Page 9 of Secrets of the Six

His mouth opens quickly and shuts just as fast. Good. I caught him off-guard. When he fails to deny my accusation, a sudden ache pulses between my thighs. Finally, as if the silence propels him to break our stare off, he says, "That's quite a leap, Señorita, and a vicious accusation."

"And yet" – I eat the little distance that remains between us and glare up at him, admiring the slight golden tint in his warm brown eyes – "you do not deny it."

Salvador's tongue slides between his teeth before breaking out into a full-blown, wicked smile. "Sleep well, Vibora." Slowly, with a confidence kings would envy, he backpedals to the door and shuts it swiftly.

Once Salvador leaves, I take the first moment of solitude to breathe.

I still can't believe I'm here.

This morning, I woke up in a cold, damp prison cell with no windows or humane comfort. I escaped death and now I'm standing in the most lavish bedroom my eyes have ever seen.

The ceiling is made of finely crafted wooden beams, and I admire the iron rod candelabra hovering overhead. The white candles appear to be brand new with little wax melted from the top.

Heavy draped curtains frame the large arched windows with an unobstructed view of the well landscaped private garden. Water lazily trickles from the alabaster fountain and combats the sound of lapping water from the sea.

The walnut headboard perched against the only stone wall in the room stands out against the fluffy white comforter of the enormous bed. Before attempting to sleep on a slab of cement in prison, I was used to resting on a small cot with a simple sheet. So, when I fall backward onto the mattress, I sink so deep I nearly disappear amongst the sheets, orange throw blanket, and multi-colored pillows.

I raise up on my elbows and notice the double glass doors leading out to a humble balcony I missed upon first entry. Probably due to Salvador's hulking frame being in the way. I run over to throw the doors open and step outside to admire the harbor and in the near distance I spot the castle where the Soberano resides. The sun is just beyond the horizon, and I'm rendered speechless from the opulent view of the capital. Lights around the city twinkle and the cacophony of laughter and celebration from the Night and Entertainment Districts wrap around me like warm embrace. Behind the gold domed capital in the Financial District, the mountains that encircle the City of Orlencia remind me that even though I might not be behind bars, I'm still not free. Orlencia in itself is a prison. A gilded, glitzy one, but a prison, nonetheless.

The only way one can truly be free here is to be wealthy and powerful. Both of which, I am not. But maybe, when all is said and done, I will be.

I sigh. The Soberano won't be defeated easily. He clawed his way to power, inflicting fear and imposing suffocating laws on those who dare to have a dream of equality. I wondered how a man with bigoted views could have risen to power so quickly without anyone challenging his baseless claims to the throne. But fear often makes the small folk prey and those who have the power to put an end to tyranny stand by and do nothing.

Unease quickly settles in the pit of my stomach. The chilling thought that even if we do manage to overthrow the Soberano and his cabinet of corrupt Dons to reseat the rightful ruler, I won't be around to taste victory, squeezes my heart. Bile rises in my throat, and I shake the thought of my doom free before I vomit.

Deciding I should freshen up before I dive into the dossiers left on my nightstand, I plop down into the leather armchair tucked in the corner and unlace my boots. I rip my socks off and plant my bare feet against the warm terracotta floors and moan in delight.

For three months, I've wished for warmth in my freezing cell, so the sensation of my toes not enduring another bitter night has me second guessing if I actually escaped. But the searing pain of Salvador pinching my arm earlier plays in my mind and I am reminded that this isn't some weird fever dream. I'm here. And I have a shot to be wealthy beyond my wildest fantasies.

I pad over to the bathroom. If I thought the bedroom was grandiose, then the bathroom is heavenly. The terracotta tiles continue seamlessly into this space and lead me to a porcelain soaking tub. The bathtub alone rivals the size of the tiny washroom I used in the Brogratto District

Once I turn the black iron nobs to fill it with water, I twist around and catch a glimpse of my reflection in a gold framed mirror mounted above two sinks. I knew I lost weight while in prison, but I had no idea how thin I had gotten. My hands fly to my cheeks as I lean closer to the glass. My green eyes are a bit sunken, and my collarbone is clearly visible, but thankfully, it's healed from the fracture inflicted by the warden my first day.

I strip the remainder of my clothing and toss them to the floor to examine myself head-to-toe. I used to pride myself on my curvy, muscular frame, but I feel as if I'm staring at a ghost. Gone is my olive skin, replaced with a paleness I'm not accustomed to, and I'm so skinny my ribs are visible. I'll need to take advantage of Doña Otero's plentiful table to put meat back on my bones. Prison might have stolen my athletic build, but it didn't break my spirit nor steal my strength. All I did, day in and day out, was stretch in my cramped quarters and do push-ups and sit ups to keep sane. With the proper nutrition, I'll regain all I lost and be back to my normal self in a matter of weeks.

Night has fallen by the time I retreat from the warm bathwater, dry myself off, and slip the silk robe left for me around my torso. Assuming I'll more than likely be asked if I did my homework in the morning, I sit on the bed, cross my legs, and spread the dossier's contents around the mattress in front of me. Doña Otero told me to commit all of this to memory, which for a normal person would be quite the task, but for me, it's easy. Whenever I case a new target's home, I take into account not only what the owners look like, but track their routines, habits, hobbies, associates, and upon inspection, get a basic layout of the house before I break in. This is the same concept, on a much larger scale.

There are twelve Dons that make up the Soberano's cabinet. Most of them are married, but there are two who are younger and single. They would be the easiest to target. Charm and womanhood go a long way to manipulate and persuade men into offering up their deepest, darkest secrets.

As I scan the documents before me, I spot Elena Lozano's file – Doña Otero's niece. Her father is Guillermo Lozano, and her mother is Marisol Otero, Doña Otero's younger sister. They run the largest olive grove in the colony. My stomach churns and my lips snarl at the thought of being surrounded by nothing but disgusting olives and endless rolling hills. With no other children to speak of, the Lozano Estate is vast and the fortune enticing. Elena, as the sole heir, would inherit everything and should she take a husband, he would benefit greatly.

No wonder Doña Otero wants me to impersonate her of-age, unwed niece. It will make my job much easier to rub elbows and steal hearts of the unmarried Dons and the sons of those who are already taken. From the portrait in Otero’s drawing room, Elena and I look eerily similar with the biggest difference between us being our eye color. She has brown eyes. Mine are green. Due to the fact Elena is a presumed invalid because of her respiratory problems, I doubt any of the Dons, or the Soberano for that matter, would recognize an imposter in their midst.

Well versed on Elena Lozano, I flip back through the information about each Don in the cabinet, their names, titles, district of oversight, family members, addresses, marital status, etc. Whoever compiled this in-depth information did a thorough job and should be given a raise. I'm sure this took weeks, if not months, to gather, and for that I'm grateful. It makes the next step of my mission easier.

The two unmarried Dons become top priority for me. Men of great wealth and power don't want a woman like me; they want a lady like Elena Lozano. Soft spoken, obedient, submissive, nurturing and one who is seen and not heard. My greatest challenge in this process will be masking my true nature to appeal to their fragile masculine egos. I've done worse in my lifetime.

Don Antonio Calvo is a single, freshly turned thirty-year-old man elected to his seat when his father Don Julio passed a year ago. A naval officer turned politician, he is the Master of Sea and spends most of his time with the sailors under his command in the Naval District – an island just off our coast with sites of the horizon. From the sketch included in his file, he's not disagreeable to gaze upon, but he's not enticing either. It would be difficult for me to weasel my way into his life. He is already committed to the sea and from the dossier, hasn't given women much time or thought.

I push his file away, declaring it a dead end, and move on to the second single Don. Rafael Canoso. He is the youngest sitting member of the Soberano's inner circle at twenty-five and is Master of Entertainment. Not originally from a family of wealth or great status, he made his fortune in the Night and Entertainment Districts. Bars, restaurants, theatres – he only has his hand in ventures that will bring him coin at the end of the day. Though he isn't the most influential member in the cabinet, he seems to have the Soberano's favor and is even tasked with throwing a festival in a couple of months to celebrate the fifteenth year of the Soberano's reign. There will be a masquerade ball, fireworks, street festivals and parades.

I scoff. It sounds as if Rafael Canoso is more than happy spending the tax money pried from the hands of the small folk with little qualms. He is selfish, greedy and presumably isn't a stranger to the warmth of a woman in his bed at night. He's perfect.

Although a plan of attack is quickly formulating in my mind, I skim through the other files just to be sure I'm not missing anything crucial. I find the Master of Justice, Don Severo Murrieta, and scowl upon seeing his sketch. The Hound of Orlencia. That's what the small folk call him. He's corrupt and cruel and I dread crossing paths with him again. Despite what I think of him, he does have a twenty-five-year-old unwed son and heir actively searching for a bride.

If things don't pan out with Rafael Canoso, I will keep Rogelio Murrieta in mind. Maybe I'll be invited for an intimate family dinner and can slaughter the lot of them. I shake my head. Wishful thinking.

The clock mounted on the wall chimes, drawing my gaze from the paperwork before me. I can't believe it's already past midnight. Salvador's last words to me were for me to get some sleep. I welcome whatever that phantom has planned for me tomorrow. I haven't been challenged in a long time, and I can't wait to put him firmly in his place. Collecting the files, I do as Doña Otero bid me and walk over to the fireplace and cast them into the fire. I watch for a moment as the pages sizzle and crinkle until they turn to ash.