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Marco, however, redirects the focus with a pointed inquiry about the mole within Don Melchor's staff. The confirmation of her fate sends a shiver down my spine, the reality of our world ever-present.
As we're ushered toward the dining room, I excuse myself, needing a moment of solitude. Despite my attempts to deter him, Marco's insistence on following sets the stage for a confrontation I both dread and need.
"Pia, please, stop." His voice, laced with urgency, halts me at the bathroom door, his frame blocking my path.
"Will you please move?" I demand, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"I'm sorry," Marco blurts out earnestly, reaching for my hand with a tenderness that belies the depth of our confrontation. I instinctively pull away, creating a physical distance to match the emotional one.
"No, not like this, Marco. You cannot undermine me and expect a simple apology to smooth things over. It's about trust and respect."
He looks momentarily lost, fingers threading through his hair in a gesture of frustration and vulnerability that weakens my resolve for a fleeting moment. "I do trust and respect you, Pia. It's just… This possessive urge to protect you, it overwhelms me sometimes."
His admission of possessiveness, though born from a place of love, underscores the crux of our impasse. I can't help but glance at him even as I turn away, the admission striking a chord. "And I love that about you. Your protective instincts, Marco, but there's a fine line; a time and place. My autonomy isn't up for debate."
His pushback on the issue of my family brings us to the heart of our discord. "Pia, your brother, your father's ignorance—it's suspect. You know that."
"I'm not arguing with you about that," I admit, feeling his gaze on me. "But I need you to trust me to deal with my family alone. This isn't just about justice; it's about finding peace. I'm the one who's lived through it, Marco."
The hardness in his expression softens, replaced by a look of painful acknowledgment. "I'll handle this," I assert once more, slipping past him, the confidence in my voice leaving no room for further argument.
This raw and revealing exchange underscores the delicate balance between our fiercely independent spirits and the deep, binding love we share. It's a dance of push and pull, a negotiation of space and understanding that defines the contours of our relationship.
As I slide into the seat next to Marco, he pulls it out for me—a small gesture of civility amidst our simmering friction. The dining room buzzes with a tense undercurrent, drawing my immediate concern. "What's happened?" I ask, placing a cloth napkin in my lap, a mere distraction from my question.
Gabriel leans forward, his voice cutting through the room. "There's been an incident. When the assassination attempt on the president was thwarted, another attempt was made at the hospital. Thankfully, our team was on point and stopped it. But this raises a big question: who's now calling the shots?"
My gaze darts to my father, demanding silently. "Who is it?"
He shrugs, his indifference stoking my frustration. "I don't know. With El Diablo's top lieutenants gone, there's a void. But this…this isn't my war anymore. Our rivals are either gone or here, in this room."
Don Melchor remains silent, offering no clues, pushing me to ask further questions. "We're missing something. It's… Where are Mom and Gerald?" I ask, a sudden suspicion taking hold.
"At home, under what amounts to house arrest," my father responds, seemingly puzzled by my line of questioning.
"But you sent Jon Marc back to them," I point out, piecing the puzzle together aloud.
Marco catches on instantly, his voice low but clear. "Of course, Jon Marc and Gerald. Gerald knew enough about the plan, and Jon Marc would be informed upon his return. You're brilliant," he says, though his praise does little to quell the storm within me.
Turning back to my father, I spell out the chilling possibility. "Your precious son might be plotting against you. Gerald's the one who pushed for my marriage to Jon Marc, right? And all these connections with the foreigners… It's all linked to Jon Marc and Gerald's newfound camaraderie."
My father rises, denial and realization on his face as he paces. "Who can you trust?" I add, highlighting the precarious nature of trust in our shadowed realm.
The room falls into a heavy silence, each of us grappling with the implications of these revelations. In this game of shadows, alliances are fragile, and betrayal is often a stone's throw away.
Marco's voice snaps through the heavy air, demanding attention as he addresses me directly, "Pia, with all due respect, it's time for me to complete the mission I was sent here for. You can stay, but please do so with reverence. If you feel you cannot refrain from intervening, I must ask you to leave."
Stunned, I open my mouth to respond, but no words come. Diego chimes in, his tone firm, "In our line of work, we keep certain discussions among ourselves. It's not about excluding our wives out of disrespect; it's about protecting them."
Gabriel adds his voice, softening the edges of Diego's words. "Our wives, strong and independent, understand there are parts of our business they're better off not being involved in. It doesn't diminish them or our respect for them. It's a protective measure to keep them out of the shadows where we sometimes have to operate."
I'm torn, seeing the value of their reasoning but struggling with the desire to be involved, especially when it concerns my family. "But my situation is different, isn't it? It involves my brother."
Don Antonio then shares a perspective that stops me cold. "Actually, Pia, your situation isn't unique. Both Bella and Inés have faced their deeply personal and painful battles, much like yours. Bella could have been killed, but all the while, her father was being unfairly implicated. And Inés…" He looks away briefly. "Well, Inés, too bears scars of her own." The mention of Bella's close call and Inés's suffering underlines a shared reality among the women connected to the Cervantes men, a stark reminder of the dangers we inadvertently share.
I swivel towards Diego, realization dawning. "My gosh, I'm so sorry," I say, their shared pain pressing upon me.
Though tinged with sadness, Diego's smile speaks volumes of Inés's strength, which resonates deeply with me. "Inés is resilient, much like you. She and Bella understand why we shield them from this aspect of our business."
