Ch. 4 THE AWARD CEREMONY

Rosita’s POV

The limousine door opened, and a well-dressed security guard extended his hand to assist me in exiting the limo. As I placed my hand in his, he bestowed me with a charming smile.

"Welcome to the perfect prosecutors’ award ceremony. It's an honor to have someone as beautiful as you here," he murmured, his grip tightening temporarily. "Beautiful."

But his gesture of courtesy was abruptly cut short as Deangelo appeared from the other side of the limo. The guard immediately released my hand, rushing back to his post beside the red carpet that was swarming with excited reporters and screaming fans.

Deangelo's fingers closed around my wrist in a tight grasp, and I felt a tingle shoot down my arm at his touch. He led me down the plush carpet, the flashing cameras, and the admiring crowds; it was completely different from the danger that threatened to consume me.

As we reached the grand entrance, Deangelo leaned in close, his breath caressing my ear. Secretly, he pointed to the rooftop of the building across the way, where one of his henchmen lay flat, a sniper rifle trained on our position.

"If you try to warn your father or tell him to run when we ask you to lure him to us," he murmured, "That sniper will put a bullet in your little peasant skull."

I gulped, the threat shooting itself into my consciousness. "I—I understand," I stammered.

Deangelo's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Good girl," he rumbled, then guided me inside the luxurious hall.

As we made our way to our seats in the center of the hall, Deangelo leaned in once more. "This award ceremony is an exclusive event. I had to do some unsavory things to get an invitation." His gaze hardened. "Don't mess it up."

I nodded mutely, my eyes sweeping the room. All eyes seemed to be fixed on us, and I couldn't help but blurt out my observation.

Deangelo chuckled darkly. "They are not staring at you, commoner. They are staring at me—I'm not usually seen in places like this, especially without my usual entourage."

Before I could respond, the lights dimmed, and the announcer's voice rang out, commanding the audience to be seated.

"Welcome, everyone, to the perfect prosecutor awards ceremony for our city's most impartial prosecutors," the man began. "Tonight, we honor five men who, despite the four mafia families that rule over our streets, have remained steadfast in their pursuit of justice, putting the right criminals behind bars no matter the bribes they are offered. They are true heroes."

Deangelo scoffed beside me. "More like cowards."

The announcer paused, accepting a slip of paper from a staff member. "And now, we will present the first award..."

As the ceremony progressed, my gaze repeatedly drifted to the section of seats where my father sat, surrounded by the other honorees. He seemed so content, so proud—a far cry from the panicked man I had imagined, desperately searching for his missing daughter.

The sour realization that he may not have been as devastated by my disappearance as I had assumed threatened to overwhelm me. But I firmly pushed those doubts aside, convincing myself that it was merely a misunderstanding, that he must still be searching for me.

As the fourth award was announced, Deangelo turned to me, his eyes sparkling with evil intent. "Now is your chance, go to your stupid father," he commanded, his hand pressing against the small of my back to push me forward. "Lure him to the back door on the other side of the stage. I have got it covered."

Stomach twisting with fear, I began to stumble towards my father, who was now chatting energetically with the other men. As I approached, he caught sight of me, his expression morphing into one of shocked disbelief.

"P-Princess?" he stammered, the other men regarding me with open fascination.

I reached for his hand, my voice trembling. "Dad, you must come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

He smiled, gripping my hand and pulling me deeper into the crowd. "Come, my princess. There is someone I would like you to meet."

I gritted my teeth, trying to tug my hand free. "No, Dad, please! You have to come with me; it's urgent!"

"What are you saying, Mi Amor? Whatever you want to show me can wait, there is—" I cut in, unable to contain my anger any longer.

"What the fuck, Dad? I have been missing for more than 24 hours! And the first time you laid your eyes on me, instead of asking me if I was okay, where I had been, you are talking about introducing me to someone?!? This is a life-and-death—"

But the lights dimmed once more, and the announcer's booming voice cut me off, summoning the audience back to their seats.

Panic seized my chest, I opened my mouth to protest further, only to have Deangelo's iron grip close around my waist, yanking me backwards into the crowd. A gloved hand clamped over my mouth, Deangelo's hot breath searing my ear.

"Didn't I tell you not to act smart? Huh? You sneaky little peasant," he hissed. "If Plan A doesn't work, we've got Plan B."

With that, he dragged me up the stairs, and I could only pray that my father would somehow sense the danger I was in and notice my unspoken warning.

Deangelo roughly shoved me toward the balcony, and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I collapsed over the railing. A sudden flood of dizziness crashed over me as I gripped the cold metal, glancing down at the oblivious crowd below.

Not a single security guard spared us a glance—it was as if they had all been bribed to look the other way. The realization sent a cold shiver down my spine.

Suddenly, Deangelo's iron grip closed around my hair, yanking my head back with brutal force. I cried out in pain, tears springing to my eyes.

"What you did back there was stupid," he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. "You were willing to die for a man who doesn't give a flying fuck about you?"

I swallowed thickly, the words cutting me like a knife. "Stop spouting nonsense, he cares about me!" I snapped, my voice sharp.

With a grunt, he released me, and I fell back against the balcony, struggling to catch my breath. As I gazed down at the stage, a sharp sting of hunger seized me, my stomach cramping painfully.

It had been a day since these criminals had last fed me—no wonder I felt so weak and lightheaded. But I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the discomfort show.

My attention was drawn back to the stage as the announcer's voice boomed, singing my father's praises.

"He is not just a renowned prosecutor that everyone in Mexico knows," the man declared, lifting the golden statue that was the award. "He is a true advocate for justice—the first to ever put one of the four dons behind bars, even the most dangerous one of all."

My heart overflowed with pride, even as fear hit me in the belly and shot through my veins like mercury.

Deangelo's fingers brushed the communication device in his ear. "Take the shot," he murmured.

My eyes widened in horror as I realized what he was about to do. "No!" I screamed, turning around.

But Deangelo pulled me into his arms, clamping a hand over my mouth to muffle my screams. I watched helplessly as the sniper's red laser dot danced across my father's chest.

The award slipped from his hands, and he squatted to retrieve it—just as the crack of the sniper echoed through the hall.

The bullet passed through the announcer's chest instead, tearing through his body, ripping part and blood vessels. He crumpled, staggering back with a painful gasp before collapsing to the floor.

In the heat of the moment, my father ran toward the backstage, clutching his award. The audience all exploded in screams and began running out of the hall as if their lives depended on it.

"Shit!" Deangelo let out a frustrated curse, his grip tightening around me.

The dizziness and hunger pains overwhelmed me, and I felt myself growing weaker by the second. As the world began to blur, and I felt myself sinking into his arms as I started to lose consciousness.

"Don't you dare die on me, you little peasant!" he barked, his voice spiked with panic. "This isn't a fucking joke!"

But the darkness took over me, and I lost consciousness.