Fifty

CHAPTER 50

The sound of Cassandra’s footsteps echoed in the hallway of Martinez's apartment as she prepared to leave. Shadows of old photos still danced in her mind, making her stomach churn with all the possibilities that now lay before her.

“Let Martinez drive you,” Lilian said anxiously, her hand gripping her husband's arm. “It’s getting late.”

Cassandra shook her head slightly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine. You’ve already helped me so much tonight.”

Martinez furrowed his brow. “Cassandra, with everything that’s happened—”

“Exactly because of that,” Cassandra cut in firmly. “I have to face this alone. Antonio can’t suspect anything.”

The night air greeted Cassandra with its coldness, as if warning her of the danger lurking ahead. In her car, she sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel with slightly trembling hands. The photo of her father felt heavy in her bag, like a secret burden she now had to carry.

The gas station on the side of the road appeared deserted as Cassandra stopped to refuel. The neon lights flickered weakly, casting strange shadows on the wet asphalt. Through the rearview mirror, her eyes caught a metallic gleam from a motorcycle stopping not far from her.

Her heart raced instantly. In the dim light, something about the motorcycle’s license plate caught her attention—the silver rose logo, too familiar, gleaming coldly like a hidden threat.

“Calm down,” she whispered to herself, slowly shifting gears and driving off. “Don’t panic.”

Throughout the drive home, Cassandra kept an eye on the motorcycle through her rearview mirror. The rider, dressed in all black, maintained the same distance—not too close to be suspicious, but close enough to follow. Her trembling hands gripped the wheel tighter, her mind racing to find a way to avoid the worst-case scenario.

Finally, Antonio’s house gate came into view. Cassandra parked her car carefully, trying to appear as calm as possible despite her heart pounding. The mysterious motorcycle had disappeared, but its presence left a tangible fear lingering.

“A long night?”

Antonio’s voice startled her. He stood in the doorway, wearing a white shirt rolled up to the elbows, with a smile that was unreadable. Cassandra felt her blood freeze.

“Yes,” she replied briefly, trying to keep her voice steady.

Antonio stepped closer, his movements like a predator stalking its prey. “I heard you’ve been chasing some interesting stories lately,” he said in a light tone that felt dangerous. “As a journalist, you’re always so curious.”

Cassandra felt her heart stop for a moment. Antonio thought she was a journalist—a lie she had used as a disguise. But there was something in his tone that made her skin crawl.

“Sometimes,” Antonio continued, his hand gently but threateningly resting on Cassandra’s shoulder, “asking too many questions can lead to trouble. Maybe you should focus on safer things.”

Cassandra remained silent, unable to trust her voice to respond. In her mind, the image of her father’s photo with young Antonio spun like an endless horror film.

“Get some sleep,” Antonio whispered in her ear before turning to leave. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Cassandra stood frozen in place, listening to Antonio’s footsteps fade away. In the darkness of the night, she could feel the danger’s web beginning to tighten around her. Dark secrets of the past and present threats blended into a deadly labyrinth she had to navigate.

In her room, Cassandra locked the door and sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. She needed to contact Martinez, tell him about the developments. But before she could dial the number, a message came in.

From an unknown number: “Your father asked too many questions as well. You don’t want to follow in his footsteps, do you?”

Cassandra pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a scream that nearly escaped. They knew. They had always known.

With shaking hands, Cassandra typed a reply to Martinez: “He knows everything. They’re watching me.” The message was sent into the oppressive silence of the night, like a bottle thrown into the dark sea, hoping someone would find it.

The sound of footsteps outside her room made Cassandra freeze. The steps were heavy, methodical, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. She held her breath, listening intently. The steps stopped right in front of her door.

“Cassandra,” Antonio’s voice penetrated through the door, smooth but carrying a hidden threat. “I know you’re not asleep. Can we talk for a moment?”

Cassandra sat still, trying to control her breath, which was stuck in her chest. Antonio’s voice outside the door seemed to slice through the calm of the night, reminding her of the unavoidable tension. She knew that if she opened the door now, everything she had tried to hide would be exposed.

Carefully, Cassandra collected her thoughts. She had to stay calm, be smart, and not let fear take over. If Antonio knew she suspected something, he would become even more cautious. But if she stayed silent, she would also be in danger. Was this the time to speak? Or would it be better to pretend to sleep and hide all her worries for a while longer?

“I... I’m tired,” Cassandra finally said, her voice sounding weak but trying to appear natural. “Maybe another time, Antonio.”

For a moment, there was no answer. Cassandra could feel the tension, as if Antonio were weighing her response. Then, finally, she heard his footsteps retreating to another room.

“Sleep well,” Antonio’s voice came so close, like a suppressed warning. “Tomorrow will be a long day, as I said before.”

Cassandra remained in her place, only hearing the sound of his footsteps fading away. The silence returned to her room, and she let out a long breath. Now, she truly felt trapped. All the information she had about Antonio, her father, and the threats that came with them now weighed on her mind heavier than ever.

But one thing was certain: she couldn’t back down. If she did, she would get caught in a much larger and more dangerous game. She had to move further, even though the price she would have to pay was becoming clearer—and it might not just be a matter of losing.