Chapter One — La Hija Olvidada (The Forgotten Daughter)
The bougainvillea was bleeding again; its deep magenta blooms spilled over the old stone walls. Valentina noticed it just the same way she noticed everything that had happened in that house, from a distance.
Her mother had planted it twenty-three years ago, before everything changed, the lies and the silence before César Reyes decided that loving a dead woman was much easier than loving the daughter she had left behind.
She pressed her thumb against the edge of the photograph; the beautiful eyes of Elena peered up at her with a warm smile that always started in her eyes before it reached her mouth.
"Veintitrés años, Mamá. It's been twenty-three years,” she muttered to herself, pressing the photograph against her chest.
And then Elena was gone. And then the story changed.
"She betrayed us". César, her father, had always said this to anyone who cared to listen but never said it directly to Valentina because she had been too young, but the walls were thin, and she had always been a light sleeper. She had pieced it all together over years.
Her mother had sold out insider information to her father's greatest rival. She passed coordinates, names, and routes that almost had César killed on that fateful Tuesday evening when his convoy was ambushed on a road. Only a handful of people knew he'd be traveling.
But not once had Valentina ever believed it, not because she was still little, but something within her remembered the warm smile and her faint whiff of gardenia and had always known that her mother was no traitor.
"Valentina, Mija." The voice called, snapping her back to reality while at the same time grating on her nerves.
Marisol descended the back steps in her silk robe that had been perfectly tied in place, just like her hair. Her hazel eyes showed bright above her morning coffee, the gardenias of her perfume arriving two full seconds before she did.
She smiled when she saw Valentina on the bench, that practiced smile that gave Valentina the impression she had been studying for the past twelve years and still couldn't find the exact moment where the warmth ended, and something else began.
"Breakfast is ready," she called.
"I'll be in," Valentina clipped. Marisol lingered for a bit before she turned and went back inside. Valentina sat for another moment before she folded it back into the cloth pouch and followed.
The silence at the dinner table that evening was the kind of quietness that had a lot of things underneath it. César, silver-haired and broad-shouldered, was the bulk of a man who had once been warm, but that had turned into something harder, sat at the head of the table with Marisol to his right, composed as always, while Diego sat beside her, cutting his food with the self-satisfied energy of someone who already knew something and Renata across from Valentina, examining her nails with disinterest.
Valentina just ate her food without saying a word; she just kept watching all of it.
"I've been in discussions with the Cordero cartel, and Rafael Cordero has agreed to a marriage alliance," César said, setting down his fork.
"... And it'll be formalized through marriage within the next month."
"Marriage? Who is he getting married to?" Diego asked, even when he already knew.
"He will be getting married to Renata," César said, shoving a slice of pork into his mouth.
The name dropped onto the table like a stone into still water. Renata's fork clattered noisily on her plate as her eyes shot up to look at him, and her knuckles, wrapped around the stem of her glass, went white.
"Of course, César. Whatever you think is best," Marisol said pleasantly, letting her hand cover his on the table, putting up that wifely solidarity.
But Valentina looked into Marisol's eyes, and all she saw was satisfaction. "May I be excused?" Renata asked, already pushing her chair back.
"No. You'll finish your dinner," César said, leaving no room for arguments.
She didn't say anything; rather, she returned to her meal without sparing anyone else a glance.
When dinner ended, Valentina was in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed with the cloth pouch in her hands when she heard it. It was Marisol's voice, reverberating through the wall; it went on for some time before all went silent.
Then came a brief and low laugh that was nothing like the pleasant sound Marisol produced at dinner tables. This one ... it was older than that and sounded even more real, like that of a woman who had let her mask slip by exactly because she believed no one was listening.
Valentina sat very still as she let her thoughts run through her mind. She remembered Renata and the way her father's announcement got to her, changing her mood instantly. She saw Marisol's eyes and the flash of satisfaction that had no possible explanation.
And then, she thought about Rafael Cordero “El Rey.” The name that made every grown man raise their voices across San Juan was the same man her stepsister had just been offered, and Marisol looked “satisfied” about it.
“Why?” Why would that satisfy you? Valentina thought, perplexed.
She pressed the pouch between her palms again, and gradually the cold truth began to dawn on her. Marisol hadn't looked satisfied because the arrangement was good; it was because, as far as she was concerned, that arrangement wasn't finished yet.
Then came a knock on her door, snapping her out of her reverie; more knocks rapped against the door.
But she didn't move.
"Valentina, your father wants a word." Marisol's voice came warm and gentle, irritating her the more.
She stood up, put the pouch back in her drawer, and walked to the door.
When she opened it, Marisol stood in the corridor with the same perfect smile and hazel eyes that gave nothing away.
“Where is he?" she asked.
"He's in his study; please don't keep him waiting, Mija," she said softly.
Valentina held her stepmother's gaze for one long, still moment, and deep in her guts, she knew something dangerous was coming, and it may not be in her favor.
She turned and walked toward her father's study without turning to look back, but she could feel Marisol watching her the entire way down the corridor.
And Marisol was smiling, very sinisterly.
