Chapter 42 Enemies From The Past
Donato POV
"Donato... you look worse than the last time I was here" The cold, male voice said as they settled down, sitting at the other end of the room i was in, giards surrounding him or her, i couldn't be so sure.
I barely had visitors since my exile, but by a stroke of fate, someone from the Buenaventura mafia family wanted wanted revenge just like I did.
"You know, if I wasn’t bored and sick of staring at these walls all day, I would say you should not bother coming to visit me so often."
The figure i was speaking to, had a large black robe covering them from head to toe, including their face. They left just three holes for the eyes and nose, everything else was covered in black.
"I also understand why you need to hide your identity from me... but i want to assure you, we both want the same thing, so it's okay to loosen up around me a bit." I said, even though I knew they would not listen. They did not trust me. Which is fine. We're from rival families.
When they walked, they walked like a woman, but when they spike, I heard the voice of a man. A ploy to keep me guessing and confused about who was betraying they're family for me.
"Tell me again, why you want my help, Donato" the person said.
"You already know me..." but that did not stop me from recanting the tale all over again.
Mt mind flashed baxk to the oast. To where it all began.
I had lived in obscurity, in penury, in abject shame after my father had been run out of business by a rival company. Every time my late father recounted the tale, it was painful all over again. From his perspective, the rival business had started as nothing more than a small company, selling portable water in a dingy part of town.
I remembered the late Marcus Buenaventura, Cole’s grandfather and how his entire family had grown the Buen Spring Water business while keeping to themselves.
Nobody ever considered them a threat in any way, shape, or form, so they were always invited to get-togethers and parties.
I sneered as I remembered how my father had a habit of picking up strays. They always looked harmless. Quiet. Sometimes they even looked in awe—afraid of the power my family wielded.
Marcus Buenaventura attended every party and social meeting meekly, sometimes bringing his wife along. Most times, though, he came with his son, Jose Buenaventura.
What my father never knew was that his “little” friend wasn’t little at all. Marcus was building communications and alliances with my father’s friends and business partners during those very parties.
Marcus Buenaventura was a crafty man. Soon, what started as a bottled water company became a front for drug trafficking and illegal gun sales, raking in obscene amounts of money.
I would have bet my only good suit that when my father picked up his latest stray, he never expected him to bite so deeply.
I was just a kid then, but anyone who looked into the emotionless green eyes every Buenaventura man possessed should have known they weren’t innocent or weak. My father should have known when Marcus’s soulless eyes dilated like a sandworm in the desert every time money, business plans, or empire expansion came up.
My father, Miguel Rivera, wasn’t exactly a good Christian man either. He built his empire on women trafficking and the sex trade. But with Marcus raking in millions and building connections off my father’s groundwork, it was all too convenient, especially when police agents began snooping around our family business.
Even more suspicious was the level of interest shown by the police and the FBI.
We couldn’t hide for long. It became clear the Buenaventura family was selling us out. My father and a few loyal men were nabbed and put behind bars for years.
What raised alarms was that not a single whisper surfaced about Marcus suffering the same fate. He was clean l, way too fucking clean. The fucker betrayed us. He buried my family at the feet of law enforcement so he could rise. He destroyed my life.