Chapter 16 - No SignalSofía knew immediately.
The trap had failed.
Not entirely. Elena’s team still knew the warehouse location. Mateo and the police were still somewhere outside. Diego was still alive, unless Alonso had already betrayed the exchange beyond what they planned.
But the transmitter was dead.
The little red blink beneath her blouse meant Alonso had jammed the signal before she crossed the door.
She was alone in the only way that mattered.
Alonso Vega watched her realize it.
His smile returned.
“Did you think I survived thirty years in shipping because I don’t check for toys?”
One of his men stepped forward and ripped the transmitter from Sofía’s blouse. He crushed it under his shoe.
Father Anselmo closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Sofía forced herself to breathe.
“Don’t be. This was still better than your chapel.”
Alonso chuckled. “I see why Diego likes you. Terrible survival instinct, but entertaining.”
He moved closer.
Up close, he smelled of expensive cologne and cigarettes. His suit was perfect. His eyes were flat.
“Where is the original sketchbook?”
Sofía said nothing.
Alonso nodded to one of his men.
The man struck Father Anselmo across the face.
“Stop!” Sofía shouted.
Alonso lifted one finger.
The man paused.
“I dislike repetition,” Alonso said. “So let us speak plainly. You will tell me where the original materials are. Then you will record a statement admitting that you and your mother fabricated claims against the Mendoza, de la Cruz, and Vega families in an attempt to extort money from Diego. Afterward, you may live.”
Sofía laughed softly.
She could not help it.
Alonso’s eyes narrowed.
“You find that funny?”
“No. I find it lazy.”
His smile disappeared.
“You rich criminals all write the same script. Poor woman lies. Rich man confused. Evidence misunderstood. Everyone powerful innocent by dinner.”
Father Anselmo made a faint sound that might have been a laugh.
Alonso slapped Sofía.
Her head snapped sideways. Pain exploded across her cheek. She tasted blood.
For one second, fear surged hot and wild.
Then anger burned it clean.
Sofía looked back at him.
“Lucía was right,” she said. “You are all terrified of women who can read.”
Alonso’s face hardened.
Outside the warehouse, a horn sounded.
Once.
Then twice.
Alonso turned sharply.
One of his men ran to the door, spoke into a radio, then cursed. “Police roadblock at the east access.”
Alonso looked back at Sofía.
“You brought them.”
“You invited us.”
His eyes chilled.
“Move the priest. Kill the girl if necessary.”
The words landed like ice.
Two men grabbed Father Anselmo’s chair. Another seized Sofía’s arm.
That was when the warehouse lights went out.
Darkness slammed down.
A second later, gunfire erupted outside.
Elena.
Sofía dropped instantly, twisting out of the man’s grip. A bullet sparked against metal overhead. Men shouted. Father Anselmo cried out.
“Sofía!” Diego’s voice roared from somewhere beyond the loading doors.
He had come inside.
Of course he had.
“That idiot,” Sofía gasped.
She crawled toward Father Anselmo’s voice, using the chaos as cover. Someone’s foot kicked her ribs. She bit back a cry and kept moving.
Her hand found the priest’s shoe.
“Father.”
“My hands,” he whispered.
She reached behind the chair, fingers fumbling with rope. Too tight.
She needed a blade.
A gunshot flashed nearby, briefly lighting the floor.
There—a broken strip of metal near a crate.
Sofía stretched, grabbed it, and sawed at the rope until her fingers cramped. The rope loosened.
“Can you stand?”
“With God and poor balance.”
“Good enough.”
She pulled him up.
A shape appeared behind them.
Alonso.
He grabbed Sofía by the hair and yanked her backward.
Pain tore across her scalp. Father Anselmo shouted. Sofía slammed her elbow back, but Alonso was stronger. He wrapped an arm around her throat and dragged her against him.
The emergency lights flickered on.
Red.
Diego stood twenty feet away, gun in hand, blood on his forehead.
He froze when he saw Sofía.
Alonso pressed a pistol beneath her jaw.
“Drop it.”
Diego dropped the gun instantly.
Sofía wanted to scream at him.
Alonso smiled. “There he is. The boy who chooses girls over empires.”
Diego’s eyes stayed on Sofía.
“Let her go.”
“Still giving orders in burning rooms?” Alonso said. “Your father did that too.”
Diego’s face changed.
Alonso noticed.
“Oh yes. He was there the night Lucía died. Did you not know? Isabel made the call. De la Cruz cleaned the payment. My driver hit the girl. But your father watched from the gate.”
Sofía felt Diego’s devastation like a physical thing.
Alonso leaned closer.
“He watched because she was carrying copies of documents that could destroy all of us. And because she had convinced you to become decent. Your father considered that unacceptable.”
Diego looked as if something ancient inside him had finally collapsed.
Alonso tightened his arm around Sofía.
“Now history offers you mercy. Walk away. Sign the retraction. Let me leave with the priest’s satchel. The girl lives.”
Diego looked at Sofía.
She could barely breathe.
But she managed one word.
“No.”
Alonso snarled, “Shut up.”
Diego’s eyes shifted.
Not to her.
Behind Alonso.
Sofía understood a half second before Carmen López stepped from the shadows holding a flare gun with both hands.
Her mother’s voice shook with rage.
“Take your hands off my daughter.”
Alonso turned.
Carmen fired.
The flare struck a stack of oil-stained tarps beside him. Fire bloomed instantly, violent and bright. Alonso stumbled, screaming as sparks caught his sleeve. Sofía dropped from his grip and rolled away.
Diego lunged.
He tackled Alonso to the floor as Elena and Mateo burst through the side entrance with police behind them.
Everything became noise.
Commands. Sirens. Fire. Men surrendering. Father Anselmo praying breathlessly in Spanish.
Carmen reached Sofía and pulled her into her arms.
Sofía clung to her, shaking.
“You were supposed to stay at the hospital,” Sofía sobbed.
Carmen held her tighter.
“You never listen either.”
Across the warehouse, Diego stood as police dragged Alonso Vega up from the floor. Alonso’s face was twisted with hatred.
“You think this ends with me?” he spat.
Diego stepped close.
“No,” he said. “It ends with all of you.”
Alonso laughed.
Then he looked at Sofía.
“The maid still doesn’t know the best secret.”
Diego went still.
Sofía’s blood chilled.
Alonso smiled through blood.
“Ask Carmen who Sofía’s father really worked for.”
Carmen’s arms tightened around her daughter.
Too tightly.
Sofía slowly pulled back.
“Mamá?”
May you like
Carmen’s face had gone white.
And in the burning warehouse, surrounded by police and smoke and the ruins of another powerful man, Sofía realized her mother had not told her everything.
