Chapter Two: The Calm Before the Storm
517 Words
Areniel, Rachel, and Renelle didn’t know they were walking into a war.
To them, it was just another new city. Another photoshoot. Another wave of fans crying their names.
But to those watching from the shadows, it was the return of ghosts.
Their flight landed under cover of dusk, a tinted van waiting on the runway. Their mother, cloaked in shades and silence, spoke little during the ride. Her eyes scanned every alley they passed, every face too still. She could feel the heartbeat of the land—it throbbed with danger.
“Mom,” Rachel finally asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”
But tired didn’t explain the way her fingers trembled. Or why she kept glancing in the rearview mirror like a hunted deer.
---
Elsewhere, within the compound of La Sangre Roja, Kendra leaned against a punching bag, sweat glistening down his jaw. Kenzie flipped a knife between his fingers, eyes glued to a tablet playing The R Sisters’ latest performance.
Kendall? He was quiet as always—silent, calculating. The youngest, but the sharpest.
They’d grown up believing the law of their world:
Only sons were strength. Daughters were shame.
But something in them stirred as they watched the girls on screen—something that felt like curiosity... and something more dangerous. Recognition.
“They sing like they’re telling a story,” Kendra muttered.
“Maybe they are,” Kendall answered, stepping into the room. “Maybe it’s our story.”
Kenzie frowned. “You think they’re...?”
“No.” Kendall slid his phone onto the desk, screen paused on Areniel’s face. “I know they are.”
The room fell silent.
A beat.
And then the door slammed open.
It was Riley.
She wore fire in her eyes.
“They’re in the city,” she spat. “And guess what? They’ve got a concert next week… at our school.”
---
Back in the City
Areniel stood in front of the school gates, her sisters beside her. The campus was huge—sleek buildings, marble halls, cameras everywhere.
The school was elite.
And crawling with cartel children.
Their mother didn’t know this. Or maybe she did, but didn’t have a choice.
Security was tight. Their fame had bought them privilege, and power—but not safety.
Inside, posters of the upcoming performance hung like celebration banners. Students whispered as they passed. Some took selfies. Some stared too long.
Riley watched from a balcony above, her friends gathered like vultures.
“They think they can shine here?” she muttered. “Let’s see how bright they burn.”
---
Meanwhile
Pandemafia sat in his underground lounge, surrounded by files, photos, and names.
He stared at a photo of Areniel, flipping it over to reveal the birthmark.
A crescent. A signature he’d branded on every male heir.
Except she had it.
He set the photo down slowly.
“They survived,” he said to no one.
Then, he made a call.
“Move in on them. Quietly. The night of the concert.”
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- Writer
