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Papa did not raise a coward.
Soon, the house is bustling with activity, our staff hurrying to and fro. In the midst of the controlled chaos, I am able to slip away to my room unnoticed.
Finally alone, I sink to my knees and let the tears flow freely.
"Ay, Papa," I whisper. Oh, Papa.
Grief wells up inside me, a bittersweet ache. I mourn the loss of my hero, my guide, my strength. But even as I weep, strength grows within me—his legacy, his gift.
The empire will live on.
The funeral is a lavish affair, a spectacle of power and influence as Papa would have wanted. Important figures from all walks of life attend to pay their respects—politicians, celebrities, criminals. Each guest offers condolences and pledge thier support to me, the new heir of the Torres empire.
I stand at the front of the room, accepting words of sympathy instead of well wishes. Although my heart still aches with grief, I keep my expression neutral. To show weakness now would be a mistake.
As the funeral concludes, I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Isabella."
I turn to see my only first cousin, Juan Torres. His dark eyes framed by heavy lashes hold warmth and sympathy. "Your father was a great man. If there is anything you need, anything at all, you have only to ask. We are family, after all."
I clasp his hand firmly in gratitude. "Thank you, Juan. Your support means a great deal."
Even now, alliances are forming and shifting around me. I must tread carefully through this web of power and deceit. But for now, I will accept this gesture of goodwill. I need all the allies I can get.
The guests begin to depart, and I am left alone at last in the lavish chapel. I approach Papa's casket, resting atop a sea of flowers. His face looks pale and waxy, but still noble in death.
I place a hand on the cool wood, tears stinging my eyes once more. "Adiós, Papá. Te extrañaré."Goodbye, Papa. I will miss you.
As I exit the chapel, a young woman approaches me. She is striking, with porcelain skin and fiery red hair tumbling over her shoulders. I recognized her immediately. Clara Labourine Herrera, the sole heir to the Jalisco Cartel. A powerful friend to have and a dangerous enemy to make.
"Señorita Herrera," I say. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Please, call me Clara," she says smoothly. "I came to offer my condolences for your loss. “And..." She hesitates. "To pledge my loyalty to you, if you will have it."
I arch a brow in surprise. This is unexpected. And potentially dangerous. But if she is sincere, an alliance with the Jalisco cartel could prove useful. I must tread carefully here.
"That is most generous of you," I say. "Especially considering our families' history."
Clara's eyes flash. "The past is the past. I only wish to look toward the future,uno donde las mujeres no repitan los errores de sus antepasados, one where women don't repeat the mistakes of their forefathers. With my father soon to retire, it will fall on us to lead. An alliance could benefit us both."
I study her closely. She seems earnest, but one can never be too cautious in this world.
"And what brought about this change of heart?" I ask lightly.
Clara steps closer, lowering her voice. "The Sinaloa grow restless. They seek to control the entire trade. Together, we are strong enough to stop them. But alone..."
She lets the implication hang in the air. I feel a growing respect for this woman and her boldness. Perhaps she is right, and the time has come to set old grudges aside.
Still, caution tempers my words. "You pose an interesting idea. I will consider it carefully."
Clara nods. "I understand. All I ask is that you do not dismiss it outright. We could do great things, you and I." Her eyes burn with ambition.
The conversation ends as mourners stream from the chapel. Clara's security guy tells her it's time to leave. I bid her a polite farewell, my mind spinning with her startling proposal.
As I greet those who have come to pay respects, one thought rises above the rest:El juego ha cambiado. The game has changed. I must adapt, or risk losing everything.
Chapter 2
Stefano
