“The database keys they tortured me for—I never gave them up. But last week, Carlos found where I had hidden the old digital ledger in this house. He’s trying to sell it back to the remnants of the organization to buy his way out of the country permanently. He’s going to leave us, Sofia. He’s going to take Elena, take the money, and leave you here to face the fallout when the buyers realize the ledger is heavily encrypted and can only be unlocked with my biometric data.”
My phone suddenly buzzed in my apron pocket. The harsh vibration made both of us jump.
I pulled it out with numb fingers. The screen illuminated the dim bathroom. It was a text message from Carlos.
“Traffic is bad near the northern checkpoint. Grounded for the night. Do not open the door for anyone, Sofia. Keep the security system armed. I mean it.”
“He’s lying,” I whispered, showing the screen to Alejandro.
Alejandro looked at the message, his eyes narrowing. “He’s not in Monterrey. Look at the network tag at the bottom of the automated timestamp. That’s a local cell tower indicator for the sector just outside the Guadalajara airport. He’s meeting them tonight, Sofia. And if he fails to deliver the decryption method, they won’t just come for him. They will come here to harvest what they need from me.”
Suddenly, the heavy iron gates at the front of the courtyard groaned.
It wasn’t the sound of the remote opener. It was the sound of metal forcing against metal, followed by the low, distinct rumble of a heavy engine idling in the driveway. The headlights swept through the frosted glass window of the bathroom, throwing long, predatory shadows across the wet tiles.
The Choice
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my system. The domestic illusion of my life vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the raw, primal instinct of a creature cornered.
“They’re here,” Alejandro said, his voice entirely devoid of fear—only a grim, fatalistic acceptance. “Carlos must have botched the exchange. Or they followed him back.”
“We have to call the police,” I fumbled with my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency dial.
Alejandro reached out and firmly pressed his thumb over mine, stopping me. “The local police are on their payroll, Sofia. If you call them, you are simply broadcasting our coordinates to the executioners. Look at me.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. The helpless patient was gone; in his place sat a man who had survived four months in a cartel slaughterhouse through sheer force of will.
“In my bedroom, behind the closet drywall near the floor, there is a loose panel,” Alejandro instructed, his delivery rapid but precise. “Inside is my service weapon—a Sig Sauer—and two spare magazines. There is also a flash drive with the unencrypted files. If anything happens to me, you take that drive to the Federal Consulate in the city center. Do you understand me?”
“I can’t leave you,” I said, tears finally blurring my vision. “I’ve spent three years taking care of you, Alejandro. I’m not leaving you to die in a wheelchair.”
“Then you need to help me up,” he said, a fierce, sudden light burning in his dark eyes. “They think I’m a corpse in a chair. Let’s show them how much life is left in a ghost.”
The sound of the front wooden door splintering open echoed through the halls of the house. Footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and multiple—began to filter through the silence, moving toward the back wing.
I grabbed a towel, threw it over Alejandro’s shoulders, and braced my weight against his. As the rain screamed against the roof, the quiet life I thought I knew died completely, and the battle for our survival began.
