CHAPTER 4: THE SHADOW OF GUADALAJARA

POV: Xitllali De La Rosa

As I stared through the glass, trying to see the man that stepped out of the black SUV, my thoughts went straight back to Guadalajara. 

It had been two years, but I still remembered that place more clearly than I wanted to.

It never smelled like flowers there. I remembered the cold marble floors, the smell of Guillermo's scotch, and the bleach they used whenever there was blood to clean.

Two years ago, before I became Esperanza the florist, I was Xitllali De La Rosa, the daughter of a powerful family, sold off to stitch two rival cartel territories together. My father called it an honor. He called it a strategic alliance.

But I called it a life sentence.

The Tzotzil-Vargas estate was up in the hills outside Guadalajara. It was huge, with thirty-two rooms and it had more security than any house needed. There were armed guards around the property at all times, and you couldn't go anywhere without seeing one.

My husband was Guillermo. To the rest of Mexico, he was El Crotalo, The Pit Viper.

He was twenty-seven when we married, but he was already feared by men twice his age. He was the enforcer who didn't need to shout, the tactical shadow who eliminated entire rival families between midnight and dawn without getting a drop of his own blood on his hands.

When his name was spoken, men lowered their glasses and looked toward the exits. Even the older cartel bosses spoke to him with careful words.

On the morning of our wedding, my nanny Consuelo laced me into a silk gown that cost more than a family home. Her hands trembled as she adjusted my veil. She had raised me since my mother passed away, and she knew better than anyone what kind of cage I was walking into.

"Keep your head low, my sweet girl," Consuelo had whispered in my ear, her silver rosary clicking softly against her knuckles. "Be quiet, and be obedient. A loud woman in a house like this becomes a target. Let him think you are made of glass, and he will leave you on the shelf."

I took her advice. For two long years, I played the glass doll.

I wore the soft pastel dresses Guillermo’s personal buyers chose for me. I sat quietly at the end of the long dining table while his men argued over smuggling routes. I kept my chin down and my voice soft.

They thought I was weak. I heard the guards whispering when they thought I couldn't hear them.

"El Crotalo married a songbird," they whispered in Spanish, snickering over their cigarettes. "A pretty little thing that shakes if you drop a glass."

I let them think I was soft, and broken. Their arrogance was the exact weapon I would use to cut my way out.

Every month, Guillermo held private dinners for some of the cartel bosses he did business with. There would be expensive food, bottles of wine, and more guards than usual around the house.

I always sat beside him and kept quiet. I would move my food around my plate, keep my head down, and let them think I wasn't paying attention.

They always talked freely when they thought I wasn't listening. They talked about money, territory, people who had become a problem, and places I had never heard of.

I listened to all of it.

Under the table, I kept my hand pressed against my thigh and tried to remember as much as I could.

I learned which police chiefs took bribes and when. I memorized the exact routes the armored supply trucks took. I noticed that Guillermo’s right-hand man, a cruel enforcer named Hector, had a bad left knee that made him walk slower than the rest of the guards. 

And I also remember that Guillermo had a personal guard that goes with him everywhere he goes. The only two people Guillermo really trusts are Hector and this other guy named ‘Ghost’. I never saw his face because he was always wearing a mask that concealed it. Ghost never spoke during those dinners. He just stood behind Guillermo’s right shoulder, watching every hand at the table.

Most importantly, I mapped Guillermo’s mind.

He always sat at the head of the table. He didn't talk much during those dinners, but whenever he did, everyone else stopped talking and listened.

He always drank sparkling water while the others drank wine. He noticed the little things too. A nervous waiter, a guest glancing at his gun, a guest who suddenly went quiet, or a small shift in the room temperature.

He was always so attentive and very good at reading people. He could tell when someone was lying before they had even finished a sentence.

But he never seemed to question the quiet woman sitting beside him.

Or at least, I hoped he didn't.

"You're quiet tonight, mi vida," Guillermo murmured one evening after our guests had left.

We were standing on the balcony overlooking the bright city lights of Guadalajara.

The night air was thick with the scent of flowers and exhaust. Guillermo stood behind me, his chest pressed against my back, and his massive hands resting heavily on my hips. The sheer weight of his body against mine felt like a trap I couldn't escape.

"The cigar smoke gave me a headache," I lied softly, leaning back into his chest just enough to seem submissive. "The men were so loud tonight.”

He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through my spine. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, taking a deep breath. His lips brushed the skin just below my ear, sending a shudder through me that was half fear, and half something far more dangerous that I hated to admit.

"They're all loud idiots," he rasped against my skin. "You don't need to listen to them. You don't need to listen to any of them. Your only job in this house is to stay safe. Stay here, where no one can touch you."

"I am safe," I whispered, turning in his arms to press my face against his crisp white shirt, hiding the calculating look in my eyes. "As long as I am with you."

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tightly my ribs ached. He thought he was holding a fragile treasure. He didn't know he was holding the woman who was actively plotting her escape.