Chapter 14 Daniela
DANIELA
Chef Charleston’s house has an old feel, with original oak floors that groan in just the right places, a mantel crowded with mismatched pottery and framed drawings done with a child’s untrained hand.
Gwen’s. It’s comforting and infuriating at once.
It makes the danger outside feel obscene.
Evil shouldn’t be allowed inside rooms like this.
Or anywhere near this house.
But it was here.
“Thank you,” I say to Chef.
He nods. “Of course. I want her to come home safely. We all do.”
“I know. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until then.” I attempt a smile. “I’m sorry to wake you and then force myself into your home.”
“It’s okay.” He offers a small smile. “Please keep us posted.”
“I will. I promised Hawk I’d go straight home. I… I may not be in class for a while.”
“Please don’t worry,” he says. “You’re already at the top of your game. If you miss anything important, I’ll let you make it up. There are more important things than culinary school.”
I nod slightly as he walks me out the door to my car and then waits outside until I’m out of sight.
Chef Charleston is a good man.
The lights are on at home, so I park in the garage and enter through the kitchen into the main house. I find them in the family room. Vinnie stands with his palms planted on the back of the sofa. Raven is next to him, robe belted tight.
“Anything?” Raven asks the second I step in.
“Hawk is coming,” I say. “He had to take care of something first.”
Vinnie’s gaze flicks to mine. He doesn’t press.
“Chef found something on his security cameras,” I say. “He sent it all to me. You need to take a look.”
Vinnie raises his eyebrows.
“You’re not going to believe it,” I say.
He flexes his jaw. “What are you saying?”
“Let’s just take a look.”
Vinnie fires up his laptop as I send him the files.
“Got it,” he says as he pulls up the footage.
I look over his shoulder.
And I see it all again, only this time it seems clearer. Probably because I know what’s coming.
There’s sweet Belinda slipping out the back door, the sliver of a hooded man, the wind lifting the fabric just enough to flash a profile I would know blindfolded.
Vinnie’s jaw goes rigid. “What the fuck?”
I swallow. “I know. It’s him. It’s Diego Vega.”
He blinks for a few seconds. “But…I saw the photo. And it was from a source I trust.” He shakes his head.
“It could have been manipulated. AI and all.” Raven sighs. “My God. Will this ever end?”
Vinnie stares like he can force the pixels to confess. “I can’t believe I let a photograph convince me,” he mutters. “I didn’t even think about AI. I should’ve verified a dozen ways. I—”
“Hey.” Raven squeezes his arm. “You wanted it to be over. We all did.”
“That’s the point,” he snaps. “He counted on that. Slippery son of a—” He breaks off, shakes his head. “From now on? I don’t outsource death. I do it myself. Hands on.”
The room goes still.
Raven freezes.
No words.
Did Vinnie just vow to kill his enemies? To pull the trigger himself?
“Vinnie,” Raven finally says, her voice calmer than I expect. “You fought hard to go legitimate. That’s not your life anymore.”
He looks at her. Some of the fury in him unclenches. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you do,” she says. “I also think you need to hear it said out loud before you pick up a gun and go after all the monsters in the world.”
He stares at the frozen image a second longer and then looks away. “He was supposed to be dead,” he says, quieter now. “Twice.”
“Maybe it isn’t him,” Raven says. “Hood or no hood, it’s grainy. Lots of men have that jawline. It could be—”
“It’s him,” I say. “I know it. Vinnie knows it. We’ve both memorized his features.”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. And they both know it.
“It’s him,” Vinnie says. “The one who called me Little Cobra. The one you…” He sighs.
“That’s not a face you forget,” I add. “Not when it’s the face that laughed while it stole your life. He chose Belinda on purpose. Trapped her in his game with the information about her father being the bait. But it’s not Belinda he wants.” I pause a moment, gulp down nausea. “It’s me.”
“This isn’t your fault, Dani,” Raven says and then she sears her gaze into Vinnie. “Nor yours, either. We agreed to give her normal. Not give her the whole truth about Declan. To let her be a kid for as long as possible. It was the right call. She’s eleven.”
“She’s eleven,” I echo, and something inside me snaps. “And she still went out that door in the middle of the night to meet a stranger.” I tip my chin toward the screen. “Because curiosity doesn’t care whether you made the right call.”
Vinnie rises slowly. “We’ll find her,” he says.
It’s not a platitude. It’s a sentence delivered like a verdict.
“We will,” Raven echoes.
I leave the family room and walk to the kitchen, open the back door to the dark night. The air is humid and filled with the chirping of cicadas.
I clench the doorframe until my knuckles ache.
Behind me, Raven says my name softly. I turn.
“You okay?” she asks.
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” she says, coming closer. “If you tell me you are, I’ll know you’re about to do something reckless.”
“Define reckless.”
“Going alone,” she says. “Going silent. Going right to the edge because you think you belong there more than you belong in a house with people who love you.”
That sounds like what her brother has been doing. Maybe he’s rubbing off on me. With Belinda’s life on the line, I’m ready to do just about anything. Vinnie feels the same. And Hawk clearly felt that way about me.
I tip my head. “When did you get so good at reading me?”
She smiles without showing teeth. “I’ve been practicing on Vinnie.”
“That sounds exhausting,” I say.
“It is,” she says. “We’ll call parents. We’ll scan plates. We’ll tear the city apart. But we’ll do it together. You hear me?”
I nod and follow her back inside.
Vinnie’s phone dings. He glances down. “Private investigator in San Antonio owes me a favor,” he says. “He can pull neighborhood cams around Chef’s block. May catch a face, a plate, a timing hit.”
“Do it,” Raven says.
I open my mouth to say we should call the hospitals again—just in case—and for no reason at all, my mind pulls a ripcord I didn’t touch. Images blur, and time hurtles backward.
* * *
“Mr. Agudelo,” the doctor begins, “Daniela has been diagnosed with chlamydia. It’s a sexually transmitted infection but treatable with antibiotics, which I’m going to prescribe now.”
His face hardens, but he nods, giving nothing away. “Thank you, Doctor, for your prompt attention to my daughter’s health.” He turns to me. “Are you okay, querida?”
Right. Like he cares. He’s never called me querida in my life.
“I’m uncomfortable but otherwise I feel fine,” I say without emotion.
“Good, good.” He smiles.
What a fake.
The doctor clears her throat. “I’ve prescribed a week-long course for Daniela. She’ll need to come back in a month’s time for a follow-up.”
My father nods, his expression unreadable. “All right,” he says, maintaining his calm facade. “Will that be all, Doctor?”
The doctor looks at me and then back at my father. “Yes, that will be all. Please ensure she takes the medication consistently and completes the course.”
The car ride home is silent. The tension is palpable, like a storm cloud ready to burst, except my father is the storm cloud. I sit in the back seat and watch the passing buildings outside. I’m terrified. Terrified of my father’s reaction. Terrified of the punishment that will surely come.
As we pull into our driveway, my father finally speaks. “Go to your room.”
His voice is cold, devoid of any emotion. I nod, clambering out of the car and rushing inside the house. I rush past the kitchen, ignoring the curious glances of our housekeeper.
I retreat to the safety of my room, closing the door softly behind me. I collapse onto my bed, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. I want to cry, to scream, to let out all the anger and sadness.
But I don’t.
My father will come to me.
He will punish me for this, even though it’s the fault of one of his business associates.
My father will come.
It’s only a matter of when.
The minutes tick by, each one agonizingly slow, each one intensifying the dread coiling in my stomach. I feel like a lamb waiting for slaughter, as if I’m suspended on the precipice of a cliff, awaiting the push that will send me spiraling into the abyss below.
A knock on the door makes me jump, my heart pounding. I don’t respond. Maybe if I stay silent, he’ll go away.
“Daniela.” His voice is cold and emotionless, a stark contrast to his usual fiery temper. “Open the door.”
I don’t want to. I want to barricade it, to hide from him, to pretend that none of this is happening. But that’s not an option. Not when it’s his house, his rules.
I rise from my bed, my legs shaking as I approach the door. Taking a deep breath, I open it, flinching at the sight of my father standing there, his presence overpowering. His eyes are hard, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“A week,” he says through gritted teeth. “A week of antibiotics, Daniela, and then re-test in a month.”
“This wasn’t my fault, Papa.”
His rage takes over his demeanor.
I’m right. It’s not my fault.
But that’s not how he sees it.
“You will pay the price for this,” he says. “A month. After a month of punishment, you’ll be begging to go back to entertaining my associates.”
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
How I wish he would slam it! Show who he truly is.
A day passes.
Another.
Until my father enters my room.
“Daniela.” His voice is fond, which means it’s dangerous. “Feeling better, mija?”
I arrange my face into the good daughter. “Yes.”
“Good.” He gestures. “Come with me, please.”
I secure my robe around me and follow him out of my room, down the spiral staircase, through a hallway, and into his private office.
“What the…?” I let my jaw drop as I take in the line of young girls.
Five of them, all standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the bay window in my father’s office.
They can’t be older than thirteen. Maybe twelve. Their dresses are childish. Not in the sweet way of girls who still love the twirl of a skirt. More like what you might dress a doll in.
For show. Strictly for show. Displaying a caricature of youth.
White socks. Patent leather shoes.
All very pretty, hair glossy and black and dressed with bright colored ribbons. Except for one. She’s blond and pale and she looks slightly older, with breasts beginning to develop. Her hair is twisted into a long braid.
My heart pounds in my ears.
These girls are beautiful in the way girls are when they’re on the verge of womanhood. Eyes too big. Knees knobby. Hands folded because someone told them to fold them.
One of them looks at me with a spark I recognize from poor stray dogs who have learned what a kicked rib feels like. Another stares at the carpet like if she doesn’t move maybe she’ll disappear. It’s a feeling I’m far too familiar with.
My father clasps his hands behind his back and smiles.
“Choose,” he says.
My mouth is dry. “Excuse me?”
He nods to the row. “Pick one.”
I look at him, at the girls, back at him again. I open my mouth. No sound. I swallow hard enough to hurt and try again.
“Pick one?” I repeat, because I’m still not sure what’s going on. “For what?”