Head over heels for my uncle Pedro

Pedro's POV. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass window of my home office, phone pressed tightly to my ear, fury boiling in my veins. “Mr. Pascal. What the hell do you mean my shipment hasn't arrived yet?" There was a sudden knock on the door. "Come in!" I barked, not taking my eyes off the city skyline. "Don't worry, Mr. Pascal. I'll get to the bottom of this," I said sharply before ending the call. The door opened and Eric—my most loyal man—stepped inside, his face serious. "Sir, it was Andrew," Eric said immediately. "He betrayed us. He's been working for Arnold the Third." "What?" My voice dropped dangerously low as fresh rage surged through me. "What the hell are you saying right now?" "Boss, there was a mix-up. Raymond told me the shipment had gone through successfully. But Mr. Pascal still hasn't received it because Andrew turned on us. He was supposed to oversee the delivery and ensure it reached Pascal safely. Instead, he gave Arnold's men our location. They ambushed our team, killed everyone, and took the goods." "f**k!" I slammed my fist against the window frame. "How the hell did Andrew manage to do this to me?" I turned to Eric, my blood boiling. He took a cautious step back as I advanced on him, eyes blazing with fury. "How do you expect me to react, Eric? That's my money we're talking about! You assured me everything was under control. You told me not to worry. So how the f**k did this happen?" I shoved him hard in the chest and grabbed his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fist. "Or maybe it was you," I snarled, voice low and threatening. "Coming in here acting all innocent. Was this your doing?" "Boss, I would never betray you," Eric said quickly, his hands raised slightly. "I serve only you. You know that." "Then what the f**k happened?!" I screamed in his face, slamming him back against the wall. "You should have been there, goddammit!" "I'm sorry, boss. I was handling other matters. Besides, I trusted him—" "Other matters?" I tightened my grip. "Tell me, Eric. What other matters were more important than my multi-million dollar shipment, huh?" He swallowed. "You specifically told me to dig deep into Mr. Dante's information." I stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving. Slowly, I released his shirt and took a deep breath, trying to rein in my anger. I turned away and walked behind my desk, dropping heavily into my office chair. "You have disappointed me, Eric," I said coldly, rubbing my temples. "I'm deeply disappointed in you.” I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and fixed Eric with a cold stare. The anger from the lost shipment was still simmering, but now it had a sharper edge. “So what the f**k is this information you got on Dante that was worth me losing my goods?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. Eric didn’t hesitate. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick manila envelope, and held it out to me. His eyes stayed glued to the floor the entire time, like a dog expecting a beating. I let him stand there for a long second, my jaw tight, before I snatched the envelope from his hand with barely contained rage. “Talk to me,” I growled, ripping it open. Inside was a neatly typed report and a stack of photographs. I spread them across my desk as Eric spoke. “Dante Fernando is living a luxurious life now, boss. He won the lottery a few years back. He’s just an ordinary man—family, a legitimate business, nothing illegal on record. Clean as they come.” I picked up the top photo and studied it. Dante stood smiling in the sunlight, arm wrapped around a beautiful woman I recognized as Cassie Mateo. Between them was a little girl with big curious eyes and a gap-toothed grin. Michelle. “So he’s not a threat?” I asked, still staring at the image. “No, boss.” The photo was old—taken back when life was simpler. I could almost hear the Cuban breeze in the background, smell the salt air from the beach where we used to run as kids. Dante had been more than a friend; he was my brother in every way that mattered. We grew up side by side in Havana, never leaving each other’s sight for more than a day. At twenty-four he got Cassie pregnant. I should’ve been furious, but I wasn’t. She was a good woman—kind, strong, the kind who made a man want to be better. She gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl I’d ever seen. I smiled despite myself, tracing a finger over the little face in the picture. “Oh, my precious little Michelle,” I murmured. I had called her my niece from the moment she took her first breath. I was the uncle who spoiled her rotten, the one who carried her on his shoulders and promised to chase away every monster under her bed. She was an angel. I wondered how big a woman she’d become now—probably breaking hearts left and right, just like her mother. But that was then. I had to leave Cuba suddenly for family matters I still couldn’t talk about. And once I stepped into this life—the blood, the money, the constant betrayal—trust died. Even for Dante. Especially for Dante. I couldn’t afford to let anyone close. Not anymore. I tossed the photo back onto the desk and looked up at Eric, the brief warmth gone. “Now this news is pleasing,” I said, voice flat. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Andrew cost me millions. Find him. Make sure he tells you exactly where my goods are. Or else there’s going to be a problem, Eric. You know I don’t joke with my money.” I said pointing at him. “I need those good back no matter what it costs.” “My men are already on it, boss. We’ll get him soon.” I nodded once, sharp. “I trust you will.” Eric turned toward the door, relief visible in the way his shoulders loosened. He was already pulling it open when my voice stopped him cold. “Do not disappoint me again.” He froze for half a second, then answered without turning around. “Yes, boss.” The door clicked shut behind him. I picked up the photo of Michelle one last time, stared at her innocent smile, then slid it back into the envelope and locked it away in my desk drawer. Business first. Always.