POV: Elena Vasquez
The mansion's guest suite was too quiet, the ocean's roar muffled by thick glass and my own racing thoughts. I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, still in the emerald dress, my duffel untouched on the floor. Alexander's words from the car, 'I'm falling for you', looped in my head, warring with the betrayal of that email. Tame the spitfire. I was nobody's prize, nobody's game. But Mamá's call, her warning about the job, Marco's silence, and that shadow I'd seen outside the mansion kept me wired, sleeping in a distant dream. Something was wrong, deeper than Victor's bet or Frankie's threats. And it all circled back to Dad.
I pulled my laptop from the duffel, the old sticker from La Isla Dorada peeling at the edges. Dad's restaurant, his pride, his grave. Six years ago, he'd died of a heart attack, the doctors said: stress, overwork, the weight of a failing business. I was nineteen, home from community college, when Mamá called me to the hospital. His face was gray, his hand cold in mine as he whispered, "Take care of them, mija." Then he was gone. The restaurant burned a month later, arson the cops couldn't prove, and Frankie's loan swallowed the ashes. We lost everything. But tonight, Mamá's voice, shaky, urgent, hinted at more. For Dad, she'd said. What did she know?
I opened a browser, my fingers trembling as I typed La Isla Dorada fire Queens 2019. Old articles loaded: Local Eatery Destroyed in Suspicious Blaze, Family Business Lost to Debt and Disaster. Nothing new. But Dad's death… I searched his name, Javier Vasquez obituary. The same story: heart attack, 52, survived by wife Sofia, daughter Elena, son Marco. No mention of the fights I'd overheard, Dad yelling on the phone about "dirty money" and "backing off." No mention of the man in the suit who'd visited the restaurant weeks before, his smile too slick, his handshake too tight.
I was twelve when I first saw Victor Lang. He'd come to La Isla Dorada, all charm, offering Dad an "investment" to expand. Dad laughed him out, said we didn't need his kind. I remembered Victor's eyes: cold, like a shark lingering on me as I cleared tables. A year later, the offers stopped, but the pressure started. Suppliers delayed, permits stalled, customers dwindled. Then Frankie's loan, "to keep the lights on." Dad took it, desperate. I found him once, head in his hands, muttering about "Lang" and "mistakes." I thought it was stress. Now, I wasn't so sure.
My phone buzzed, Mamá again. I answered, keeping my voice low. "Mamá, it's late. You okay?"
"Elena, listen," she whispered, her cough sharp in the background. "Your father… there's things I didn't tell you. About the restaurant. About why he died."
My heart stopped. "What things?"
A pause, then a shaky breath. "Not now. It's not safe. But Victor Lang, he was there, mija. Before the fire. Before your papá's heart gave out."
I gripped the phone, the room tilting. "Lang? What did he do?"
"I don't know all of it," she said, voice breaking. "But Javier, he found something. Papers, money moving through the restaurant. He was going to the cops. Then… the heart attack. The fire. I thought it was coincidence, but now, with you at Kane's…"
"It's not coincidence," I said, my voice hard. "Victor's behind Frankie, isn't he? The loan, the threats?"
"I think so," she admitted. "I'm meeting Frankie tomorrow. To stop this."
"No," I snapped, standing, pacing to the balcony. "You stay with Tía Rosa. I'll handle it."
"You can't, Elena. You don't know what Javier knew. It's bigger than us."
"Then tell me!" My shout echoed, and I froze, glancing at the door. Alexander was somewhere in this maze of a mansion, probably digging into Victor like he promised. Or lying again.
"I will," Mamá said, softer. "Soon. But promise me, don't trust Kane. Not until we know."
"I don't," I lied, my chest aching. Alexander's eyes in the car, his hand brushing mine, felt too real. But Mamá's words, Dad's memory, they were anchors. "I love you. Keep Marco safe."
I hung up, my hands shaking as I opened another tab. Victor Lang Queens restaurants 2018. A forum post, buried in a local business thread: Lang Enterprises approached dozens of mom-and-pop spots. Most folded after saying no. Another: Heard Lang's dad laundered money through eateries. Kane's software caught it. My breath caught. Dad's restaurant, was it a front? No, he was honest, proud. But what if he'd stumbled onto Lang's scheme? Refused to play along?
A knock at the door jolted me. "Elena?" Alexander's voice, low, urgent. "We need to talk."
I hesitated, then opened the door a crack. He stood there, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, eyes bloodshot. "My team found something. Lang's accounts; offshore, tied to a shell company. Payments to Frankie Russo, your loan shark. Started six years ago."
My stomach dropped. "Before Dad died."
He nodded, stepping closer, his heat filling the doorway. "There's more. A fire report from La Isla Dorada. Accelerant traces, deliberate. And a coroner's note on your dad: elevated stress markers, but… unusual toxins. They ruled it natural, but.."
"Toxins?" My voice cracked, the world spinning. "You're saying Dad was… poisoned?"
"I don't know," he said, his hand grazing my arm, grounding me. "But Victor's in this, Elena. Deep. And I think your dad knew something that got him killed."
I pulled away, my back hitting the wall, tears burning. Dad's face flashed my face, his last words, Take care of them, flashed in my mind. Not a heart attack. Not an accident. Murder. Victor Lang, the man who'd bet on my heart, had taken my father's. And I was sleeping in his rival's house, kissing him, wanting him.
"Elena," Alexander said, his voice soft but fierce, stepping into the room. "I'm with you. Whatever it takes, we'll get him."
I wanted to believe him, wanted to fall into his arms, let his strength hold me up. His eyes searched mine, inches away, and the air thickened, that pull between us sparking despite everything. My lips parted, my body leaning toward him, traitor that it was. But Dad's memory, Mamá's warning, stopped me cold.
"Get out," I whispered, shoving him back. "I need to think."
He didn't fight, just nodded, pain flashing in his eyes. "I'm here. When you're ready."
The door clicked shut, and I sank to the floor, the laptop glowing with Lang's name. Dad's death wasn't stress. It was Victor. And I'd find the proof, burn his world down, even if it meant losing Alexander. Even if it broke me.
A faint click outside the balcony snapped my head up. The red glow of a camera blinked in the dark, then vanished. Someone was watching. And they knew I was digging.