
There's no place like home... unless home is a ticking time bomb.
The jet hummed beneath me like it had a secret to tell-one I wasn't interested in hearing. After thirty-one days of sun-soaked escape in Greece, I was finally returning to the chaos I called home. Not the warm, loving kind of chaos. No. The kind where "family drama" comes with bodyguards, blood-stained threats, and silent wars across million-dollar boardroom tables.
New York City looked the same-blinding, busy, brilliant. Just like always. A mirror of my own life: pristine on the outside, storming within. My phone had 146 unread messages. All ignored. All from my darling family. All equally dramatic, I assumed.
I didn't care.
Well... I did. But I cared in the kind of way that still made me stay gone for a month without telling anyone. That kind of caring.
As my driver pulled into the underground garage of my penthouse on the Upper East Side, I stared at the building towering above me, its glass windows reflecting back a version of me I barely recognized.
Home.
Or what was left of it.
"Welcome back, Miss Castillo," Julio, my personal driver, said as he opened the car door.
"Thanks, Julio. Miss me?" I smirked, stepping out.
He chuckled. "Always."
I took the elevator up in silence. No guards. No entourage. Just me. That's how I liked it.
The doors slid open into my living room-a sleek spread of soft greys, marbles, and gold accents. Every inch screamed money. Power. Control.
All of it mine.
I threw my bag on the couch and kicked off my heels like a woman who didn't give a damn. Which, at the moment, I truly didn't. I was home. That alone was enough reason to celebrate.
I poured myself a glass of wine-Greek, naturally-and made my way to the bathroom. The scent of sandalwood still lingered in the air from before I left. Everything was untouched, perfect.
I sank into the tub, head tilted back, eyes half closed. The warmth of the water seeped into my bones, slowly peeling away the tension I hadn't even realized I was still carrying.
Quick intro...
I'm Valerie Castillo, youngest daughter of Rafael Castillo-head of one of the oldest, most ruthless Argentine crime families rooted in both Buenos Aires and New York. A man feared and respected in equal measure. A man who also happened to be my greatest source of fury.
I'm twenty-three, stubborn to a fault, as my dad never fails to remind me, and according to my sister, a "walking PR disaster in six-inch heels." Her words, not mine.
Although, I don't wear six-inch heel. Not to brag, but I'm quite tall, don't need them.
I say that with a smirk on my face.
Anyway, I call it charisma.
She calls it insubordination.
Tomayto, tomahto.
After my bath, I made dinner-yes, I cook, despite my kitchen being worth more than some people's homes. It grounded me. Reminded me I was still human beneath the designer labels and layers of secrets.
I settled at the dining table with my laptop, scrolling through the encrypted documents and reports I'd been ignoring. Intel drop-offs, gun shipments, a list of people who had apparently "forgotten" their place in our business chain. All waiting for my say.
Although it hadn't always been like this, being the last child and all.
And I actually preferred the time it wasn't.
I sighed and got to work.
For hours, it was just the sound of typing, the occasional sip of wine, and the low jazz humming through my speakers. Peaceful.
Predictably short-lived.
As I closed my laptop, finally ready to sleep, I heard it-the unmistakable, faint creak of my front door being opened ever so carefully.
I didn't flinch. I didn't even look up.
Six-foot-four of stealthy sarcasm was trying to sneak up on me.
I know this because only a few people have access to my penthouse.
And this not-so-little bitch is one of 'em.
"Nacho," I called out, voice flat.
"Damn," he muttered, stepping fully into the room, "Do you have freakin' sonar or something?"
"Just good ears," I said with a lazy smirk, turning to face my big brother.
He looked the same-tall, broad, annoyingly handsome. Black jeans, black shirt, two guns I could spot just from his silhouette. My brother, ladies and gentlemen.
And yes, I did say handsome.
Not in the weird, gross, I'm-kinda-obsessed-with-my-brother way, but in the My-brother's-kinda-my-best-friend way.
"I could've been anyone, you know," he said.
"You creak like an old floorboard. Next time oil your knees or something."
He grinned and walked over, pulling me into a tight hug.
"Welcome home, smartass."
"Missed me that much?"
"You disappeared. Again."
"Didn't die, though. That's something."
"Barely."
We sat on the couch, and for a moment, it felt like everything was okay again. Just the two of us, like when we were kids hiding out in the wine cellar while our parents threw knives and insults at each other across the dining table.
"I left mid-fight," I said, breaking the silence. "With Sofia. Again."
"She's worried. And pissed."
I rolled my eyes. "Sofia's always pissed."
"She thought you ran."
"I did. Briefly. In style."
He chuckled, but then his face sobered. "Dad's not happy."
"Dad's never happy."
"This time it's worse. Things are... delicate right now. Your timing was reckless."
"I'm always reckless."
"Yeah, well, it's starting to look less like rebellion and more like a declaration of war."
I leaned back, lips twisting. "Maybe that's the point."
He sighed. "Val... just be careful."
I nodded once. That was the most anyone would get out of me tonight.
He kissed my forehead, stood, and started toward the door.
"I'll check in tomorrow," he said. "Try not to disappear again."
"No promises."
He laughed, flipping me off on his way out.
I locked the door behind him, silence returning to wrap itself around me like a blanket I wasn't sure I wanted.
I was back.
And it felt like the storm was just about to begin.

If mornings had a face, I'd punch it.
I woke up to the shrill buzzing of my phone, slicing through the kind of peaceful sleep you only get after being far away from family drama for a solid month. I squinted at the screen.
Sofia.
Of course.
I let it ring a few more times, because I'm petty like that. Then I finally answered, already rolling my eyes.
"Morning, sunshine," I drawled, dragging the duvet over my shoulder like it could protect me from her voice.
"Oh, you're alive," she snapped. No "hi." No "how was your trip, Valerie?" Straight to the dramatics.
"I was hoping the family declared me legally dead by now," I replied, yawning. "It'd be a nice change."
"Not funny. Do you realize the chaos you caused? Dad's furious. I had to pick up the pieces while you vanished without a word like some spoiled runaway."
Ah. There it was. The usual Sofia combo of passive-aggressive jabs and self-importance. Always playing the heir. Always pretending she's the glue holding the empire together.
"I didn't vanish, Sofia. I vacationed. You should try it sometime. Might help with the permanent tension in your jaw."
She huffed. "There's a family dinner tonight at the house. Seven. Be there."
"Wow, an invitation and a threat. Two-for-one special this morning," I muttered.
"It's not a request, Valerie. Dad said so. And don't be late."
Click.
No goodbye, of course.
I stared at the screen, then groaned and collapsed back into my pillow.
Because if there's one thing worse than a surprise family dinner... it's a mandatory one.
°°°
I glanced at the clock: 7:03 AM. Too early for this nonsense.
Dragging myself out of bed, I headed to the bathroom. The hot shower helped wash away the remnants of sleep and the lingering irritation from Sophia's call.
Dressed in a casual yet classy outfit, I slipped in my contact lenses—a necessity I rarely discussed—and decided to grab breakfast outside. The early morning NYC breeze was calling.
Sliding into my Audi R8 Spyder, I navigated the quiet streets, enjoying the rare tranquility the city offered at this hour. After a leisurely breakfast at a quaint café, I spent the afternoon running errands, the mundane tasks providing a welcome distraction.
We've got our hands in a lot of "clean" ventures—on paper, at least. From real estate and shipping to high-end restaurants and private security firms, my family made sure every shady deal had a polished, legal twin to keep the books happy and the feds confused. I'm not exactly the CEO of any of them, but I know just enough to keep things running—and know when something smells off. It's all a well-orchestrated dance of money, power, and illusion. You'd be surprised how easy it is to make bloodstained money look like it came from organic wine sales.
I do try not to get deeply involved in the unclean parts of our business es. Not because I think I'm above all that, but because it doesn't feel like I fit in sometimes.
And some people have made it a point of duty of theirs to keep it that way.
°°°
As evening approached, I made my way to the family mansion on the outskirts of the city. The guards at the gate recognized me instantly, allowing me through without question.
Parking my car in the expansive driveway, I took a moment to survey the estate. Memories of my childhood here flooded back—some pleasant, others less so.
Inside, the staff bustled about, preparing for the impending dinner. The atmosphere was tense, no doubt due to my father's simmering anger over recent events.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the evening ahead.