Chapter 32 #2
My mind races, connecting the dots, the pieces of a puzzle I never knew I was a part of. Extreme security. The talk of enemies. The tension at the Thanksgiving dinner.
"Your uncle," I breathe. "Casimiro."
Ernesto nods, his eyes darkening. "My father's brother.
He has always believed the empire should have been his.
He sees me as young, reckless. He has been chipping away at my alliances, trying to turn the other families against me, waiting for me to show a sign of weakness.
" He pauses, his gaze unwavering. "Bringing a new wife into the family, a woman from outside our world, was a risk.
Marrying you secured my position as CEO, cut him off legally, but in our world, it made me look vulnerable. "
He falls silent, letting the weight of his confession settle over me. The air in the room is thick, heavy. I can hear the frantic beat of my own heart.
"And Renata?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly. "Elena's sister?"
A flicker of pain, sharp and deep, crosses his face.
"After Elena died, Renata… changed. Her grief twisted into something else.
An obsession. She believes she has a claim on me, on Camilla.
That Elena's place is hers by right." His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing under his skin.
"I've kept her at a distance, but she is Cardenas.
Her family is old and powerful—an ally I cannot afford to make an enemy of.
Tonight, I suspect she worked with my uncle.
She created the distraction inside, while his men waited outside.
They thought they could grab Camilla, use her to force my hand, to make me abdicate. "
He says it all so calmly, as if he's discussing a quarterly report. The kidnapping of his own daughter was a business tactic. My stomach turns.
I look at him, at this man I married, this man I have come to… something. This man, who lives a life so dark, so violent, is beyond my comprehension. And I finally understand the folder. The surveillance of my family. It wasn't about control. It was about fear. His fear.
"That's why you chose me," I say, the realization dawning, cold and clear. "From El Santuario. It wasn't just because you needed a wife for the contract."
"No," he says, his voice softening. He rises from his chair and walks around the desk until he is standing in front of me.
He reaches out, his hand gently cupping my cheek.
His thumb, stained with another man's blood, strokes my skin.
"I saw you that night. You weren't like the other women there.
There was no desperation in your eyes. There was fire.
Defiance. You weren't afraid of anything. "
He looks deep into my eyes, and for the first time, I feel completely seen by him.
"I knew," he continues, his voice a low murmur, "that if the worst ever happened, if my world ever came crashing down, you would not break.
You would stand. You would fight. I saw the way you defended me against my uncle.
I saw you tonight, how you ran after them.
You would do anything to keep Camilla safe.
You are a protector, Alejandra. It is who you are. That is why I chose you."
His words are not a compliment. They are a burden. A crown of thorns he has placed on my head. He chose me for my strength, knowing he was dragging me into a war.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and angry. "You should have told me."
"Would you have agreed if I had?"
The question is a blade, and it strikes true. No. I would have run. I would have taken my father and my brother and disappeared. I would have chosen ignorance and safety over this terrifying, blood-soaked reality. He knew that. And he chose me.
The rage that has been simmering inside me for weeks, for months, finally finds its voice. "You had no right!" I pull away from his touch, my voice shaking with fury. "You had no right to make that decision for me! To drag me, to drag my family, into this… this filth!"
"Your family is my family now," he says, his voice hardening again, the moment of vulnerability gone. "And they are in danger. We are all in danger. As long as we are in Los Angeles, we are targets. My uncle has made his move. He will not stop until one of us is dead."
The finality of his words chills me to the bone. This isn't a business dispute. This is a war of succession. And we are on the losing side.
"We are leaving," he announces, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tonight." He turns his gaze to Consuelo. "Chelito, help Alejandra pack. For all three of us. Only what is necessary."
Consuelo nods, her face grim. "Sí, senor."
Pack. Leave. The words spin in my head. My mind latches onto the one anchor I have left in this storm.
"No," I say, my voice firm. "I am not going anywhere without my father and my brother."
Ernesto's eyes narrow. "Alejandra, this is not a negotiation."
"I don't care," I spit back, my fear giving way to a cold, hard resolve. "My father is a sick man. My brother is a boy. I will not leave them here to become pawns in your fucking war. If we go, they go."
He stares at me, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The air crackles with the force of our locked wills. Felipe shifts his weight by the door, a silent sign of his discomfort.
Finally, Ernesto exhales, a slow, deliberate breath.
He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a faint streak of blood in the dark strands.
"I can have your father picked up. He can travel with us.
But your brother… sending a team to a university campus like Stanford will draw too much attention.
I can send a security detail. They can stay with him, watch him, ensure he is protected until we can move him. "
A team. To watch over Miguel. The thought is both terrifying and reassuring.
"I agree," I say, "on one condition." My gaze slides to the silent figure of Hector. "He stays with Miguel."
Felipe takes a step forward. "Senor, that is not possible. Hector is the head of your personal detail. His place is with you. With the family."
"Miguel is family," Ernesto snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.
He doesn't even look at Felipe. His eyes are locked on mine, a silent acknowledgment of my terms. A flicker of something that feels like respect.
He turns to Hector. "You heard her. Take a team.
Go to Palo Alto. Do not let him out of your sight. Keep him safe."
Hector's face remains impassive, but his eyes betray a flicker of surprise. He simply nods. "Sir." He turns and leaves the office without another word, already in motion, a loyal soldier following his king's command.
Ernesto then turns to Felipe. "Get one of our most trusted men—someone who can be gentle. Have him bring Alejandra's father here. Now."
Felipe nods and pulls out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen as he walks out of the office.
The room is quiet again, and only the three of us are left. Me, Ernesto, and Consuelo. He has conceded. He has brought my family under the bloody umbrella of his protection. The knowledge does not comfort me. It terrifies me.
"Go," Ernesto says, his voice softer now. "Go pack. We leave in one hour."
I look at him one last time, at the blood drying on his shirt, at the exhaustion in his eyes, at the king of a violent, crumbling kingdom. I turn and walk toward the door, Consuelo falling into step beside me.
As we step into the hallway, I hear his voice, low and urgent, from inside the office. He's on the phone. The last words I hear before Consuelo gently pulls the door shut follow me up the grand staircase, a final, chilling promise of the world I now inhabit.
"Prep the jet. We're going to Puerto Sol. We've been compromised."
Two hours later, Camilla was still sleeping in my arms, and we were on Ernesto’s jet heading to Sinaloa, Mexico.