Chapter seven

Mateo sat in his executive seat, the darkness clung to the wide space of his office like a ghost in a haunted house.

The footsteps were loud, arrogant hitting the marble floor. 

"El sicario... We have him." 

He looked towards the figure they dragged.

It didn't take long for the figure to advance from the darkness, beaten, bruised.

A child less than ten years. 

"The Capo of Falcón wants him gone."

Blood dripped down his face, sweat clung to his immature cheeks. His crystal black eyes stared out into the darkness, hopeless. His head fell down, both of his hands were held by the men, his legs dragged on the floor. 

Immediately Mateo held his eyes, voices from the past rang in his ears, bombs echoed in the distance. His eyes were like a portal taking him back in time. 

Back to the past he had long forgotten. 

His mother held on to him. Her eyes bloodshot red, eyes still flowed out from them. 

 "Mi amor... Close your ears, it would all soon be over." 

Mateo held his ears, brushing his little fingers into them to block his ear holes. The night was cold, chilling. 

A man clothes in black dragged his mother away from him, 

Mateo wanted to cry, he held his ears tighter. 

The Screams were raw, her cries echoed pleading. No matter how much he blocked his ears, they still surrounded his little built, burning him like iron rods.  

“Por favor... Es solo un niño. No dejes que sea testigo de esto" She begged. 

(Please... He's just a child. Don't let him witness this.) 

The man did not listen instead his rod landed hard on her body. She fell down, letting out a little whimper, her weak body collapsing on the asphalt.

Mateo's tears blurred his eyes, everything he saw was watery —the metal rod, the cruelness in the man's eyes.

Hit. 

Her body trembled, tears flowing out her sad eyes. 

Hit. 

Her hand fell still, landing flatly on asphalt. 

He shuddered, his little body trembling. His eyes fell on her hands, the same ones that held him tighter, that wiped his tears just moments ago—was now rigid, lifeless.

Mateo wanted to move, he screamed out, tears trapped in his throat. He wished he could hold her one last time, he struggled but hands restrained him. 

They dragged him. His Screams felt silent, lost in the echoes of gun fires, bombs. The weight of his vulnerability, his helplessness settled on his shoulders.

As he stared into the boy's eyes, he found the same helplessness, the same hopelessness he once had. 

He watched the blood drip from the boy’s bursted lip, the swell on both his cheeks, the drops of sweat and blood that clung to his cheeks. 

The boy didn't whimper, didn't cry, instead his eyes fell on the floor, hopelessly accepting his fate.

The silence was overbearing, the tick tock of the grandfather clock echoed in the silence. His men stood, awaiting his command as they held the boy.

“El Capo wants him gone,” Growl, one of his men repeated. He was impatient—a killing machine with no emotions. 

Mateo stared into the darkness, his fingers tapping against his table, waiting a second before he tapped again— slowly, deliberately.

Killing was nothing to him. He had killed more than a million people, ordered over thousands of deaths with nothing more than a mere nod of his head. 

People shuddered at the mention of his name, men, foes, enemies. 

But this was not a man. This was just a child, El Nino. A reflection of his past.

 A reflection of him. 

“El Capo wants him gone,” Growl repeated again, his voice sharper and a little bit irritated, this time.

Mateo breathed out, his breath was slow, controlled. 

He stood up, adjusting the crisp cuffs of his expensive white shirt. His steps were slow, measured with the clicking sound of his shoes against the floor. He stops in front of the boy.

“¿Cómo te llamas?(What is your name?)” he asked. 

The child weakly lifted his head. His lips trembling as he answered , “Emilio.”

Mateo turned his head slightly, his dark eyes flickering towards Growl, who's hardened eyes still stared at the boy.

He nodded slowly, his voice echoing. 

“El Capo wants him gone,” 

Then, fastly, he pulled his gun out of his jacket. Before Growl could realize what was happening, the bullet shot right into his forehead.

No body bothered to speak, they were afraid to. The body fell to the floor with a loud thud, blood pulling under him. 

Eyes strayed, lips pursed. 

Mateo’s expression hardened. It was cold, unreadable. He cast his dark eyes over to the rest.

“El Capo no te paga, yo sí. Por eso me obedeces.(El Capo doesn't pay you, i do. Hence you obey me.)" he said flatly. 

The men didn't move. Though they didn't agree, they didn't bother to argue. They knew better.

Mateo crouched lower till he was the boy's height. His eyes locking his.  

" Forget your past, from now on... You belong to me... ¿Entiendes?" 

The boy nodded, his dark eyes stared at Mateo blankly. 

***

Alejandro’s hands wrapped around Camellia's waist, firm and possessive. As they walked through the crowd, little whispered eschewed, eyes trailed after them. Camellia's blue gown swished on the ground as she walked beside him.  

" Camellia... " His whisper was soft, sending heat to her cheeks. 

"Tonight, all eyes are on us... But my eyes are on you. Your act of defiance..." His lewd eyes fell on her strapless blue gown. 

"... Is a massive turn on. You are making it impossible to behave." 

Camillia should have felt annoyed or even worse. But this evening, her feelings felt unlike hers. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she registered his words. 

"..." She couldn't mutter up a reply. 

He chuckled, " Good. I leave you speechless. "

Breathless even, she thought.

But then, a feeling of guilt seeped into her chest. 

She let her eyes travel round the crowd, searching for his pair of dark, line like eyes. Sighing in disappointment, she brings them back to Alejandro. 

He was gone, Mateo.