Chapter 33
Ernesto
The hum of the jet engines vibrates through the floorboards, a low, predatory growl that matches the churning in my gut.
Outside the oval windows, the lights of Los Angeles have long since dissolved into the vast darkness of the Gulf of California.
Somewhere beneath that black water lies the wreckage of the life I've tried so hard to create.
My own version of a controlled illusion that was quickly shattered by the sound of gunfire and my six-year-old's scream.
Feeling exhausted, I lean back into the leather of the captain's chair. I've scrubbed the blood from my skin in the hangar's private washroom, but the scent of iron still clings to my nostrils.
Across the cabin, Camilla lies sprawled on the divan.
She looks agonizingly small beneath the cashmere throw.
Her chest rises and falls thanks to the drug induced sleep Consuelo provided.
To her left sits Alejandra, but she isn't sleeping.
Alejandra sits with her spine pressed flush against the bulkhead, her eyes fixed on our daughter.
Every few minutes, her hand reaches out, her fingers hovering just inches above Camilla's hair, checking for the heat of life, before pulling back as if afraid she'd bruise the air around her.
And then there is Jesus Carrillo.
Alejandra's father sits in the seat directly across from mine. The cabin's recessed lighting catches the hollows of his cheeks, the skin stretched tight over bone. He hasn't spoken; he simply sits there, watching me.
The silence is a physical pressure, more stifling than the pressurized cabin air.
My suegro shifts, and the plastic crinkle of his medical bracelet sounds like a gunshot in the quiet. He reaches for the glass of water on the pedestal table, but his hand shakes, the ice cubes rattling. I lean forward, reaching to help him steady it, but he jerks the glass away.
"I can do it." His voice is thin, but the edge is serrated as he clutches the glass to his chest.
I pull my hand back, resting my elbows on my knees. "The flight is three hours. You should try to rest, Mr. Carrillo."
Jesus doesn't look at the water as his gaze drifts to Camilla's sleeping form before snapping back to mine with a cold intensity. "Comfort is for people who haven't lost their souls, Senor."
I don't flinch at his words. If anything, I've earned the hostility directed towards me.
"We're heading to a place where I can protect you, all of you.
The Damos estate in Puerto Del Sol is a fortress, so you don't need to worry about your treatments.
The best doctors in Culiacan will be attending to you. "
"A fortress." Jesus lets out a dry, rattling cough that sounds like stones grinding together. "You build walls because you know what's coming for you, but you brought my daughter, and yours, into a house with targets painted on the walls."
"It was all a calculated risk that failed." My voice drops into that cold, professional register I use with board members. "No se preocupe, I'm handling the fallout."
"Fallout." Jesus spits the word as he leans forward, the movement slow and pained, forcing me to look into the judgment of a man who has nothing left to lose. "Confirm it for me. I need to hear you say it."
I narrow my eyes. "Confirm what?"
"Que eres un narcotraficante."
The words hang in the recycled air, stark and unforgiving. I watch Alejandra's head jerk, a sharp, involuntary movement. She stills, her body going rigid as she waits for my response.
I meet Jesus's gaze without flinching. "I am the CEO of Rey del Sol Tequila, a multi-billion-dollar enterprise with holdings across several legitimate industries.
I am also the head of the Damos Cartel, an organization that controls the flow of certain goods and services through Sinaloa and beyond.
" I deliver the statement as if reading from a prospectus, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"It is the family business, Mr. Carrillo.
Always has been. The two are intertwined, inseparable. "
Jesus's eyes burn into mine, undeterred by my controlled tone.
"My daughter. She is a nurse. She saves lives.
She was meant to heal, not to be a pawn in your game.
" His voice cracks, raw with grief and accusation.
"You took her. You took her life, her future, and twisted it into this.
All because of a piece of paper, a contract. "
"Alejandra knew what she was agreeing to," I push back, the familiar defense mechanism rising. "She signed the contract. She understood the terms."
"Understood the terms?" Jesus scoffs, a bitter, humorless sound.
"Did she understand that your enemies would try to take her?
Did she understand that her six-year-old daughter—" he gestures toward Camilla— "would be targeted tonight?
Did she understand that the man who saved her father would be the same man who nearly got her killed? "
The words hit, sharp and precise. He saw it. He knows. My jaw clenches. The memory of Camilla, small and fragile, caught in the chaos, flashes behind my eyes..
"Tell me, Damos," Jesus presses, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "When the attack happened, when that man tried to take your daughter, did Alejandra run from him, or towards him?"
The question is a hook, tearing at the meticulously constructed walls around my control. I see the scene again, not through my own eyes, but through his. The sheer, animalistic terror. The immediate, instinctual need to protect.
"She ran towards him," I admit, the words clipped, forced. "She put herself between Camilla and the threat."
Jesus leans back, a triumphant, yet broken, expression on his face. "You chose this life, Damos. They didn't." His gaze drifts to Camilla again, then to Alejandra, who still hasn't moved, her breath held captive. "And for that, you owe my daughter everything."
The weight of his words settles over me, heavier than any business deal, more binding than any cartel oath.
It's the truth I've wrestled with since the flashing lights of the ambush.
In the chaos, as I moved to intercept the closest threat, a surge of raw, unadulterated relief had washed over me – not because I had taken a life, but because Alejandra had instinctively protected one.
My daughter. My fragile anchor. That immediate, visceral response from her had been a stark contrast to my own calculated maneuvers.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't strategize. She simply acted.
"I depend on Alejandra," I say, the admission tasting like ash on my tongue. The words are foreign, betraying the carefully constructed image of self-sufficiency I project. "Her competence. Her instincts."
Jesus watches me, his eyes narrowing slightly. He expected defiance, not vulnerability—the corner of his mouth twitches, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction.
"Good," he says, his voice gaining a new, chilling strength.
"Because if you ever cause her harm, if you ever put her in a situation where she cannot protect herself, I will find a way to make you pay.
" He pauses, letting the threat hang heavy in the air.
"I do not have your armies, Damos. I do not have your money.
But I have nothing left to lose. And a man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous kind of enemy. "
I meet his gaze, cold and steady. He means it.
Every word. He would not just come for me; he would dismantle everything I value.
And for the first time in a long time, the thought sends a tremor through my carefully guarded composure.
He holds a power I cannot buy, cannot intimidate, cannot destroy.
It is the power of a father's love, fierce and uncompromising.
"Understood," I reply, my voice a low rumble. "I will give my life for both of them."
It's not a concession. It's an acceptance.
An acknowledgment that protecting Alejandra isn't just a duty now, it's a necessity for my own precarious stability.
She is a critical component in the fragile equation of my life, an unexpected anchor in the storm of my world.
The thought is both unsettling and strangely… grounding.
The jet begins its slow descent. The subtle change in pressure is a physical manifestation of the shift within me.
Ahead lies Puerto Del Sol, my kingdom, my fortress, the place where the Damos name rules with an iron fist. But as the familiar landscape of Sinaloa begins to materialize beneath the clouds, I realize the focus of this game has irrevocably changed.
It's no longer just about the cartel war.
It is now about keeping the unexpected guardian of my heart safe from the fallout I dragged her into.