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"Jorge," Carlos says, naming a young man who's been working with our family for years. "He's quick and resourceful. He can deliver the message without being detected."
"Good," I nod, my resolve growing stronger. "Write the letter. Make it clear that I want to meet with Alejandro, alone. We need to find a way to end this violence, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
"Are you sure about this, Lulu?" Carlos asks, his eyes filled with worry. "It's dangerous. There's no guarantee that El Lobo will agree to negotiate, or that Alejandro will let you walk away unharmed."
"Of course I'm not sure," I admit, my voice thick with emotion. "But I have to try. For our family, for our people. They're counting on me."
"Alright," Carlos says, his voice heavy with the weight of our task. "I'll write the letter, and we'll get Jorge to deliver it. Just promise me you won't take any unnecessary risks."
"I promise," I say, though I know there are no guarantees in this world – especially when dealing with a man like Alejandro.
* * *
The sun sets as I pace the floor of our safe house, my eyes darting between the clock and the door. The men are out there, trying to make contact with El Lobo's camp, but every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity. My heart beats fast, a relentless rhythm in my chest, echoing the anxiety coursing through me.
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, my fists clenching and unclenching.
"Relax, Lulu," my sister says from her perch on the couch. "You're making me nervous."
"Sorry," I say, forcing a smile. "I just can't help it. There's so much at stake."
"Trust our boys," my mother replies, laying a comforting hand on my arm. "They'll pull through for us."
I nod, wanting to believe her, but my thoughts drift to Giovanni – his dark hair, his piercing eyes, the way he held me as if I were the most precious thing in the world. Is he thinking about me right now? Does he even know what I'm risking for my family?
But my musings are interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The men have returned, their faces etched with tension, though they try to hide it.
"Did you get word to El Lobo?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Jorge managed to slip the letter to Rafael during a drop-off," Carlos says, his tone measured. "We don't know if it's been read yet, but we did our part."
"Good," I say, swallowing hard. "Now, we wait."
"Waiting is the hardest part," Sofia murmurs, and I can't help but agree.
As hours stretch into days, we continue to wait for a response from El Lobo. The tension in the air is palpable, like an electric current running through the room, making my skin tingle with anticipation. We maintain radio silence, our eyes glued to the news as reports of escalating violence fill the screen – a grim reminder of what we're up against.
I can't help but wonder if I'm doing the right thing, if my attempt to negotiate with El Lobo will only put my family in more danger. But the alternative – doing nothing – is even more unbearable.
"Have faith," my mother whispers to me late one night, as I lay sleepless on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "The answer will come."
"Will it?" I ask, my voice raw with emotion. "Or are we just fooling ourselves?"
"Only time will tell," she says, hugging me tightly. "But no matter what happens, I believe in you, Lulu."
"Thank you," I say, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Internally, I just hope that's enough.
ChapterThirty-Six
Sweat beads on my forehead as I sit at the head of the conference table, my fingers flying across the keyboard. The soft hum of the computer does little to silence the cacophony of thoughts swirling in my head, all of them centered on Lulu. Her brown eyes and curly black hair haunt me as I try to focus on the numbers flashing on the screen before me.
"Alright, everyone," I say without looking up, "let's go over the fourth quarter results."
Lawrence, Victor, Roman, and Sebastian exchange glances with one another as they shuffle papers, trying to make sense of the disjointed mess I've made of our meeting. Their voices mix together like a symphony, but the melody is lost on me.
"Shipping is up by fifteen percent from last year," Lawrence reports, his deep voice cutting through the noise.
"Real estate is doing well too," Victor chimes in, the suaveness of his tone unmistakable. "Our latest developments are already eighty percent occupied."
