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d let me leave if I told you the real reason I had to go,” I admit, injecting a dose of feigned sheepishness into my tone. “Sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”
His expression softens, the heavy weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted by his belief in my sincerity. “That’s okay. I understand why you were worried. Just don’t make a habit out of it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure him.
“Is she okay?”
“Uh—” It takes me a second to process what he’s asking. “ Si! My cousin’s mom is feeling muy bien today.”
“That’s great.” His eyes exude a sincerity that almost breaks my heart. I never heard the story about how he got caught up in the cartel, but I make a mental note to ask Maria about it the next time I see her.
“We should get back to work before Juan catches us standing around,” I say lightly.
“Isabella… you don’t need to lie to me,” Pedro whispers. “I like you, and I respect you. I can’t lie to Juan, but I do want to protect you. Come to me if you need help. Okay?”
“Thank you, Pedro,” I murmur, the gratitude genuine even as my mind races with the implications of his offer. My lips curl into a small smile, but it feels heavy, laden with unspoken secrets.
“Anytime,” he responds, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning away.
As I walk toward the tables covered in cocaine, every cell in my body screams that I should run away as far and as fast as possible. But I need money to escape, and now that Juan has cut off my ability to dance at Velvet, I’m not sure how to get it. That’s a problem for later; right now I need to focus on my work.
Steeling myself, I step deeper into the warehouse, the air thick with the scent of danger and illicit substances. The stark reality of my surroundings presses in on me. I move through the rows of tables, my practiced gaze sweeping over the workers who measure and weigh cocaine with mechanical precision.
Every gram is a testament to our entrapment. Every scale weighs more than just illicit drugs, it weighs the delicate balance between survival and death. I can’t imagine the stress these workers are under, but I’m powerless to do anything about it. Even if I could manage to free them from this place, would they leave without their children? I can’t imagine that any of them would make that terrible choice, gaining their freedom while losing their family.
“Careful with that,” I instruct one of the newer workers, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Every mistake here has its price.” My words hang in the stillness, a veiled threat wrapped in the guise of guidance.
As I oversee the operation, I feel the weight of their gazes. These women work under my command. They look to me for direction, for reassurance, and yet they know nothing of the plans that churn behind my stoic facade. To them, I am their leader and their captor, but what they don’t realize is that I’m also their fellow prisoner. And each day, the reality of our shared situation tightens around my soul like a noose.
Caught in this oppressive atmosphere, under the watchful eye of Los Serpientes de Cristal soldiers, I fight to maintain the facade of loyalty. But every fiber of my being screams for rebellion. For freedom. For a life beyond these walls where I’m not suffocated by the sins of my brother’s empire.
For now, I must play my part, marking time until the moment when I can shed this skin and emerge anew, untethered from the chains that bind me.
The scales before me groan under the weight of white powder as I watch a worker portion out another kilo. Her hands are steady, but inside she must be a bundle of nerves. The warehouse air is perpetually thick with tension, as if everyone inside is afraid to breathe.
Hours pass. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost time for Renata to come over. She always does, right after her lunch break. Today is no different. With anticipation etched deep into the lines of her weary face, she approaches me.
“Isabella,” she whispers, sidling up to me with that same look of quiet desperation in her eyes. “Any news about Claudia?”
I pause, let out a slow breath. “Not yet, Renata,” I admit, and it pains me to see a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. “But don’t lose faith. I’ve got a new… friend who might be able to help us.”
“Really?” Her voice is a mix of skepticism and hope, a dangerous cocktail.
“ Si, pero, we need to be patient.” My gaze locks with hers, willing her to believe me. “Trust me, okay? Let the others know I’m doing everything I can.”
Renata nods, squeezing my bare wrist in gratitude before slipping back into the sea of workers.
My attention shifts back to the task at hand when the door swings open. Juan strolls in, an aura of control rolling off him like a humid breeze. I straighten up, readying myself to face him. This is the second day in a row he has visited this facility to check up on me. I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“Juan,” I greet him, masking my disdain with a professional smile. “The women are working hard today.” I gesture to the bustling room, the clatter of scales and rustle of plastic bags filling the space.
He surveys the scene, nodding as if he owns every soul in the room—which, in a way, he does. “They always do,” he remarks, his tone indifferent.
“Maybe you should reward them,” I suggest casually, watching him closely. “Let them visit their children. It would boost morale.”
“We’ll see,” he says noncommittally, his eyes narrow for a fraction of a second before he schools his expression.
“What does that mean?” I demand.
His dark gaze meets mine, unyielding as ever. An undercurrent of impatience clouds his tone. “There are things you don’t understand about their situation.”
“Like what?” I put my hands on my hips in frustration. Part of me knows I should back off, but the rage boiling in my blood won’t let me stop. I want answers and he’s just standing there, staring. “Look, if I’m going to be an effective part of this business, you need to trust me with more information.”
For a moment, we’re locked in a battle of wills. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, silently refusing to back down. Finally, he sighs, a slight concession in his otherwise rigid stance.
“Let’s talk outside,” he says, motioning toward the door.
The sun glares across the pavement, momentarily blinding me. Squinting against the onslaught of heat, I follow Juan away from the warehouse doors. He doesn’t stop walking until we’re on the far side of the parking lot, ensuring privacy from anyone who might try to listen in.
“Here’s the thing, Isabella.” He leans back against a sleek black SUV, arms folded across his chest. “When families come over the border, they owe us a debt. Splitting them up ensures the parents work to pay off the family debt. They’re less likely to run or cause trouble when their kids are in separate places.”
My stomach roils with disgust. I fight to keep my reaction hidden beneath a mask of understanding. I knew Juan was ruthless, but this? It’s a whole new level of cold.
“That makes sense. They’re less likely to disappear,” I echo, keeping my tone neutral. My mind races as the pieces of the puzzle fall together, forming a picture I wish I could unsee.
“Exactly.” A shadow crosses his features and although it might resemble remorse, I know better. He doesn’t feel things like remorse or regret. The only emotions he understands are fear and greed.
“Alright, I understand,” I say, swallowing my revulsion. “Where are the kids now?”
“Depends on how old they are,” Juan replies with a shrug, sending a ripple of dread through me. “Some are old enough to work.”
“Work?” I ask sharply, unable to even out my tone. “How old do they have to be?”
“Eight is old enough for some jobs.” His nonchalance stings like a slap.
“Eight…” I murmur, horrified. “That’s just a baby.”
“Life’s not a charity, hermana .” Juan’s voice is pure steel. “They’ve got debts too.”
“Where do these kids work?” I ask, my heart pounding a furious rhythm against my ribs.
“Textile factories,” he says, his gaze skimming the lot as he avoids my stare.
“Here? In New Orleans?”
“Sure. We have them in another warehouse here in town.”
“Could you… show me around the factory?” The question tumbles out before I can reconsider it. He may read it as either dangerous curiosity or as a desperate bid for intel. Either way, he won’t be pleased.
A grin breaks across Juan’s stern features, surprising me. “I’m glad you’re taking an interest, Bella. It’s good to see you want to learn about all aspects of the business.”
The praise curdles my stomach.
“Of course,” I lie through clenched teeth. “It’s important to understand the whole operation.”
“Right.” His eyes glint with something akin to pride. “We’ll set up a time to visit the factory soon.”
“Great.” I force a smile, hating myself for playing his game. But I need to keep up the facade to make him believe I am still his loyal sister, content under his rule. Inside, though, rebellion simmers and I make a silent promise to those innocent children that I will find a way to help them. Somehow.
A subtle vibration against my thigh pulls me back from the precipice of my dark thoughts. I slip my hand into my pocket to hold it still, grateful for my earlier decision to silence the ringer. Juan doesn’t seem to notice my subterfuge.
“I should get back inside,” I say, keeping my voice even, betraying none of the turmoil that churns within me. Somehow, I just know the text came from Ice. I don’t even have to look at my phone because I can feel it in my bones. I can’t get rid of Juan fast enough.
“Good chat, hermanita .” Juan claps my shoulder hard enough to leave a red mark. “Keep up the good work. We’ll talk about that factory visit soon. I’ve got places to be.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, watching as he gets in his SUV and is driven away.
Alone now, I pull out my phone, the screen illuminating a new message. It’s from Ice. My heart jolts, not just from surprise but also from something else, something dangerous and exhilarating.
“What time do you get off work?” Ice’s words flash across the screen.
“In four hours,” I type back, quick and concise.
As I wait for a reply, the seconds tick by. I can’t stay out here long without arousing Pedro’s suspicion. If he doesn’t text back soon, I’m going to have to wait until I’m off work to respond.
“Meet me at Velvet,” comes his next command, stark and simple.
“See you soon,” I type.
My thumb hovers over the send button for a split second before I press it. I’m already in too deep with Ice and there’s no going back now. Also, I want to see him again. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the last time, and I already want him.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, grateful to have a secret lifeline to another world. Ice’s club is just as deadly as Juan’s cartel, but somehow Ice’s realm feels more like freedom. Ice is waiting, and despite every rational thought screaming caution, I can’t deny the anticipation curling within me—dangerous and potent, like the cocaine lining the warehouse shelves.
Back inside, I pace the warehouse floor. The soles of my boots scuff against the concrete as I weave through the rows of workers. My thoughts are a tangled mess, each one a thread pulling me toward Ice. I remember his touch, the way my name sounded like a prayer on his lips in the hushed secrecy of Velvet’s VIP room. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, like a whisper of silk over bare skin.
Shaking my head, I try to banish the images that flood my mind unbidden. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not here. Not now. Not when every corner of this place echoes with my brother’s voice and with the weight of the Vasquez legacy. But it’s no use. Ice has seeped into my veins, intoxicating and inescapable.
“Get a grip, Isabella,” I mutter under my breath as I grab a clipboard off the table. “You can’t afford to be distracted.”
Still, the thought of seeing him again sends my heart hammering against my ribs, betraying my resolve.
As time clicks by, the painfully slow realization of the reality of my situation sets in. Ice isn’t what I want. Not really. If I’m chained to him then I haven’t escaped this world at all. For all I know, he is just as bad, if not worse than Juan. I don’t know anything about Ice or his club. I don’t know what they do. He claims to be one of the good guys, but is he?
I make my way to a secluded corner, where the shadows cling to the walls. I let myself breathe for just a moment. The fog of desire is clouding my judgement. I must keep my head clear because these women and those children are depending on me. Becoming obsessed with a man won’t help anyone. Not those women or children, and certainly not me. I have to remember that.
As I square my shoulders, the weight of responsibility settles back onto them, as familiar and heavy as a bulletproof vest. It’s time to put on the mask again, to become the Isabella everyone expects—the dutiful sister, the ruthless cartel queen. Self-control is all I have left. It’s the only thing standing between me and disaster. And as much as I want Ice, as much as I think I need him, I have to keep my desires locked away if I intend to survive.