Chapter 56

Chapter 56

NARRATOR
The presidential suite at the Bella Vista lay in half-darkness. The curtains billowed with the sea breeze. Valentina and Damián had arrived six hours earlier, fleeing in a stolen Fiat, their clothes stained with blood and their nerves shredded.
The television showed silent images: the Russo estate in flames, headlines announcing Ivan Petrov’s death. Valentina stood barefoot by the window, dressed in a black silk robe. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. She had not touched the whiskey in her hand.
Damián smoked on the balcony, his pistol resting on the table. He watched the harbor in the distance.
“The De Lucas know we’re still on the island,” he said without turning around. “They have people at every port. We can’t get out.”
Valentina didn’t answer. She stared at her reflection in the glass. She no longer recognized the woman looking back at her.
She had planned this for months. She had sold information, betrayed her family, handed her own mother over to the Russians. And now Sofía was dead. Petrov was dead. And she was still running.
For what? What had any of it been worth?
She thought of Sofia, her daughter. Of Marco. She had abandoned them. Left them in the middle of a war she herself had started.
“I have a boat,” Damián said suddenly. “A contact in Messina. It leaves tomorrow at dawn for Albania. From there we can go anywhere.”
Valentina turned slowly.
“And then what? Run for the rest of our lives?”
“It’s that or die here,” he replied. “You decide.”
Valentina set the glass down on the table. She walked to the desk where the laptop sat open. Her hands trembled.
Damián watched her from the balcony but didn’t move.
She opened a folder. Photos of the mountain refuge. Satellite maps. Information she had gathered about the family’s movements. Sebastián wounded. Mateo protecting Lucía and the twins. Santiago coordinating defense.
Everything was there. All the information Damián needed to strike.
And suddenly it all felt empty.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Damián crushed out his cigarette and stepped inside.
“Can’t what?”
“This,” she said, pointing at the screen. “I can’t keep doing this.”
He approached slowly, eyes narrowing.
“What are you talking about?”
Valentina looked at him directly.
“My children are there. Sofia, Marco. I left them for this. For revenge. For pride. And now my mother is dead, Sebastián almost died, and I…” Her voice broke. “I didn’t win anything. I just lost everything.”
“It’s too late to regret it,” Damián said coldly.
“No,” she replied. “I can still stop this. I can warn them.”
Damián’s hand moved toward the pistol.
“You won’t.”
But Valentina was already typing. A quick message to a number she knew by heart—Sebastián’s.
He’s on his way. He has maps of the refuge. Protect the children. I’m sorry.
Send.
Damián saw the screen. His face hardened like stone.
“Treacherous bitch.”
He moved fast. He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her away from the desk. Valentina screamed, clawing at his arm, but he was stronger.
“You used me!” he roared. “You brought me here for this! And now you betray me like you betrayed everyone else!”
He threw her against the wall. Valentina fell to the floor, dizzy from the impact. She saw the gun in his hand.
“Damián, please…”
“Please?” he spat. “How many times did Lucía beg when I tried to take the girls? How many times did your mother beg before Petrov blew her head off?”
Valentina crawled backward, hands raised.
“You can leave. Take the boat. I won’t say anything. Just let me live. For my children.”
Damián laughed, dry and cruel.
“Your children are better off without you.”
He raised the gun.
Valentina closed her eyes.
The shot echoed through the suite.
Pain exploded in her shoulder, blinding. She screamed, falling to her side. Blood began soaking the silk robe.
“That’s for wasting my time,” Damián said.
The second shot struck her abdomen.
Valentina collapsed, her breathing turning into broken gasps. Blood spread beneath her body.
Damián knelt beside her, picked up the laptop. He reviewed the files, saved the information he needed.
“Thanks for the maps,” he said without looking at her. “Now I can finally finish what I started.”
Valentina tried to speak, but only blood came from her mouth. Her fingers moved weakly toward the phone lying beside her.
The message had been sent.
At least that.
Damián left the suite without looking back. The hallway was empty. He took the emergency stairs down. The Fiat waited in the parking lot.
He drove toward the mountains. Toward Lucía. Toward the twins. Toward the end.
In the suite, Valentina struggled to breathe. Her vision blurred. Sounds grew distant.
Her last thoughts were of her children.
Forgive me.
And then, darkness.

At 3:47 a.m., Sebastián’s phone vibrated on the bedside table in the refuge.
He grabbed it with his good hand, the other immobilized by the shoulder bandage. He read the message. His face hardened.
“Santiago,” he called.
His brother appeared within seconds.
“What is it?”
Sebastián showed him the phone.
“Valentina. Before she died, she warned us. Damián is coming here. He has the maps of the refuge.”
Santiago cursed under his breath.
“When?”
“Now. We need to evacuate the women and children. Immediately.”
They looked at each other. There was no time for doubt.
The war was about to reach their door.
And this time, it would be until the very end.