The maid adjusted the mafia boss’s tie: “Your driver has a gun, don’t get in the car!” ******* PART 1 ******** In the most luxurious mansions of Las Lomas, in Mexico City, secrets weren’t hidden in safes, but behind impeccable smiles, tailored suits, and locked doors. Nora Reyes knew this well.
For eight months, she had walked the halls of the Román house like a ghost: silent, invisible, always with her eyes downcast and her ears open.
Everyone knew her as the discreet young woman who cleaned the Italian chandeliers, arranged the silverware, and changed the fresh flowers in the main office. No one imagined that, before wearing a gray apron and flat shoes, Nora had worked in Monterrey as a risk analyst for a corporate investigations firm. She had learned to read gestures, silences, trembling hands, and poorly concealed lies. That talent almost cost him his life when he uncovered a money laundering network connected to police officers, businessmen, and criminals. He fled without looking back. He changed his name, his city, and his life. The Román house seemed like the perfect place to disappear. The owner of that fortress was Vicente Román, still a young man, but hardened by distrust.
He had inherited his father’s power after a sudden and all-too-convenient death. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t make a scene. His fury was cold, precise, surgical. And that’s why everyone feared him even more.
Domestic Services
That Tuesday in October, the tension was palpable. Vicente was leaving for a key meeting in Polanco with Damián Caldera’s group, a rival family with whom he was trying to broker a truce. No one in the house said it openly, but everyone knew that this peace could be shattered with a single spark.
