Chapter 28 #2
My fingers tremble as I take it. The first page is a photo of my dad–smiling, healthier, from years ago.
One from when he was still working the fields holding up a box of lettuce.
Clipped to it are pages of medical reports, chemo notes, medication lists, and prognosis.
Another page flip and it’s a page full of current bank statements.
Every private detail of my papá’s life and illness was coldly cataloged.
A chill runs through me as I continue to flip the page.
Miguel’s school ID, followed by his high school transcripts, a list of his friends with background checks, addresses, and notes on their families.
My breath stutters as I turn the last page. A picture of Irma, the sweet neighbor who helps papá out when he needs it. A teardrop lands on a report: her job at the panaderia, pictures of her apartment, shopping at the mercado, and pictures of her coming out of her church service.
The air around me thickens, my chest feels heavy and my sight becomes blurry. This isn’t protection, it’s his need for control. He’s dissected my family, turned their lives into bullet points and photos. I scrub my face in anger attempting to rid my face of my angry tears.
I’ve lived in a bubble of warmth for weeks and it’s now iced over. The safety I’ve been feeling is all an illusion. The man who matches his tie to my dress is the same man who digs through my family's private lives under a microscope.
Rage simmers through my body, hot prickles rise from my skin. My family are kind, simple people who have welcomed him, and are being treated like a threat.
I close the folder.
I’d begun to trust him. How stupid can I be?
Fuck Ernesto Damos. If he thinks he’s going to get away with treating my family like some common criminals then hoy me va a conocer.
I clear his desk of everything and take a seat in his leather chair, placing the folder with my family's information front and center, Miguel’s paperwork to the right. I fold my hands and wait as my anger settles into a calm–hard, quiet rage. He will not do this to my family. This ends tonight.
It only takes an hour or so for Ernesto to come back home. I hear footsteps echo down the hall and minutes later the door to the office opens, the light from the hallway illuminating inside the office like a beacon, as he pauses in the doorway.
“Alejandra?” His voice is low, wary. “Why are you in my office?”
Ernesto flicks on the lights, the brightness stinging my eyes but I don’t let them flinch. His eyes find me–and then the folder in front of me. He freezes, muscles locked.
Oh, this bastard knows he’s fucked up.
He closes the door behind him, the click sharp in the silence inside this office.
“Why?” my voice comes out dangerously calm. “Why would you do something like this, Ernesto?”
I see his jaw physically tighten. “Do what?”
“Do not patronize me, Ernesto,” I say, my tone sounding like it was cut from glass. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Ernesto. Not tonight.” I tap the folder. “Why are you stalking my family?
He takes a step forward, his movement controlled, his face the same mask he shows the world–cold, unreadable.
“That’s not what this is,” he says quietly.
“This is part of the protocol set to protect my family. When someone becomes part of my life, I need to know everything about them. That includes every variable and their possible threat.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “A threat? You think my dad, a cancer patient fighting for his life, who at times can’t even feed himself Or my bumbling idiot of a brother who can’t even tell which hand is his left and which is right, are threats?”
I rise from his chair as I lay my palms flat on the desk and inch forward, voice shaking but strong.
“My family are good people, Ernesto. Hell, you should be on your knees thanking the god you don’t even believe in, you ended up tied to a family like mine, and not one that would use this situation to their own advantage,” sighing I back away crossing my arms. “They have opened their hearts to you, no questions asked and you treat them like criminals.”
He doesn’t answer me but I can see the anger and frustration burn in his eyes. There’s something buried deep beneath that stoic facade.
Finally, he exhales and when he speaks, his voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t used this tone in a long time.
“Alejandra, you don’t understand the world I live in.
Where you see family, I see leverage. A weakness my enemies can easily use to exploit me.
Your father? Well, it’s just to make sure the employees taking care of him are actually loyal to me.
As for your brother…boys his age are easily swayed by a pretty face, which makes him easy to set up and bait.
This–” he gestures towards the folder “isn’t mistrust. It’s the only way I know how to protect myself and those under my care. ”
My anger falters a bit, replaced by something hollow. Now I really see him past the power plays, past the ruthlessness and ego. This man has been forged by violence, and molded by betrayal. Someone who sees threats in everything around him because that’s the world he was taught to see.
“The only way you know how,” I repeat in a whisper.
“You’re violating the trust of the people you claim to protect.
” I step around the desk until I’m in front of him.
We’re so close, I can feel the heat from his breath on my face.
His jaw flexes, eyes flickering between fury and something else akin to fear.
“There’s always another way,” I say softly, touching my hand to his chest. “It’s called trust.”
“Trust gets you killed in my world, Palomita,” he murmurs, placing his hand atop mine.
“My family isn’t your weakness, Ernesto.” I can feel his pulse beating hard under my palm. On the outside he seems calm and collected but that rapid beat gives his reluctance away.
“I can’t say I forgive you for,” I turn and motion towards the folder “all of this. But, I do understand why you did it.”
He looks down at our hands, his fingers warm around mine, then back to my face. For a fleeting moment, his expression fractures into relief before his mask of confidence returns.
The silence that follows isn’t one of peace but a truce, one of fragile understanding built on the ruins of what little trust there was between us. He’s still a man who believes control is the only way to love someone. But tonight, for the first time, he tries to speak a different type of language.
And for some fucking reason, I allow myself to trust him.