Chapter 24
The next day, I get up early and head to the warehouse where I'm meeting Marco.
I walk between boxes of products scattered across the floor. My eyes sweep the warehouse, searching for Marco and the old man, but I don't see anyone.
The man had already blown through all the money on gambling, booze, and debts he'll never pay off. Now I need to deal with this. Enough. He's Lola and Sofia's father, but the bastard won't even be missed. I'm going to put an end to this before it blows back on them.
I hear the car pull up, and minutes later the two of them enter the warehouse. Marco sits the old man in a chair.
“There's someone here who wants to talk to you,” Marco says, and steps away.
I approach slowly. The smell of mold and decay in the warehouse is almost unbearable. I fix my cold gaze on Alberto, studying him with a mix of contempt and curiosity.
“You again?” I say, my voice deep and controlled. “I've warned you so many times.”
He tries to smile, but his nerves betray him.
“I… need more money.”
I circle the chair, tilt my head slightly, and wrinkle my nose as if dealing with something repulsive. I can't read the expression on his face—whether it's fear or anger.
“You already got your payment,” I respond, my voice carrying a calculated calm more frightening than any explosion of rage.
“I… I know, but it's gone.”
I move too fast for Alberto to react. I grab him by the collar and pull him close. I'm furious.
“You think you can come to me and beg like a dog? After what you did? You weren't even a father. You turned your daughters into bargaining chips.”
Alberto tries to break free, but I hold him tight.
“Please, I'll do anything…” he whimpers, sweat running down his forehead.
I let out a low, dark laugh. With a sudden movement, I punch him hard in the face.
“You think your daughters owe you a living? You piece of shit.”
I grab his hair and yank his face close to mine.
“You sold your own flesh and blood for money,” I whisper. “You're trash, Alberto. And I don't do repeat business with trash.”
“You want me to believe you're not benefiting from my daughters?” he spits, his voice full of anger.
“I'm not you,” I shout.
“I made them, they came from me, so they're mine and they have to do what I want…”
Hatred surges through me and I can't control myself. He opens his mouth to say something else, but falls silent when I press the cold barrel of the gun to his forehead.
“No! Wait, wait! I can…”
The shot echoes through the warehouse, a bang that won't carry beyond these walls. I didn't even let him beg. A father who sees his daughters as merchandise doesn't deserve any chance.
Alberto's body topples to the side, his eyes wide open, frozen in final horror.
I tuck the gun into my jacket, wipe my hands on a handkerchief, and walk to the door without looking back.
“Marco, clean this up,” I order, and leave.