Chapter 13

New York, America.

Two days later – the day of departure.

The sky over New York was steel-grey, heavy with the promise of rain. A soft wind tangled the leaves on the pavement as luxury sedans waited quietly outside a discreet, high-walled safehouse tucked in the quieter part of the city. Inside, everything was in motion — quiet, calm, but purposeful.

Agustin stood by the front window, dressed in a tailored black coat, his phone to his ear, giving one last confirmation to his team in Spain. His face was calm as always — but his eyes stayed sharp, scanning more than they showed. He’d been watching every door, every vehicle outside for hours now.

Because he knew eyes were on him.

And he knew why.

For the last two days, his men had quietly reported signs of someone watching from afar — unmarked cars parked too long, strangers pretending to scroll on phones, a drone caught flying too close to the rooftop cameras. His enemy had noticed his presence in America, but he didn’t yet know what for.

And that gave him a small edge.

When he was leaving for America he already saw this coming because Zavier never let any chance or stone unturned to find about something which he could use against them as bait. Till now he couldn't understand what issue he has gotten from the family why he is always on their backs. But no matter how much he tried to make a peace treaty, it wasn't accepted by him. He just wanted revenge.

Revenge for something he and his family never did, revenge for something which is really absurd. He is just brainwashed by his uncle as far as Agustin could remember and since then he's always been behind them for his revenge. He wants to destroy the whole Fernandez family's existence and that's why his men were there trying to find any solid bait against them and he couldn't let Innara get involved in it.

"Quiero que su existencia conmigo sea confidencial. Cueste lo que cueste, pero nadie debe saber que está conmigo." Agustin ordered on the phone connected to his ear already.

(Translation: I want her existence with me to be confidential. No matter what it takes but no one should know about her being with me.)

From the other side there came a voice of assurance and then he hung up the call. Finally he was done with all the work and now they'll be leaving soon for Spain. He has already asked his management team to make his apartment cosy for a pregnant woman and keep all the essentials for her. He hoped that he wasn't doing something wrong because he deliberately already has caused enough harm to her.

Inside the house, the air was warm and welcoming. The rescued girls, now cleaner, calmer, dressed in fresh clothes, were ready to board the plane. Most had been registered under new identities, their pasts buried carefully by Agustin's people. Their faces were brighter now — not free of trauma, but blooming slowly with hope.

And in the guest room upstairs, Innara sat by the window, her eyes half-lost in the moving clouds. A soft sweater stretched over her growing belly. Her hair was tied back loosely. She looked… different. Not healed. But alive. In the last two days, they hadn’t spoken much — but just enough.

Agustin never pushed.

Sometimes he’d sit across from her during tea, asking simple things — "Are you sleeping better?" "Do you feel hungry?"

"What does the baby like to eat?"

She’d answer in short words. Sometimes with silence. She was still trying to grasp the situation and trusting him was the hardest thing for her. Even if he was her savior she couldn't forget what the men around her always used to do since she was a kid so being cautious for sometime seemed the better option to her but she appreciated how he tries to know about her health, about the- baby.

That had been more than enough for her.

Now, as the clock ticked closer to departure, one of Agustin's men entered silently and gave him a nod.

"Todo despejado. Los coches están listos." Agustin nodded without looking at him.

(Translation: All clear. Cars are ready.)

He turned away from the window and headed upstairs. At the top, he paused outside her room and knocked gently.

A moment later, the door opened. Innara stood there — dressed simply, a small bag in her hand, a soft nervousness in her eyes.

"You ready?" he asked. She nodded. Slowly.

He didn’t offer his hand — just a soft smile. "Come. The others are waiting."

As they walked downstairs together, unseen from a nearby rooftop, a man adjusted the focus of his long-lens camera, snapping picture after picture of Agustin with the girl. He zoomed in… but never caught her face clearly. A breeze caught her scarf just in time, shadows from the trees cast across her features, blurring every shot.

He cursed under his breath.

Still no identity. No name. No trace of who she was.

But he knew something — Agustin, the feared son of the Spanish mafia, had just risked exposing himself on foreign ground for someone. And whoever she was, she wasn’t just another rescue.

He clicked one more picture as the car pulled away. Then he made the call.

"Ellos se estan moviendo." he informed his boss with a smirk knowing he would get a reward for such useful information he got.

(Translation: They’re moving.)

"Y no está solo-" before he could complete his sentence suddenly his neck was snapped and he was dead right at the spot.

(Translation: And he’s not alone-)

The men assigned by Agustin were hiding in the spots and already killed all of the men sent by Zavier and he was the last one who was ready to send the photos to him but before he could get successful in it they killed him right there destroying the camera as well as the snapped pictures. Then they left from there leaving the dead bodies laying there carelessly.

____________

Mexico City.

Somewhere in the underworld of Mexico — a dimly lit office, soaked in silence and rage. The sound of a chair slamming back against a wall shattered the stillness.

A tall man stood at the center of the room, his jaw clenched, eyes burning beneath the dim golden light. Zavier Garcia, a name whispered in fear across continents, slammed his fist onto the heavy wooden desk, cracking the glass ashtray that sat untouched beside him.

"Ellos estan muertos?" His voice was quiet — too quiet.

(Translation: They’re dead?)

"Sí, señor." the trembling man across from him stammered.

(Translation m: Yes, sir.)

"Nuestros doce ojos en Nueva York. Se fueron. Desaparecieron." He completed with his feet trembling due to fear.

(Translation: All twelve of our eyes in New York. Gone. Vanished.)

Zavier turned slowly, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His sleek black suit was immaculate, but his rage couldn’t be dressed up. He moved like a coiled predator — controlled, but seconds from snapping.

"Y Agustín?" he asked, venom coiled in every syllable.

(Translation: And Agustin?)

"Perdimos la visibilidad. Las cámaras estaban desactivadas. Los drones fueron interceptados. Salió del país esta mañana." the man answered and looked down immediately praying to get saved from worse.

(Translation: We… we lost the visual. The cameras were disabled. The drones intercepted. He left the country this morning.)

Zavier stared at the wall for a long second, breathing hard through his nose. Then suddenly, with a swift motion, he hurled the broken ashtray at the wall. It shattered, spraying glass across the marble floor.

"Doce de mis hombres entrenados." he muttered, pacing like a beast in a cage.

(Translation: Twelve of my trained men.)

"Muerto en las sombras. Sin ruido. Sin rastro. Eso significa que sabía que estaban allí antes de que se movieran." He stopped pacing and turned back.

(Translation: Dead in the shadows. No noise. No trace. That means he knew they were there before they moved.)

"Lo que significa que alguien dentro de mi territorio está hablando." He said and then the room went dead silent.

(Translation: Which means someone inside my territory is talking.)

The under bosses standing near the door didn’t dare blink.

"No vino a Estados Unidos a exhibir su poder. Fernández no se mueve así. Vino por alguien. Alguien oculto. Alguien importante." Zavier said trying to understand that rescuing the girls was the only purpose of Agustin Fernandez's visit to America.

(Translation: He didn’t come to America to flex power. That’s not how Fernandez' moves. He came for someone. Someone hidden. Someone important.)

Zavier couldn't believe the fact that Agustin went to America just to rescue the girls he wanted to know what was more to it. 'Was he there to know about that horrendous and treacherous night of him there? Because why suddenly they decided to rescue the girls of the brothel he went to a few years ago? Did he get to know about that night? But he himself doesn't remember about that night then how can someone else not know about it?'

"Señor, nos informaron que no estaba solo al salir." The man informed breaking the chain of his thoughts and his dark grey orbs snapped towards him.

(Translation: Sir we were informed that he wasn't alone while leaving .)

He leaned down over the desk, face inches from the spy’s terrified eyes.

"¿Quién estaba con él?" He asked in his low menacing voice sending chills to that man's bones.

(Translation: Who was with him?)

"Según los lugareños que pasaban por allí había una niña." The man informed him.

(Translation: According to the locals passing by there was a girl.)

"Descubra quién es ella." Zaiver ordered without beating around the bush.

(Translation: Find out who she is.)

"Pero-" before the man could question him

Zavier grabbed his collar and pulled him in.

(Translation: But—)

"No me importa si hay que escarbar entre cenizas o tumbas. Tú encuentras a la chica. Porque en cuanto sepa su nombre..." His voice dropped lower, deadlier.

"…La familia Fernández arde." He completed his sentence with a maniac look in his eyes.

(Translation: ...The Fernandez family burns.)

Then he shoved the man away with such force that he stumbled into the wall. Zavier turned around, adjusting the cuff of his jacket with eerie calm. There was a blank look in his eyes because he knew if Agustin had some girl involved in the whole mess then the girl wasn't someone normal or a random girl. She must be special that's why she was with him and now he just had to find out about her.

The man scurried away from there in fear because he knew Zavier's rage was intensifying. The storm outside mirrored the storm within.

Rain thudded heavily against the tall stained-glass windows of the estate. Inside, the long mahogany table was empty save for the remnants of broken glass, scattered cigars, and a monitor still blinking with the last image his men had transmitted — the tail lights of Agustin's black SUV disappearing into the New York shadows.

Zavier stood at the edge of the room, his back turned to the men, staring into the fireplace like a mad priest at an altar. The flames flickered against his reflection in the glass, painting him in ghostly orange.

"Fueron mis mejores ¿no?" he asked, voice low but steely.

(Translation: They were my best, weren’t they?)

"Sí, jefe. Entrenado, leal. Operarios de grado de sombra". The underboss hesitated feeling scared for their life now because he has started to act like a psychopath.

(Translation: Yes, boss. Trained, loyal. Shadow-grade operatives.)

"Y ahora no son más que huesos y sangre en el pavimento americano." he growled, spinning around so fast the wine glass on the desk tipped.

(Translation: And now they’re nothing but bones and blood on American pavement.)

"¡Los enviaste a observar, no a morir como ratas callejeras!" He growled out angrily like an animal making everyone take two steps back in fear.

(Translation: You sent them to observe. Not to die like street rats!)

His eyes were crimson with fury now, his voice rising into something primal. He kicked the edge of a chair, sending it crashing into the bookcase behind. Several books spilled to the floor.

"Alimenté a esos hombres. Les enseñé a desaparecer, a matar, a no ser atrapados jamás. Y fueron aniquilados en un instante por los hombres de Agustín." he snarled.

(Translation: I fed those men. I taught them how to disappear, how to kill, how to never be caught And they were wiped out in a blink by Agustin's men.)

He spat the name like poison.

"¿Sabes lo que significa eso?" He questioned furiously.

(Translation: Do you know what that means?)

No one dared answer.

He stepped closer, slowly circling his own men. His fingers drummed on the carved edge of the table — each tap sharper than the last.

"Significa que Agustín los estaba esperando. Significa que los vio venir y no dijo nada. No hizo nada. Les hizo creer que lo estaban observando..." He paused, jaw tight, his voice whispering now.

(Translation: It means Agustin was waiting for them. It means he saw them coming — and said nothing. Did nothing. He let them think they were watching him…)

"…mientras los veía sangrar." He completed his sentence and turned around again.

(Translation: …while he was watching them bleed.)

He reached for the monitor, eyes narrowing at the blurred shadows in the last drone shot which was the only thing that could be recovered by his men. A woman’s silhouette — faint, brief — shielded by the doorway.

He grabbed a thick glass decanter off the cabinet and hurled it across the room. It shattered with a thunderous crash, and the guards flinched. Liquid soaked the carpet. Zavier didn’t care. He was pacing now like a man possessed. Then he stopped again, smiling darkly. He turned his gaze to the blood-red curtains, rain pounding behind them.

"No me importa cuánto tarde. Agustín me quitó mi orgullo... ahora me quedo con lo que él protege." He looked like a complete maniac by now.

(Translation: I don’t care how long it takes. Agustin took my pride… now I’ll take what he protects.)

Then softer, almost to himself:

"Ella será la clave para vencerlo. Y cuando la tenga...…" He let the word incomplete and smiled cruelly.

(Translation: She’ll be the key to break him. And when I have her...)

He dismissed everyone from there and sat on the leather chair between the mess he created thinking what he will do once he gets his hands on the girl related to Agustin. His face was as blank as a white paper but mentally he was smirking evilly.