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Once a silent witness to the countless undercurrents of power and machinations, the room now trembles under a long-in-the-making confrontation. My father, the pillar of the Mendoza legacy, turns on Gerald with a ferocity that belies his always-controlled demeanor.
"Tatay," Gerald beseeches with his hands raised. "We can have this conversation peacefully."
"Peace? In this house?" My father's once calm and assured voice cracks with raw, unguarded emotion as he confronts Gerald. "You dare to breach the sanctity of our family, to impose your cruelty upon your sister under my roof?"
My brother scoffs. "Pia is—" But his words fall flat as my father puts his entire weight behind a heavy blow that sends Gerald to the ground.
Gerald, defiant to the core, scrambles to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. "I was maintaining order, ensuring respect—"
"Respect?" my father spits, his voice contrasting sharply with the commotion, embodying both horror and disbelief. "By whipping your sister like a common criminal? Is that the Mendoza way?" His hands tremble, whether from rage or self-control, it's hard to tell. "When have I ever taught you to raise a hand to a woman?" He turns, his gaze sweeping the room and landing on each of us. "There will be no wedding today," he declares, his words slicing through the air. "I will reconsider the arrangement."
He faces his men, his command unequivocal: "Secure the compound. No one in, no one out. We must reassess our position and understand our enemies, both outside and within."
Then his eyes find mine, softening ever so slightly. "Pia, we will talk later. There's much to be said. Much to be mended." His voice, a mix of resolve and vulnerability, offers a flicker of hope in the gathering darkness.
As he walks away, the promise of a conversation hangs in the air, a beacon in the tumultuous storm of family politics. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, the tide could be turning in my favor lingers—a sliver of light in the depth of night.
But the scars of betrayal run deep, and the path to reconciliation is uncertain. As the door closes behind him, leaving me to ponder the unfolding events, I realize that while this battle is beginning, the war for my soul, for the soul of the Mendoza family, will not end so quickly.
Yet, the reality of my situation, trapped within the gilded cage of my family's making, presses heavily upon me. The need to escape and reunite with Marco, my beacon in the darkness, is overwhelming.
In this moment of tumult, where alliances shift and masks fall, the thought of Marco, our love that defies the darkness surrounding us, fuels my determination. No matter the cost, I know I must find a way back to him. To the promise of a future where love, not power, reigns supreme.
Chapter Fourteen
Marco
As the aircraft prepares for takeoff, the urgency of our mission palpable in the air, Viktor and I take our seats, our focus sharp. The concerted movements of our people—choppers, vehicles, jets—mirror the enormity of our situation. I've mobilized every asset at our disposal, sparing no expense. My phone's ring slices through the hum of preparation, a call that could pivot our course.
"Tito?" My greeting is cautious, aware that every second counts.
Don Melchor's voice, heavy with concern, fills the line. "Marco, thank God. I've just talked with Don Angelo Mendoza, Pia's father. He's requesting a meeting."
The plane is moving, the runway blurring beneath us as we gain speed. "When?" I ask, my chest tightening at the mention of Pia's father.
"As soon as possible," comes the urgent reply.
I glance around the cabin, the reality of our departure stark against the backdrop of this request. "It'll have to wait. We're on our way to Pangasinan," I inform him, the plane now taking to the air.
A sigh filters through the phone, hinting at what's left unsaid. "Marco, there's a situation unfolding," Don Melchor starts, pausing as if searching for the right words. "A shift is happening within the cartels."
"What type of shift?" I press for clarity, knowing full well the cartel dynamics could mean anything.
"It's the Talim ng Dagat and the Halimaw ng Hilaga cartels. There's tension, possibly a fallout, much of it stemming from Gerald Mendoza's actions towards Pia," he reveals.
"Why?" My query is sharp, the urgency in my voice and racing through my veins.
"Angelo was apparently unaware of Gerald's…treatment of Pia," Don Melchor continues, disbelief in his tone.
The news about the cartels doesn't surprise me, but Don Angelo's alleged ignorance does. "Did he truly not know?" I ask, my voice threaded with skepticism.
"He claims ignorance, and while I find it convenient, especially now, it's a strong tactic. You know, given your connection to Pia," Don Melchor advises, his loyalty to the truth evident.
Acknowledging the complexity and the potential for deception, I make a decision. "Set up the meeting. Tonight, at your place in Caba. Ensure Pia is there," I state, the plan forming amidst the chaos.
We finalize the arrangements quickly, and as I hang up, the world outside the window stretches wide, a landscape unaware of the turmoil above. We're en route, the clandestine airstrip our imminent destination, with hope our swift ally.
Touching down on the airstrip feels like breaking free from a temporal loop. The urgency of our mission grounds me back in the reality of our grim task. Vehicles are lined up, engines purring in anticipation, a silent testament to the meticulous planning that has gone into this operation. We transition from the plane to the SUVs with practiced efficiency, our departure from the airstrip a blur of motion that leaves any notion of jurisdiction in the dust.
