Chapter 2: Walking into the Devil's lair.

Irene’s POV.

I settled my father into bed, then hurried to the nearest clinic, to get medical supplies, needed to fix his battered body.

By the time I finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds, I was exhausted. My body ached from the stress, and my soul was worn out by the horror I witnessed tonight.

I collapsed onto my bed, hoping I could black out the miserable reality of my life, but sleep offered me no escape.

All night, I tossed and turned, trapped in a recurring nightmare of Diego, shooting my father in the head with his silver pistol, while I watched in, unable to save him.

I took some sedatives and I was finally falling asleep as morning crept in, but the jarring clink of glass bottles stirred me out of bed.

‘Papa was at it again.’

I stumbled out of my room in my nightgown, following the strong aroma of Spanish whiskey into the kitchen. My father sat hunched at the table, four bottles before him, one was already empty.

"Papa, seriously?" I grumbled, frustratedly.

"It's too early for you to be drinking. You're poisoning yourself."

He turned to me, his eyes bloodshot.

"Why are you still here, mi hija? Diego’s men will be here for you any minute now.”

“I told you, you need to leave!"

I approached him calmly, knowing his ugly temper whenever he was drunk.

"And where would I go, Papa?”

“What do you think Diego would do if I ran?”

“He’d kill you, and then he’d come for me," I explained, trying to make him see reason.

"See, I made a deal with him," I continued, “My life for yours, and I will honor it."

"But you would lose everything, even your freedom.”

“Damn it, you could lose your life!" His voice rose, distressedly.

"I know the risks papa.”

“But I have to protect what's left of this family... and find out what happened to Serena. We can't lose hope yet."

His gaze wavered, he could tell my mind was made up. He turned away from me, defeatedly.

"That was my duty, child... but I failed."

"You did what you could, Papa. Now, let me handle this."

He filled his glass again, the amber liquid sloshing.

"You're making a mistake," he whined, as he downed the whiskey in one gulp.

It broke my heart to see him like this. He was becoming a ghost of himself, broken and faded.

"It'll be alright, Papa," I whispered with reassurance, as I reached for his hand, but I knew I lied.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, staring into space, his face ridden with guilt and regret.

“I ruined my family...”

"No. Don't say that." I muttered, squeezing his hand as hot tears stung the corner of my eyes.

“I do not blame you, papa, I forgive you.”

As if on cue, a black sedan like the ones from last night, pulled up, right outside our apartment. A tall man, with mafia tattoos on his shaved head, alighted and strode towards our door.

He didn't bother knocking, he just shoved the door open.

"It's time, Señorita. You're coming with me," he commanded, urgently.

I turned to my father, his face was pale with fear and grief. I squeezed his hand one last time.

"I'll find my way back to you. I promise."

"Te quiero, mi hija," he choked out painfully as I walked out the door.

The drive was a long and silent journey that took us out of the city, and deep into the countryside.

After what felt like hours, we reached a tall iron gate that swung open, revealing a massive villa in the distance.

The high fence that surrounded the property was unnerving, but what spooked me, were the armed men in black suits, stationed at every corner.

This wasn't home, It was the Vargas fortress, and my soon-to-be prison.

I alighted, My legs trembling as I stepped onto the gravel floor of the driveway.

My palms slicked with a cold sweat, clung to the small bag containing my important belongings.

‘What now? ‘

‘What fate awaits me here?’ The question echoed in my mind, as I stepped further into the unknown.

I was apprehensive of every step I took, it felt like I was being led right into the devil's lair.

The guard escorted me through a marble hallway, lined with pale, nude statues and antique furniture that screamed of old money and power, I felt intimidated.

This was a world I never belonged in, I was a mere stranger here.

We entered a grand lobby, where an elegantly dressed elderly woman, stood, waiting for us.

Her eyes, raked over me, sizing me up with a glare.

"So, this is her?" she spat, her Spanish accent sharp.

"Yes, she is the one Lord Diego expects." The guard said.

I felt a cold run down my spine at this mention of his name, but I quickly composed myself.

My intuition told me the woman was Diego’s mother, but as she spoke, I knew I could never be more wrong.

"I'm matron Camilla, the house steward," she said with pride, offering me a hand which I didn't bother to shake.

“Follow me."

She led me through a maze of corridors to a pair of massive, carved wooden doors.

“He's in the study,” she said, gesturing towards the antique doors. But as I moved to open them, she stopped me, her manicured nails, clawing at my arm.

“Hey, remember your place in there, if you wish to survive.” She advised.

Then, she opened the doors and stepped aside, leaving me to face him alone.

Diego was seated behind a vast desk. The window behind him, shone golden rays, illuminating his build from behind, giving him a godlike immanence.

He had high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and green eyes. He seemed different in the daylight, more humane than the soulless man I'd met last night.

He didn't look up as I entered, he simply continued to study the document in front of him.

My nerves were on edge and my heart raced in his presence as memories of his ruthlessness flashed in my mind.

A long moment of silence dragged on, I wanted to announce myself, but he seemed too focused to be disturbed, so I just lingered there like a ghost.

Finally, he raised his head, his intense green eyes, pinning me to the spot.

"You came," he said, looking genuinely surprised.

A smirk played on his lips.

"I assumed you might decide to run… It would have been my pleasure to hunt you down."

I already knew the kind of man that he was, he thrived in oppressing the weak. Running from him would have been my death sentence.

"I made a deal and I'm here to honor it," I replied, my voice steadier than my feet.

“I like it when a woman keeps to her word,” he commended, watching me intently.

“It tells me a lot about your character.”

His gaze left mine, to wander down my body, ravishing me like I was a hot meal waiting to be consumed.

It made my skin crawl.

He paused, a cruel smile grazing his lips.

Then, he leaned forward, "I've decided how you will serve me."

"You will become my wife, Irene."