Chapter 2 Marfil #2
I got dressed, quickly pulling on leggings and a sweatshirt, and went down to breakfast as I searched for the next possible flight back to New York on my phone.
I had already missed a few classes, and I was going to have to talk to my microeconomics professor and pray that he’d let me retake the exam I’d missed.
I should’ve been more concerned over what had happened to me, but I was still unable to remember anything.
I was scared, but since I couldn’t even visualize it, it felt unreal.
I entered the kitchen to find Lupita peeling potatoes.
The smell of coffee filled the space, which meant that my father must still be home.
I had never met anyone as addicted to caffeine as he was.
I, on the other hand, had not inherited his passion for the dark, bitter drink; I preferred a glass of warm milk with honey for breakfast.
Lupita smiled when she saw me, and before I could count to ten, she had breakfast in front of me. “Your father wants you to go see him in his office when you’re done eating, sweetie.”
I nodded, bringing one spoonful of cereal after another to my mouth, finishing my breakfast quickly and thanking Lupita.
I crossed the living room, furnished with dark brown leather sofas, a thick Persian rug, a sixty-inch TV, and a long dining table where we ate on special occasions: Christmas, Thanksgiving, my birthday or Gabriella’s, if she wasn’t with her mother.
I walked the long hallway that led to my father’s office, hating every step of the way, as the walls were lined with the mounted heads of dead animals.
My father was a big-game hunter who spent a fortune traveling to the most remote corners of the world in search of unique trophies to hang on his wall.
I still remember the time he insisted on taking me with him.
Not only did he force me to kill a deer, but he then “baptized” me by drenching me in blood from head to toe.
He and his friends laughed as I stood there sobbing; I still had nightmares about it.
My sister and I were both fervent animal lovers, and we were disgusted by the fact that our father spent his free time hunting them for his own enjoyment.
I knocked on the door before entering. My father was sitting at his huge desk, and in front of him stood Logan Price.
Logan had been in charge of my father’s security team for as long as I could remember.
Anytime my father went anywhere, Logan went with him.
It was something so normal that I’d never stopped to ask what dangers he needed protection from.
My father, Colombian by birth, had emigrated from Colombia to the United States at just twenty years old.
He was a brilliant man, who had made a multimillion-dollar fortune out of nothing.
He’d purchased land in Colombia when prices were so low they were practically giving it away, and he planted vineyards that now supplied fine wines to a large part of the southern region.
He also had a very close relationship with the Colombian president, with whom he had long talks over cigars.
Yes, Alejandro Cortés was a successful man, but he was highly reserved with us; he hardly ever talked to my sister and me about his work or his endless travels.
He’d met my mother in Russia, and they’d married a month later.
A year and a half after that, I was born.
Hanging over the mantel, right there in his office, was a framed photo of her.
Paulina Kozlova had been a dazzling beauty, a gorgeous woman with high cheekbones, full, seductive lips, golden-blond locks, and large emerald-green eyes.
I looked like her, though I’d inherited my father’s dark hair.
My heart twisted in my chest every time I saw that picture.
I hated the fact that I had only one memory of my mother: her lifeless eyes staring back at me as blood pooled on the ground all around her.
Logan turned as I closed the door behind me, greeting me with a dry “Good morning, Miss Cortés” as he pulled out a chair for me.
My father rested his elbows on the desk and looked at me.
“We’ve been talking about what happened, Marfil, and the only conclusion we can come to is that someone kidnapped you and brought you here without asking for anything in return simply to send a message.
To show me how easy it is to get to you and to let me know that they could do it again anytime they want. ”
No How are you feeling, honey? My father went directly to the point, as always.
I clenched my fists, trying not to show how much it scared me to think that something like this could happen again. “But why? What’s the reason behind it?”
My father leaned back, shrugging. “Plenty of people resent my success, hate me, even, Marfil. I guess they were trying to get to me through you.”
Logan had been staring out the window, and he now turned to us with a serious expression. “Until we can figure out who it was and what they were trying to achieve by kidnapping you, you’ll need protection, to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
No…
My father knew what was coming before I even opened my mouth. “You begged me not to hire security for you, Marfil, and I was a fool to agree. I didn’t listen to my security team’s warnings, and now look what’s happened. You could’ve been raped… or killed!”
I swallowed, feeling the blood course through my body. “But…”
My father stood up and went to the bar beside his desk. “No buts, Mar,” he said, opening a bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass. “I’m not going to take any more chances. I never should’ve given in to you in the first place.”
I looked to Logan and then to my father. They both seemed very serious, decided.
“I can’t live a normal, everyday life if I have a bodyguard with me all the time, Dad.”
“Would you prefer to let this happen again?”
I had no good argument, and I hated having to just sit there in silence.
“Until we’ve cleared up what happened, you need to be guarded twenty-four hours a day. I’m reinforcing my security as well, and Gabriella will have a guard, too, when she comes home. She’s safe at school for the time being, but I don’t plan to let anyone take one of my daughters ever again.”
“So you plan to have someone watching me day and night?!”
Logan stepped forward and answered for my father. “Only until we can clear up what’s happened, Miss Cortés,” he said. “We already have the best private investigators looking into who could’ve kidnapped you.”
“Private investigators? Wouldn’t it be better to leave it to the police?”
“The police are slow, honey; they’re overworked and underpaid. I prefer to pay for services instead of sitting and waiting for them to be carried out incompetently,” her father said.
I closed my mouth. I didn’t want something like this to happen again. Still, I felt defeated. I had fought so hard to convince my father that I didn’t need security, and it had all been for nothing.
“We got you the best bodyguard we could find. He served in the US military and was decorated with honors. We were lucky he’s agreed to accept the job.”
I sighed, knowing the battle was lost. “I don’t want anyone at school to know I have a bodyguard, Dad.”
“We’ve already thought of that. He’ll be undercover; no one will know why he’s there unless you tell them. We have informed the university, and he’ll be able to pass as a student and escort you everywhere. You won’t have to worry about a thing; it’ll be like he’s not even there. I promise.”
This was somewhat of a consolation, although I doubted that some soldier could pass unnoticed in a crowd of mostly young students.
“Your apartment has two bedrooms and a separate room for staff. I’ve already sent someone to make space for Mr. Moore.”
Shit, my dance studio. I couldn’t help feeling frustrated and angry.
It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate what my father was doing for me, but it annoyed me that I would have someone hovering around me all the time.
Yes, I was still scared, but I didn’t want to live in fear.
I didn’t want a constant reminder of the fact that someone could hurt me again, or at least try to.
But I knew that, given the circumstances, there was nothing I could do.
“How long do you think it will take to figure out who’s behind this?”
My father sat back down. “I don’t know, but I can assure you it’s my top priority.”
I nodded, ready to leave. “Can I go?”
My father agreed and looked back at his computer.
I hadn’t even met this Mr. Moore, whoever he was, and I already disliked him.