That is why I avoid her, why I respect the space she claimed through the pain I caused. It isn't out of fear of a confrontation, no. It is because I know the sheer size of the grudge she holds against me.
I am a child of the favela.
I am the boss. I have a name, I have authority, I have money, power, women. Two a day clocking in at the base, offering themselves, wanting to become my official girl, dreaming of a piece of my bed or my life.
But the spot I wanted to be hers remains empty.
Because from in there, from the cell where I served my sentence in silence, the word was passed down: she is mine. She always has been. Regardless of the time, the distance, the silence, the pain. If anyone raises their voice at her, I kill them. If they lay a hand on her, I put them in the ground. And i
