2

Javier

The restaurant was packed, but no noise penetrated the private room I was in.

The lighting was low, and the soft sound of jazz filled the space—a stark contrast to the weight of what was about to happen here.

On my side of the table, I maintained an impassive posture, not looking away from Juan Carlos, who sat across from me. He poured himself red wine with a disturbing calm, as if this meeting were nothing more than a casual dinner between old friends.

But I was not his friend. Never had been. He knew that, and he didn’t care; the only thing that mattered to him was power. And now, apparently, that power depended on the marriage between his stepdaughter and me.

I waited until he raised the glass and took the first sip before finally breaking the silence.

“So, Juan Carlos,” I began, keeping my tone cold and controlled. “Is this a confirmation?”

He set the glass down on the table and gave me a look that held something between sadistic satisfaction and a hint of cynicism. He had always been like that—smiling on the surface, venomous within.

“Of course, Javier,” he said with a calm only people like us could maintain in situations like this. “This is all for the good of our business. And from what I can tell, you already understand that the greater interests of our families must come before… personal feelings.”

I laughed—a dry, humorless sound.

Juan Carlos knew exactly what he was doing, manipulating every piece to get what he wanted. Marrying Camille meant uniting two drug empires, but it also meant trapping a girl he claimed was family in a game that would crush her.

“Feelings?” I retorted. “I thought you knew feelings have never been a part of my business.”

“Then we’re on the same page.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while a calculated smile spread across his face. “Camille will marry you. She hasn’t accepted it yet, but at this point, you’re the only one she’ll have to get used to.”

I swallowed hard, watching Juan Carlos.

I knew that behind his words was a veiled threat. Maybe not against me—but certainly against Camille herself. He wasn’t offering her hand as a mere alliance. It was a strategic move to ensure full control over his own family.

“And how did she react to the decision?” I asked, masking my interest. Part of me wanted to know how far Diego was willing to go.

He shrugged, as if his stepdaughter’s opinion mattered as little as a pawn on a chessboard.

“She has no choice. And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll understand this is the only path to ensure her safety… and her family’s.”

Those words, spoken with a casualness that disgusted me, made it clear he would do anything to get his way. He didn’t even try to hide it. It was as if he wanted me to know that she was under his control—and that if I had any interest in protecting her safety or well-being, I should be aware of that.

The silence between us stretched on as I kept watching him with cold calm, trying to read his intentions, even though deep down, I knew everything to him was just a power game.

He finally broke the silence.

“Javier, I know you’re a man who values… freedom. And I understand that this kind of alliance might feel, hmm… like a burden. But it’s something we both need to maintain control and, perhaps, expand our operations without interference.”

I nodded slowly, keeping my expression neutral.

Juan Carlos knew I was calculating enough to understand the benefits of marrying Camille. He also knew I’d never commit to anything that made me lose control of my own plans.

“And what does she think about all this?” I asked, challenging him, hoping that for once he’d let a genuine reaction slip.

He smiled, but his eyes turned cold.

“She thinks… she’s being forced. But she’s smart, and she’ll realize this is the way. In fact, she has no choice. She’s a Mendonza whether she wants to be or not, Javier. And as a Mendonza, she knows duty always comes before desire.”

That irritated me, though I didn’t show it.

He really treated his stepdaughter like a disposable piece, and maybe, deep down, I knew that accepting it made me complicit. But my position as leader of the Herrera cartel required alliances that often disregarded feelings or individual will.

I took a deep breath and stared at him without looking away.

“So be it, then,” I said at last. “Let’s make this agreement official.”

His smile widened, and he gestured to one of his men, who promptly approached with a folder. He placed it on the table and opened it, revealing the contract that would make it all official.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” Juan Carlos said, still smiling, lifting his wine glass in a silent toast.

I raised my own glass and touched his, not truly toasting—just a hollow gesture to seal the deal.

I set the glass aside and, before standing up, looked Juan Carlos in the eye one last time.

“I hope you’ve made it clear to her that she’s now my responsibility. And I don’t intend to deal with outside interference.”

He nodded, his smile never leaving his face.

“Camille is yours now, Javier. You don’t need to worry about that. We’ll meet later at my house, once the lawyer confirms everything is in order with the paperwork.”

We said goodbye with a firm handshake, and I left the restaurant, my mind racing.

The night was thick, and the city felt cold under the streetlights. As I exited the place, my men were waiting, positioned around the car. I nodded, signaling for them to follow, while thoughts of Camille and the weight of what was to come swirled in my head.

If she thought she was trapped in a cage, she had no idea that I was, too—caught in Juan Carlos’s game, bound to a war that had made me more of a prisoner than anyone.