Chapter 3 - THE DANCING THIEVES
"Gabriel, no," Valeria grabbed the hem of my jacket, her fingers clutching the fabric like a lifeline. "Don't go in there. Roberto has armed guards. He’s connected to local politicians, he’s dangerous now—"
"Let him be dangerous," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a register so quiet and flat it frightened even myself. I reached down, scooped Mateo into my arms—he felt heartbreakingly light, like a bundle of dry sticks—and handed him back to his mother. "Hold him, Valeria. Sit right here. I’m going to go say hello to my brother."
I walked away from the dark corner of the yard, past the pristine luxury SUVs parked in the wide driveway, and headed straight toward the brightly lit double doors of the house. The heavy mahogany doors were unlocked, left ajar to let the cool night air mix with the heat of the celebration.
As I stepped across the threshold into the expansive marble foyer, the noise hit me like a physical wave. Reggaeton music blasted from high-end speakers. The air was thick with the expensive scent of designer perfume, cigar smoke, and roasted meats. People in designer clothes and sparkling jewelry stood around the custom kitchen island, drinking tequila out of crystal glasses.
At the center of it all stood my older brother, Roberto.
He had put on weight. He wore a custom tailored linen shirt unbuttoned at the top to display a thick gold chain I had undoubtedly paid for. Hanging off his arm was a woman I had never seen before—fake blonde hair, heavy makeup, laughing loudly as she accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter.
"To new beginnings!" Roberto shouted over the music, raising his glass high. "And to getting rid of old ghosts that cost too much to maintain!"
The crowd cheered, glasses clinking in a chorus of oblivious celebration.
I didn't shout. I didn't rush them. I simply walked into the center of the living room, planting my boots firmly on the imported Italian tile, and stared straight at my brother.
It took a few moments for the guests to notice the stranger standing among them in a salt-stained, wrinkled work jacket and travel-worn boots. Conversations sputtered out, one by one. The music continued for a few seconds before someone hit the pause button, plunging the room into an abrupt, heavy silence.
May you like
Roberto turned around, his smug, drunken smile plastered across his face. But the second his eyes locked onto mine, the color drained completely from his skin. The glass in his hand slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp, explosive crack.
"G-Gabriel?" Roberto stammered, taking an involuntary step back, his eyes wide with sheer terror. "You're... you're supposed to be in the Pacific."
