19. Kidnap

19. Kidnap
Life is like a book. Some chapters sad, dome happy and dome exciting. But if you never turn the page you will never know what the next chapter holds.

GABRIELLA

My alarm blared at 6 a.m., yanking me out of sleep like a slap to the face. I groaned, sat up on the bed, and rubbed the crust from my eyes while stretching my arms and legs. With zombie-like steps, I padded into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, took a hot shower, got dressed for work, and even began arranging my things—just like any other weekday.

Then, I picked up my phone to check the time. The screen lit up:

Saturday, 7:00 a.m.

I blinked. And blinked again.

It took a full minute for my foggy brain to register the betrayal. It was Saturday. Saturday. I didn’t have work.

The realization hit me like a truck. My shoulders slumped, and I groaned loudly before collapsing face-first into my bed. The stupid alarm, my autopilot routine, the trauma of the past week—it had all merged into one long, grueling blur of survival. I hadn’t even realized what day it was.

And the worst part? The moment my eyes closed, my thoughts went
there. To him. To the kiss we had shared—a kiss I’d spent the entire week trying to bury under spreadsheets, reports, and emotionally numbing tasks. A kiss I was still furious at myself for enjoying.

Another frustrated groan escaped my lips.

Why did I like it? Why did it have to be him? Out of all the people in the world, it had to be Alejandro, the man I was supposed to hate. Supposed to destroy.

Halfway through my spiral of self-loathing, a knock on the door pulled me from the depths of my thoughts. I sprang up and opened it to find Sandra standing there, radiant as always in her pajama set, her hair a delightful mess of curls.

“Where are you going so early?” she asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

I let out a sheepish laugh and told her about my little Saturday morning tragedy. She laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing,” she said between giggles, “but oh my God, that’s hilarious.”

Her laughter was infectious, and despite myself, I smiled. Her presence had a way of dissolving the heavy clouds hanging over me.

Then she grew thoughtful. “You know,” she said, settling into my room, “my brother can be a total asshole sometimes… but he wasn’t always like that.”

I looked at her, surprised by her sudden change in tone.

“He didn’t choose this life,” she continued. “Being the eldest meant he had no choice but to lead the cartel. He used to be kind, soft even—but I think that part of him got buried under responsibility. Now he’s just… efficient. Cold. Robotic. But I don’t believe that side of him is gone forever. He just needs someone to bring it back.”

I hesitated, then admitted, “I think I’ve glimpsed that side. But it's frustrating. He flips back and forth so fast it gives me whiplash.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Sandra cooed, wrapping me in a warm hug. “That’s why I have a plan to make you feel better!”

I raised a brow. “I’m listening…”

“Let’s go shopping! Nothing heals better than retail therapy.”

“Honestly? That actually sounds like a good idea.”

She beamed. “Perfect! Be ready by 11. Wear something warm and cute—we’re going to paint the town red.” She winked and skipped off to her room.

For the first time in days, I smiled without forcing it.

I had already contacted my special agents—everything was set for the surprise ambush. No matter how tangled things had become or how conflicted I felt, I couldn’t lose sight of my mission. I had to stay sharp. I had to remember the real reason I was here.

Still, that morning, I allowed myself to look the part of a carefree girl just out for a Saturday with her best friend. I wore a pleated checked skirt paired with a soft green sweater and tied my hair into a neat ponytail. My white sneakers and a bottle-green sling bag completed the look.

Sandra showed up at my room exactly at 11 a.m. She looked breathtaking—like some ethereal being from another realm—in her white knitted sweater and matching skirt, black boots hugging her legs, and burgundy lipstick that popped like velvet wine on her lips.

“Wow,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “You look like you walked out of a winter fairy tale.”

She giggled, blushing at the compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

We headed out in her sleek Tesla, the city skyline flashing past us in a blur of morning light. As expected, Ricardo tried to assign a security team, but Sandra waved him off with her signature mix of charm and sass.

“Bro, I don’t want to feel like a VIP today,” she said. “I want to hang out with my friend like a regular girl. No shadows, no guards. Besides”—she glanced at me with a playful smile—“if anything happens, Gabriella will protect me.”

Perfect. One less obstacle.

It took about 35 minutes to reach the mall, a towering glass-and-steel structure—one of the finest in all of Mexico. After parking in the underground lot, we ascended to the ground floor, ready to dive into retail therapy.

We didn't head straight for the fashion stores. Our first stop was a charming handicrafts boutique, where the scent of wood, paint, and old-world charm hung in the air. The place overflowed with vibrant traditional Mexican art—hand-carved masks, woven tapestries, ceramic animals bursting with color. I found myself genuinely moved by the craftsmanship. Sandra bought me a stunning tribal bracelet—thick, beaded, and humming with energy.

“I want you to have this,” she said, slipping it onto my wrist. “For luck. And friendship.”

I couldn’t resist returning the gesture. I picked out a delicate lucky charm amulet shaped like a hummingbird. She tried to refuse, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You’re stuck with me now,” I grinned. “Might as well carry my blessings.”

After that, we hit every luxury brand imaginable—Gucci, Prada, Zara, Calvin Klein, Dolce & Gabbana, Vera Wang. We tried on outfits, clicked selfies, and laughed until our sides hurt. We blended in like any two girls living their best lives on a lazy Saturday.

But even with the shopping bags piling up and Sandra’s laughter filling my ears, I never truly let my guard down. My eyes stayed sharp. My plan was already in motion. And I would not fail.

As the sun began to dip and the mall buzz turned mellow, we finally decided to head home. Sandra leaned back in her seat, clearly content, and I thanked her, genuinely, for the day.

But just as we pulled into the driveway, a tear slipped down my cheek—silent, unexpected.

Sandra caught it immediately. “Hey,” she said, pulling me into a side hug. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed. “It’s nothing. I just... got emotional. I never really had a family."

Sandra didn’t hesitate. She hugged me tighter and whispered against my hair, “Don’t worry about that. I’m your sister now.

And just like that, a dagger of guilt slid deep into my chest.

Because I was here to destroy everything she called family.

We descended into the parking lot, fingers intertwined like two carefree girls enjoying the aftermath of a luxurious shopping spree. Our laughter still echoed faintly as we stepped into the quiet, dimly lit underground area.

And then it happened.

A black van parked a few meters away burst open. Five masked men jumped out, wielding automatic rifles. The metallic click of safeties being disengaged sliced through the air like a gunshot.

Sandra froze. “What the—?”

Before she could scream, one of the men grabbed her from behind, clamping a cloth over her mouth. Her muffled cries were short-lived—she slumped in his arms within seconds.

I turned, pretending to be horrified, and lashed out at the nearest man, pushing the performance just enough to be believable. But I knew exactly how this would go. These were my people—elite members of our cartel’s tactical force. They knew where to strike without killing, how to subdue without scarring. One blow landed just below my ear, and the world blacked out like a curtain falling over a stage.

When I awoke, it was to the concerned face of Ricardo, his strong arms carrying me as if I were fragile porcelain. The fluorescent hallway lights above him blurred as he walked.

“You’re awake,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot. I’m taking you to your room.”

He laid me gently on the bed, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Rest now. I’m going to look for Sandra.”

Panic flickered across my features. “Wait… what? Sandra? Where is she?” I asked, my voice cracking with carefully practiced fear.

Ricardo’s jaw tightened. “That’s what I’m going to find out. But don’t worry—we’ll get her back. You’re not in any condition to do anything right now."

As soon as he closed the door behind him, my panic vanished like smoke. My plan was in motion.

Everyone would be frantically searching for Sandra. That meant the mansion—especially Alejandro’s study—was mine for the taking.

I slipped out of bed, stripped away the mask of vulnerability, and made my way down the empty halls like a shadow. Alejandro’s office loomed ahead, its giant doors quiet as I pushed them open. I slipped inside and turned on the lights.

I had to move fast, but precisely. This was my chance to find intel—documents, blueprints, anything about the cartel’s structure, deals, trusted members. If I could get those files, I could begin collapsing the Martinez empire from the inside.

I searched the study meticulously, careful to leave everything exactly as it was. No drawers left open. No files out of order. I couldn’t afford a single clue pointing to my intrusion.

After nearly an hour of combing through shelves and locked cabinets, my eyes caught a glint—silver, sleek, unmistakably important. A high-security locker tucked behind the main desk.

I crouched in front of it, trying the panel, but it was hopeless. The screen flashed red.

Fingerprint and retina scan required.

Of course. Alejandro wouldn’t be careless.

I was still weighing my options, trying to formulate a backup plan, when I heard it—

The soft creak of the door behind me.

I froze.

Someone had just entered the room.