Chapter 57

Chapter 57
NARRATOR

Sebastián’s car skidded into the hotel entrance, tires screeching over wet asphalt. The engine was still roaring when he jumped out of the driver’s seat, Glock in his right hand, the wound in his leg throbbing with every step. Santiago exited the passenger side with an assault rifle. Two more men covered the rear.
The lobby was deserted. The night clerk—a young man with frightened eyes—raised his hands at the sight of the weapons.
“Suite 1201,” Sebastián growled. “Who left?”
“A man… half an hour ago. Alone.”
Sebastián didn’t wait for the elevator. He took the stairs, limping, the pain constant but ignored. Santiago followed close behind.
The door to 1201 was ajar.
Sebastián entered first.
The smell of gunpowder and blood hit him. Valentina lay on the carpet, her black robe soaked in blood, her eyes open and fixed on the ceiling. The laptop was smashed. The phone crushed.
Sebastián froze in the doorway. For a moment, all the hatred, all the rage he had felt toward her evaporated. Only a deep emptiness remained.
He knelt beside her. Closed her eyes with fingers that trembled more than he expected.
“You warned us,” he whispered. “In the end, you warned us.”
Santiago checked the terrace.
“He left through here. Ropes. Went down to the parking lot.”
Sebastián stood, jaw tight. Valentina’s message still glowed on his phone: He’s on his way. He has maps of the refuge. Protect the children.
“Damián,” he said hoarsely. “He’s heading to the mountains. He’s going after Lucía and the twins.”
Santiago looked at him.
“How much of a head start?”
“Half an hour. Maybe less.”
“Then we move. Now.”
They stormed out of the hotel. Engines roared to life, tires burning rubber into the asphalt.

Damián’s Fiat sped at 180 kilometers per hour, headlights off, only the moon guiding him along the winding road. He knew the way to the mountains. He had studied the maps. He knew exactly where they were.
Lucía. The twins. Mateo.
All in one place.
In the rearview mirror, he saw headlights.
Sebastián.
Damián smiled and floored the accelerator.
The first shot shattered the rear window. Damián ducked, the steering wheel trembling in his hands. The second impact sparked against the asphalt beside him.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, sticking the pistol out the window and firing blindly behind him.
Sebastián’s car swerved but did not stop. Santiago, from the passenger seat, answered with short, precise bursts. One bullet tore through the Fiat’s left rear tire.
The vehicle fishtailed violently. Black smoke poured from the blown rubber.
Damián lost control.
The car veered off the road, down an embankment, crashing into an olive grove. The airbag exploded into his face.
Silence.
Damián stumbled out, face bloodied, nose broken. He grabbed the pistol and ran between the olive trees, branches clawing at his skin, breath ragged.
Sebastián followed, limping but relentless, Glock raised.
“Damián!” he shouted. “This ends here!”
A shot. The bullet grazed Sebastián’s arm, drawing a grunt of pain. He returned fire, the bullet striking a trunk inches from Damián.
They chased each other through the grove until they met in a clearing.
Full moon. Ancient olive trees as silent witnesses.
Damián panted, the pistol shaking in his bloody hand.
“Valentina betrayed me. Like everyone. Like you betrayed your wife.”
Sebastián advanced slowly, Glock steady.
“She asked for forgiveness in the end. She tried to save the children. You only want to destroy.”
Damián laughed, blood on his teeth.
“Forgiveness? From you? The man who slept with his wife’s mother?”
Sebastián pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
Damián smiled and raised his weapon.
But he didn’t fire.
A shot from behind.
Mateo.
The bullet tore through Damián’s shoulder. The second struck his chest.
Mateo emerged from between the olive trees, Beretta smoking, face pale but resolute. He had arrived by motorcycle, following Sebastián’s trail.
Damián dropped to his knees, then face-first to the ground. Blood spread beneath his body.
Sebastián watched without approaching.
Damián, dying, turned his head. Blood bubbled from his mouth.
“You’re… just like me…” he whispered, eyes fixed on Mateo. “Only you… kill… in God’s name.”
Mateo stepped closer and knelt before him.
“No,” he said firmly. “I kill so my daughters can sleep safely. So Lucía never has to run again. So this ends once and for all.”
Damián tried to smile.
“It never… ends…”
And he died.

04:12 a.m.
The wind stirred the olive leaves. Sebastián sank against a trunk, his arm wound bleeding again. Mateo wrapped it with his own shirt, hands steady despite everything.
“Valentina,” Sebastián said hoarsely. “She died asking us to protect Lucía. The girls. In the end, she chose right.”
Mateo nodded.
“Then we will.”
They looked at each other. Two brothers who had killed. Who had loved. Who had lost.
“Go back to them,” Sebastián said. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Mateo shook his head.
“No. We go together. Always together.”
Santiago came running from the car, phone in hand.
“Elena called. The refuge is secure. Everyone’s fine.”
Sebastián closed his eyes, relief crashing over him like a wave.
“Then it’s over.”
“It’s over,” Mateo echoed.
They rose slowly. The Fiat burned in the distance, flames lighting the night.

In the mountains, Lucía woke with a start. She had dreamed of blood.
But this time, when she looked out the window and saw the first light of dawn, she felt something different.
Peace.
The twins slept peacefully in their crib. Mateo would be home soon.
And for the first time in months, she believed that maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be all right.