Chapter 7
The scent of cigar smoke still clung to her as Serena made her way back to their table, the echoes of his words still crawling like fire up her spine. But something felt off. Her father’s seat was empty, so was Cameron. Two untouched glasses, a fresh decanter of scotch, no signal.
She caught the nearest server’s eye with a snap of her fingers. “Where is Don Santiago?”
The young man straightened. “They were escorted to the private ward, Señorita Santiago. Doña Valeria asked for them, I was told—”
“No one else was needed,” Serena finished bitterly.
Of course, The private ward, a windowless, velvet-drenched inner chamber where the real decisions were made. Where names were erased or elevated. It wasn’t just off-limits to outsiders, it was off-limits to anyone who hadn’t been blooded in.
The air inside was thick with smoke and threat. Ten men sat around a carved obsidian table like gods on trial. At the head, like a queen at court, was Doña Valeria.
To her right sat Don Santiago and behindhim was Cameron, both were calm and coiled like the others who observed everyonein the room like a foe. To Valeria’s left,Fernando, wide-eyed and oily-skinned, smirked like a man about to ruin someone’s life and behind him was his son Calus.
“You want to bring in new arms from the Eastern Bloc, knowing damn well it violates our shipping accords,” Valeria said coolly, tapping ash into a silver tray. “That is not just reckless, it’s disrespectful mr Fernando.”
Fernando sneered. “Your accords were written to keep the BLACK TABLE in power Doña Valeria, I followed it using my methods.”
Don Santiago remained still, his voice low and precise. “If you had issue with our logistics, you could’ve come to the table, not moved in shadows like a thief.”
“So it’s true,” Fernando snapped. “You’ve been whispering about my ports. Undercutting my name behind closed doors.”
“And you’ve been bribing the customs offices in Cádiz,” Valeria cut in sharply. “Don’t you dare play the saint here.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
“You bastard,” Fernando growled, rising suddenly from his chair. “You think I don’t see it? You and your daughter think you can slither your way into my territory”.
“Leave my daughter out of your filthy mouth.” Mr Santiago muttered in a menacing tone. Then it happened in one breath, Fernando pulled a gun towards the direction of Mr Santiago.
“Put the gun down,” Serena said sharply as she slowly moved inside the room, every head in the room turned even her father’s. Fernando didn’t lower the weapon. “Who let in the girl?”
Serena stepped forward “I let myself in”, her voice low and cold. “You pull that trigger, and I swear—no one in this room leaves alive. Not even you, Fernando.”
Fernando chuckled and laughed, his irritation was shown clearly on his face. “Big words, princesa.”
She met his eyes,“I’m not a princess, Mr Fernando.”
Her father remained still, he didn’t blink, but his gaze held something he had always seen. She didn’t care, she moved closer her foe.
“If you’ve got a grievance, handle it like a Fernando. Not a dog, if that's what you call yourself” she said as she looked at Calus then back at him.
“Or are you scared your accusations won’t stand if you can’t back them up with a gun or was the little gift traumatising?” she smiled softly but her eyes portraying sometimes else.
Fernando’s jaw clenched. But slowly—slowly—he lowered the weapon.
Doña Valeria stomped her golden stick on the ground to draw everyone's attention. “Now that we’ve had our little moment of drama, can we get back to business?”
Serena said nothing more, she simply turned, her heart thudding, and walked out of the room like nothing had happened but she could feel her father’s gaze on her the whole time.
The ride home was colder than any threat, since her father sat beside her in the back seat of the armored car, quiet, unreadable. Cameron, too, had gone silent like he wanted nothing to do with their silent war. Outside, the city blurred by in red and shadow.
“You shouldn’t have come in,” her father finally said calmly as he stared at the window.
“You should’ve invited me in the first place,” she shot back, this time staring at her brother like he was the cause.
He looked at her. “It wasn’t your place.”
“I made it my place when a gun was aimed at your head father.” She replied swiftly, she was already pretty pissed off and wanted nothing to talk about with her father.
Silence.
She turned toward him, the adrenaline still thrumming under her skin. “You don’t see it, do you papi?.” she blurted out coldly,
“You speak with fire,” he said simply, “but this world doesn’t listen to fire. It listens to silence, to control, That’s why I’m still alive.”
Serena smiled coldly as she stares at her father. “I was born into a house full of enemies. At least now I know which ones blink.”
I raised you to be smarter than me,” he said calmly, “But sometimes fire forgets it still burns.”
“I saved your life, And yet resent me for it father.” She scoffed off, then turned her eyes to the window.
“I don’t resent you,” he said quietly. “I worry for you as a father.” Serena’s breath hitched, she hated how that got to her.
Cameron was silently listening to their heated argument, he always knew that father had a special relationship with serena which even he couldn't understand, and he bet after this heated chat tomorrow they will be talking to each other like nothing happened.
The moment the car pulled in, Serena slammed the door and marched up her room, the steps like thunder, servants scattered, her heels echoed across the marble floors like bullets, it was pretty obvious to the entire house that the Princesa had a fight with her Papi.
……….
It was 2am, She couldn’t sleep, she was restless in bed then decided to take a walk outside. Serena walked the stone paths of the garden barefoot, her silk nightdress brushing against her calves, midnight black with slits that shifted when she moved.
A matching silk robe hung loosely from her shoulders, the sash barely tied, the fabric catching the moonlight like shadows in motion. Then she saw the light in the bodyguards ward, a single glow coming from Calix’s room.
She didn’t knock on Calix’s door, she just opened it, the room smelled of whiskey and rain. He was slouched on the couch, one arm thrown over his face, boots still on, a bottle of dark liquor half-finished balanced on the floor near his hand. She stepped closer to the couch and noticed his shirt open, tattoos catching the light.
“You’re drunk,” she said, stepping away from the couch and sitting on his bed instead.
Calix looked up, amused. “And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
She rolled her eyes. “I could have you fired.”
“You could,” he said, dragging his eyes up her legs, slowly and deliberately.
“But then who’d keep you alive when you go crashing into mafia meetings?” Calix said in a lazy tone , his eyes fixed on her.
“And who told you that hm?” she asked, slightly raised her right brows like demanding him for and answer.
“I have my ways” He replied shortly never breaking the eyes contact, until when she walks up and sat beside him on the couch.
“He hates that I stepped in.”
“He’s scared of what you’re becoming,” Calix said, voice low. “Because it means he’s not the only one holding power anymore.”
She turned to him, their faces inches apart, staring at his messy face. “You scared of me too?”
“No,” he said. “I’m scared for you.”Something shifted between them. The air thickened,and there was that invisible tension that filled the room.
“You think I’m reckless,” she whispered softly.
“I think you’re dangerous, and that scares men more than guns do.” He declared calmly.
She smiled faintly, She leaned her head back against the wall, letting the moonlight paint her collarbone silver.“Careful, Calix. You're flirting.”
“I’m drunk. I don’t flirt—I confess sins.” He muttered softly under hot breath. “And what's your biggest sin?”
His eyes met hers. “Falling for someone I’m supposed to protect.”
