Nora was cleaning the study in the west wing when she saw him through the window. Down below, next to the black armored sedan waiting at the entrance, stood Darío, Vicente’s personal driver. He had worked for the family for twelve years. He was a tough, methodical man, almost mechanical. But that morning he was different. He paced in short circles, as if trying to contain a storm within his chest. He pulled a disposable cell phone from his jacket, typed something furiously, and put it back. The air was cold, but sweat trickled down his forehead.
Nora stopped waving the rag. Then she realized the worst. Darío reached for the small of his back to adjust a gun hidden in his pants. Nora frowned. A trained driver didn’t carry a gun like that. It was an awkward position for defending the passenger… but perfect for shooting him in the back just before closing the door. She felt an icy blow to her stomach. There was no need to listen to any conversation. Darío’s body was screaming what his mouth kept silent: fear, urgency, betrayal. Footsteps echoed behind her. Mateo Salgado, Vicente’s right-hand man, crossed the hallway talking on his phone. « We’re leaving in twenty minutes. If Caldera’s men arrive with more than three, everything’s canceled. »
Nora lowered her gaze and continued pretending to clean, but inside her heart pounded wildly. If Vicente died, it wouldn’t just be a war that broke out. We employees would be the first to disappear to eliminate witnesses. Her survival depended on that man arriving alive by nightfall. She clutched the rag in her hands, took a deep breath, and made a decision that could bury her. She was going to warn him. And if she was wrong… no one would ever find his body again.The maid adjusted the mafia boss’s tie: “Your driver has a gun, don’t get in the car!”
