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She shrugs, a playful glint in her eye. "Only where necessary. But as you pointed out earlier, you're hardly older than me."
I let out a loud laugh, impressed by her wit. "Touche."
Her curiosity isn't satiated yet. "So, what's Mexico like?"
I find myself smiling, filled with pride. "It's not too different from here, I suppose. We've got our share of everything, but I think we're doing much better than history says of the past decades. Though I'm extremely biased—I love my country. It’s rich with history, beauty, and wonder."
As I speak, my gaze inadvertently falls on her lips, noticing their perfect shape. And as if she senses my scrutiny, she quickly looks down. "Maybe I'll get to visit one day."
Curious, I ask her about her own travels. She looks out at the ocean, sadness in her voice. "Nowhere. Despite all my father's money, he never took me anywhere. My parents and my brother have seen the world, but me? I've never left the Philippines."
A sense of empathy washes over me. "Well, Pia," I say with a hopeful tilt of my head, "when you find that independence you're searching for, if you ever find yourself in Mexico, look me up. I'd love to show you the beauty of my country."
The offer hangs between us, an open invitation to explore a world beyond the confines of her current life, a gesture of camaraderie in our shared moment of understanding.
Chapter Five
Pia
Turning my attention back to the vast expanse of the ocean, I feel a sudden boldness take hold. "You know," I start, my voice steady as I face the endless blue, "I can help with whatever you're doing here." I twist around to catch Marco's reaction, deliberately injecting intrigue into my tone. "Which I suspect," I add, watching his expression closely, "has to do with the assassination of Senator Fuentes."
Marco's eyebrows lift in surprise, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "No offense, but how exactly do you think you can help me?" Skepticism and amusement mingle in his voice.
Batting my eyes playfully, I lean into the flirtation of the moment. "Oh, Señor Marco," I begin.
"You can call me Marco," he quickly interjects, with a hint of warmth.
I smile, feeling the electric charge of our banter move through my core. "Very well, Marco," I continue, allowing a flirtatious lilt to color my words. "I've always been the observant type. My father doesn't realize what I know about his operations. And most especially, he's unaware that I've listened in on his current dealings with El Diablo."
The admission hangs between us, a bold revelation designed to capture his interest—and it does. I can see the flicker of interest light up Marco's eyes, a clear sign that I've managed to pique his curiosity. Our conversation, playful on the surface, veils the stakes at hand.
Continuing, I tap into a well of assertiveness brewing beneath my surface, a blend of hidden danger and a simmering desire for vengeance, and something new. This Marco character, he does something to me, igniting my every nerve. "El Diablo had Senator Fuentes assassinated, as you're aware. But what you might not grasp is the breadth of their ambition. They weren't solely targeting the senator," I declare, my voice carrying an edge that slices through the air between us. "They plan to kill the president."
Marco's focus sharpens on me. "What are you saying, Pia?" His tone is urgent, disbelief battling with the dawning realization of what’s involved. "Are you really suggesting they plan to assassinate the president?"
I sidestep his question, driven to convey the full scope of the threat. "They intend to pin this on the Luna Sangrienta cartel. You'd think that was enough—wiping out the competition. But that's merely the tip of the iceberg." I pivot, facing him fully, ensuring I have his undivided attention. "The orchestrators of this chaos aren't just our local cartels. There are bigger players involved here. While I can't pinpoint their exact motives, I'm certain there's a coup attempt underway."
The revelation hangs heavy in the air, a shadow of looming peril that extends far beyond individual grievances or cartel rivalries, transcending mere information exchange and venturing into geopolitical maneuvering with implications that could alter the fate of my country.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a sudden movement, my body tensing for action. But Marco's hand shoots out, steadying. "It's all right, they're with me." I force myself to relax, suddenly conscious of Marco's bodyguards, whom I had somehow overlooked. Unlike my father's men, who impose their presence in a blatant threat, Marco's guards meld into their surroundings, almost invisible until needed.
Marco's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Joshua, what is it?"
Joshua, one of Marco's men, gives me a respectful nod before addressing Marco. "Señor Marco, Viktor needs to speak with you in private."
I catch Marco's glance, an unspoken question hanging between us. "Go ahead," I murmur, granting him the space for confidential matters.
"I'd like to finish this conversation later, if you don't mind?" Marco asks, sincerity marking his tone.
I nod, my gaze drifting back to the ocean's expanse, a silent sentinel to my turmoil. As their footsteps recede, I let out a heavy sigh and start towards the stairs leading down to the private beach. Each step carries the weight of my reality, the cool, salty air scant comfort against the backdrop of my thoughts.
Reaching the bottom, I note more guards stationed along the beach, a reminder of the fortress Don Melchor's estate has become since my arrival. The realization that this place, teeming with armed protection, might still be insufficient to shield me from my father's wrath sends a shiver through me.
The thought of Jon Marc, the man my father has chosen for me, stirs a visceral reaction. I bend over, spitting out the bitter taste of bile that rises at the memory of his face. My skin crawls with loathing for a man I detest with every fiber of my being. How could my father consider such a union? And my mother—how could she stand by, complicit in this arrangement with a man known for his cruelty and rumored to have killed his previous wife?
Collapsing onto the sand, I'm overcome by a wave of nausea and dry heaving as tears carve tracks through the grime of my face. The lashings from my brother, as brutal and demeaning as they were, pale in comparison to the revulsion I feel towards my parents. Their willingness to sacrifice me, to bind me to a monster like Jon Marc for the sake of an alliance and power, is a betrayal that cuts more profoundly than any physical wound.
Here, alone on the sand, with the vast ocean ahead and guards at my back, I'm harshly reminded of the cage my life has become. Not even the physical scars that mar my body can encapsulate the disgust and betrayal I harbor toward those who see me as nothing more than a pawn in their quest for power. The realization is suffocating, knowing the lengths they will go to, even if it means delivering me into the hands of a monster.
