Chapter 3:The Don’s Demand

Rayén Altiplano POV

The smell of lavender oil always meant my mother was constructing a lie.

It was a sharp, synthetic floral scent poured over the velvet pillows of the safehouse in Bellavista. Outside the narrow reinforced window, the alleyways were quiet, but cheap perfume tried to hide defeat.

“Drink it, Rayén,” my mother murmured.

Maitén Altiplano sat on the velvet sofa, wrapped in a cashmere shawl. Her hands shook as she pressed the cup toward me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her dark hair falling over one shoulder.

I didn’t take the cup. I remained near the door, my thumb resting over the safety of the nine-millimeter tucked into my trousers.

“I don’t want tea, Mama,” I said. “I want to know why Beltrán is twenty minutes late.”

“He is taking precautions,” she whimpered. “The Errázuriz monsters are everywhere. They took your father, Rayén. They took my sweet Aconcagua…” Her voice cracked into a sob.

I looked down at her, wanting to hold her like I had as a little girl. But every time I looked at my mother’s tear-stained cheeks, an instinct whispered: watch her hands.

Maitén was a master of grand tragedies. When my father was alive, her tears had maneuvered him into executing rival captains and reshaped the underground map of Santiago.

A sharp knock echoed against the heavy iron door. Three quick raps, a pause, then two heavy thuds.

I drew my gun instantly, stepping in front of my mother as the deadbolts slid back.

The door creaked open, admitting damp night air, followed by Beltrán Valdivieso, my father’s longtime Consigliere and the last surviving member of our inner circle. His face was pale, his eyes hollowed by exhaustion, and dried mud stiffened his collar.

He locked the door and faced us.

“Beltrán,” my mother gasped. “Tell me there is hope. Tell me the loyalist families in the south are assembling. Tell me we can avenge Gonzalo and my boy.”

Beltrán didn’t look at her. His gray eyes locked onto mine.

“There is no army coming from the south, Maitén,” he said. “The regional captains signed non-aggression pacts with the Errázuriz syndicate three hours ago. The Altiplano empire is officially dissolved.”

The silence was absolute.

“Dissolved?” I repeated, stepping forward, the pistol slipping in my sweaty palm. “My father spent thirty years building our legacy. My brother gave his life in the foyer! And they just signed a paper?”

“Lautaro Errázuriz controls the ports, transport routes, and city council,” Beltrán replied, pulling a sealed folder from his coat. “The captains are businessmen, Rayén. Their loyalty lies with profit, not ghosts.”

My mother collapsed back onto the sofa, sobbing. “We are dead. They will hunt us through these alleys like dogs. They will slaughter my remaining child in front of my eyes…”

“They won’t,” Beltrán said softly. “Not if Rayén accepts the terms.”

I froze. “What terms now?”

“I met with Don Lautaro at the Las Condes fortress an hour ago. He issued an unconditional ultimatum.”

“Speak, Beltrán!” my mother begged. “What does he want? Our remaining funds? The Valparaíso shipping docks? Take them!”

“He doesn’t want the docks, Maitén,” Beltrán said. “He already has them.” His eyes returned to me. “He wants Rayén.”

The words hung in the air.

“He demands an immediate arranged marriage,” Beltrán continued, reading from the parchment inside the folder. “If Rayén signs this charter and walks down the aisle as his bride by the end of the week, the Errázuriz syndicate will declare total amnesty. The surviving Altiplano soldiers will be integrated into their ranks. Your mother will receive a secure estate in the valley with a permanent pension, and all blood debts will be wiped clean.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked, my voice steady though my heart pounded.

Beltrán looked away. “If you refuse… liquidation. Lautaro’s tactical units will clear every safehouse in Bellavista by sunrise. Every man, woman, and child bearing the Altiplano name will be put to the sword. Starting with your mother.”

My mother gasped. She scrambled off the sofa, crawling across the carpet until her fingers clutched my trousers.

“Rayén… oh, my sweet, brave girl,” she wept. “You can’t let them kill us. Look at me, Rayén! I lost your father… I lost your brother… I cannot survive another night of blood. You are my only daughter…”

She pressed her cheek against my knee. “It is a sacrifice, my darling… a terrible, cruel sacrifice. But you would be saving what is left of our blood. You would be keeping your mother alive…”

I stared down at her. Yet beneath her desperate weeping, as her hands clutched my legs, I felt the deliberate push of her fingers against my skin, driving me toward Beltrán, toward the leather folder.

She wasn’t just grieving. She was positioning me. She was offering her only daughter as a sacrificial lamb for her own survival.

I pulled back slightly, my heart breaking as I realized the monster I was truly dealing with wasn’t just outside our door, it was kneeling at my feet.

“Lautaro expects your answer by midnight,” Beltrán whispered, placing a heavy silver fountain pen on the glass coffee table beside the folder.

I looked at the black leather document, sealed with the red wax of the Errázuriz seal. The man who had slaughtered my brother, the man who had laid my father in the dirt, was offering me a throne disguised as a cage.

Slowly, I holstered my weapon and stepped over my mother’s trembling hands toward the table.

My hand hovered over the silver pen. I closed my eyes, Aconcagua’s cold, lifeless face flashing behind my eyelids, his dark blood pooling on the marble floor.

If I die tonight, his memory dies with me, I thought. If I live… I can kill Lautaro from his own bed.

I picked up the pen and pressed the tip to the parchment.

Before the ink could touch the paper, the heavy iron door of the safehouse blew inward with a deafening explosion.