CHAPTER 34: THE BITTER MORNING

Xitllali

I woke up to the sound of quiet, steady breathing.

For a few seconds, I didn't open my eyes. My whole body ached as if I'd been beaten. My back was stiff, my neck hurt, and both my legs were numb from sitting on the cold floor all night.

I slowly opened my eyes.

The cellar was still dark, but a little gray light came through the cracks in the wooden door above us. Morning had come.

I looked down at my lap. Guillermo was still asleep, but he looked different now. The painful frown on his face was gone, and his jaw was relaxed.

I reached out with my hand and gently touched his cheek with the back of my fingers.

His skin was cool. It was a little damp with sweat, but the terrible heat from the night before was gone. The thick clay packs I'd placed on his chest and neck had dried overnight, leaving cracked patches against his skin.

He was safe. He was going to live.

I let out a long, shaky breath. Then I leaned my head against the dirt wall and closed my eyes. It felt as if a heavy weight had finally lifted from my chest.

"He made it," a tired voice whispered from the shadows.

I turned my head. Valdo was sitting on the floor beside the wooden ladder. His rifle rested across his knees, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. But he looked at me with deep relief and gratitude.

"His fever went down a few hours ago," I whispered, my throat dry and sore. "He's just sleeping now."

Valdo lowered his head and quickly made the sign of the cross.

"Thank God. And thank you, Señora. I don't know anything about herbs. If you hadn't been here, I don't know what would have happened."

I looked at my hands. They were covered in dark soil and dried gray mud. My sweater was torn, and I felt nothing like a hero. I was just exhausted and confused by my own feelings.

Suddenly, Guillermo moved.

A low groan escaped his throat. His shoulders tensed, and his eyelashes began to move.

I froze and held my breath.

His eyes slowly opened. At first, he looked confused. He stared at the wall across the cellar and blinked a few times before taking a deep, shaky breath.

Then he tried to sit up.

The moment he moved his injured shoulder, he hissed in pain. He was so weak that he immediately fell back onto my lap.

"Don't move," I said quickly, placing my hands on his uninjured shoulder to keep him still. "You're completely exhausted. Just lie still."

He went still at the sound of my voice. Then he slowly turned his head and looked up at me.

His tired eyes stayed on my face for a moment before he spoke.

"Water," he rasped. His voice was so weak and rough that I barely recognized it.

"Valdo, the canteen," I whispered.

He quickly crawled over and handed me the metal bottle. I carefully placed one hand behind Guillermo's neck and lifted his head a little. Then I held the canteen to his lips.

He drank slowly, swallowing with difficulty. His eyes never left my face.

When he finished, I gently lowered his head back onto my lap.

He didn't look like a terrifying cartel boss anymore. Without his guns, power, and strength, he looked like a man who had been pushed to his limits.

He licked his dry lips and tasted the bitter paste still in his mouth.

"Willow bark," he murmured.

"It helped bring your fever down," I whispered.

He looked at his bare chest and noticed the thick, dried mud covering it. The torn strips of my sweater were still holding it in place. Then he looked at my bare arms, which were shaking from the cold, and my hands covered in dried soil.

Then he slowly moved his right arm and reached for his thick, dark coat lying beside us on the floor. He pulled the coat toward him and draped it over my shoulders.

"You're freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," I replied quickly. "You need to rest."

"Keep it on," he insisted weakly before letting his hand fall back to the floor.

I sat there, staring at him in surprise. He had almost died only a few hours ago, yet his first thought after waking up wasn't about his enemies or what had happened. He was worried about me being cold.

The coat smelled like him, with the familiar scent of cedar and rain. I pulled it closer around my body, feeling a strange ache in my chest.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to remember the man who had kept me trapped in a golden cage two years ago. But the man lying on the floor now was only trying to keep me warm.

He took a slow, deep breath. His expression grew serious as he looked toward Valdo.

"Hector," he rasped, looking over at Valdo. "What is his ETA?"

Valdo shook his head. He reached into his pocket and held up a thick black satellite phone. "I can't get a signal down in this cellar, Boss. The ground is blocking it. But before we came down here, Hector sent a message. The convoy is still a few hours away. They won't reach the city limits until later."

Guillermo's jaw tightened. "Keep checking the signal. We just need to hold our ground until they arrive."

We stayed that way in the quiet cellar, sharing a tense moment of peace.

Then the wooden door above us suddenly shook.

The softness in Guillermo's face disappeared at once. His eyes opened wide, and his expression turned hard. Despite his weakness, his hand moved toward his waist, searching for a gun that wasn't there.

Valdo immediately raised his rifle and aimed it at the ceiling.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my chest.

The door opened, and someone climbed down the wooden ladder before dropping onto the floor with a soft thud.

It was Mateo.

He quickly pulled the door shut behind him, leaving us in the dim light again. He was breathing hard, sweat running down his face. His hands shook as he held his weapon.

"Boss," Mateo gasped, his voice full of panic.

"Report," Guillermo ordered.

His voice was weak, but the authority he carried as the King of Jalisco was still there.

"Severo's men have stopped searching blindly," Mateo said quickly, looking from Guillermo to me. "They've figured out we didn't leave the city. They know we're hiding somewhere in this neighborhood."

"Are they coming back to search the ruins upstairs?" Valdo asked, tightening his grip on his rifle.

"No." Mateo swallowed hard before looking directly at me. His face showed how sorry he was for what he had to say.

"They're going from house to house on the street behind us, dragging people out of their beds."

Fear settled in my stomach.

"What are you saying, Mateo?" I whispered, feeling cold all over.

"They took an old woman who runs the fruit cart on the corner, Señora," he said, his voice shaking. "They have her kneeling in the middle of the street."

He paused, taking a ragged breath.

"And they're shouting through a megaphone. They said they'll shoot one innocent person every twenty minutes until someone tells them where the florist is hiding."

The cellar seemed to spin around me. I struggled to breathe.

They were going to kill my neighbors. The innocent people who had smiled at me, bought my flowers, and welcomed me into their town. They were going to die one by one because of us.