Chapter 4
Ernesto
The blue light from my phone’s screen washes out the interior of the Maybach, casting sharp, cold shadows across the back seat.
I don’t need to look at Alejandra to know she’s vibrating with a mixture of fury and awe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the silhouette of her head turning incessantly, her gaze glued to the sprawling estates of Bel Air as we pass by.
My thumb swipes through a chain of emails from one of our distilleries. Production is up, but the board is still sniffing around my private life like hounds on a blood trail. Matthew's warning about Casimiro echoes in the back of my head. Two days.
"As my wife and Mrs. Damos, you have certain responsibilities, you are now the lady of the house." The words left my mouth clipped and professional, uncaring, as if I was hiring another intern. My eyes never strayed from the quarterly projections on the screen.
"Starting tomorrow, you will manage the household staff. You'll learn the names of my associates, how they take their drink, and how to host them without looking like you're out of your depth. When we step into my society, you will be someone of utmost respect."
I pause a second to type a quick response to Santiago regarding a shipment delay in Houston.
"From this second forward, your only concern is being the perfect Mrs. Damos."
A sound erupts from the seat next to me. It’s not a sob or a gasp of indignation. It’s a sharp, jagged cackle that cuts through the silence of the car like a blade through silk.
I lower the phone and shift my gaze, settling it on Alejandra.
She’s bent over, one hand clutching her stomach while the other covers her mouth, her shoulders shake with genuine, hysterical laughter.
Her dark hair spills out of its French braid, framing her face that was—infuriatingly—radiant even as she’s mocking me.
"Something about your new reality strikes you as a joke?" My voice dropped an octave, the irritation prickling at my skin. I didn't pay a million dollars to be the punchline of a comedy routine.
Alejandra wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her breath hitching as she tried to pull herself together. She turned toward me, a wide, incredulous grin stretching across her lips.
"Yesterday, I was stressed about whether I could afford the 'good' ginger ale for my dad's nausea.
And now, I'm sitting in a car that costs more than my entire neighborhood, being told I'm the 'lady of the house' like some long-lost Spanish heiress.
It's not just a joke, Ernesto. Ay dispénseme–I mean Senor Damos, todo esto parece una novela! "
She gestures at the leather upholstery and the glowing city lights outside the tinted glass.
I tighten the grip on the phone.
"I am being entirely serious. This isn't a role you’ll be playing only for the cameras. This is your life now."
“And my dad?" she asks as her radiant smile on her face vanishes.
"What about my brother? You think they’ll stop being my family just because you put a rock on my finger? They depend on me. I have to be there for my dad’s appointments."
"We’ll find a qualified home nurse to aid him. I’ll have Felipe vet specialists." I unlock my phone so as to signal I’m done with the discussion. "They will be better equipped to handle his oncology needs than a daughter who is spread too thin."
"No." She protests, leaning into my space, her vanilla scent invading my senses.
"Some stranger isn't going to sit with him while he's puking his guts out.
I'm an RN, Ernesto. I'm perfectly 'equipped' to handle my dad.
Besides, if you're at your office all day playing king, there is zero reason why I can't be at my father's house while the house is empty. " Her voice dripped with fearlessness.
I stay silent, my eyes fixed on an unread message. She’s not wrong. A caged bird with nothing to do is a bird that will eventually peck its own feathers out. If she’s occupied with her father, she’s less likely to cause me headaches.
"Fine."
I don’t look at her, but I can feel her tension ease slightly.
"As long as my home and my daughter are cared for, you may attend his appointments."
"Um…daughter?"
The word came out as a small whisper, stripped of all the fire she was just speaking with. I finally turn my head fully to face her. The confusion in her brown eyes is genuine.
"Camilla, tiene seis anos."
I feel the familiar, heavy ache in my chest that always accompanies the mention of my little girl.
"She has been without a mother since the day she was born.
The only other woman in my life is my sister, Verónica, and she is too young, too busy with the hospitals to be burdened with the emotional labor of raising a child.
I noticed the way you handle your family, Alejandra.
The responsibility you carry isn't a burden to you; it's a reflex.
That is why I chose you. Camilla needs that. "
Alejandra's brow furrowed.
"You bought a mother for your child?"
"I secured a future for my family. Felipe, the phone."
I reach towards the front and take the phone from Felipe.
"This is your new phone. You have until we reach the house to add whatever numbers you deem essential. After that, I take it back to have the encryption and monitoring software finalized."
She stares at the device as if it were a live grenade.
"Monitoring?" she asks.
"I don't leave my flank exposed, Palomita. I will know about every call, every text you make, who you speak with and what is said. Choose your circle wisely."
She snatches the phone from my hand, her jaw set in a hard line. She spends the rest of the ride in a frantic blur of typing, likely memorizing numbers or sending final, cryptic goodbyes.
The Maybach slows as we reach the foothills. The road narrows, winding through a canyon of manicured hedges until we hit the gate. It’s a massive, wrought-iron beast, with a stylized 'D' forged into the center.
Two guards in tactical black step out from the shadows of a stone guardhouse. They circle the car, their eyes scanning the interior, hands hovering near the holsters at their thighs. One of them taps the glass near Felipe's window. Felipe gives a short nod, and the iron gate swings inward.
The driveway is a long, sweeping curve lined with palm trees, each one illuminated from below by recessed spotlights. The pavement is pristine, glowing like white bone under the moon.
At the end of it sits the house. It’s a monolith of white stone, dark wood accents, and floor-to-ceiling glass that seem to hold the very hill together. Every light is on, transforming the structure into a jagged diamond perched over Los Angeles.
"This is... excessive."
Alejandra's whisper is barely audible, but in the quiet of the car, it sounds like a shout. She’s staring at the security cameras mounted on the trees, the patrolling guards stationed against the walls, and the sheer, cold scale of the place.
"Looks more like it's a prison," she mutters.
The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was moving. The irritation that had been simmering since her laughter boiled over. Shoving my door open, I round the rear of the car in four long strides. I yank Alejandra's door open before Felipe could reach for the handle.
I grab her arm—harder than I intended—and haul her out of the seat. She stumbles, a small gasp escaping her, but I don’t let her find her footing. I spin her around and press her back against the cold metal of the Maybach.
Stepping into her space, my chest inches from hers, I slam my hands onto the roof of the car on either side of her head, caging her in.
"Get it through your head, Alejandra." My voice is a low, vibrating growl.
"You’re not in East L.A. anymore. You don't get to mutter about 'excess' or play the critic.
You live in my world now and if you want to feel safe, if you want to stay secure, you will respect the walls I have built to protect my kingdom. "
I lean in closer, my shadow swallowing her whole.
"You see those men with guns? They aren't here to look pretty. They are here to guard what is mine. And in case the ring and the contract didn't make it clear enough—that includes you."
I give her arm a sharp, firm shake, my eyes searching hers for the defiance I know is hiding behind them.
"Do you understand me?"
She hisses, her face contorting as the pressure of my grip tightens on the tender skin I'd bruised earlier in the office.
"Yes," she squeezed out through gritted teeth. "I understand."
Lingering around her for an extra second, I watch as the pulse in her neck jumps. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the house lights and my own dark intent, but she doesn’t look away.
I step back, and release her. The heat of the confrontation dissipates into the cool night air, leaving behind a physical chill going down her body. I look at Felipe and give him a curt, dismissive nod.
Turning towards the massive front doors, I begin walking without waiting for her. When I reach the top landing, I realize the space behind me is empty. I turn my head just enough to see Alejandra still by the car, rubbing her arm, looking at the house like it’s a beast waiting to swallow her.
"Alejandra."
I don’t shout. I have no need to. The impatience in my tone is enough.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, squares those shoulders again, and begins the long climb up the stairs to meet me.