His Son. Her Secret.

Chapter 7

Santiago’s glare was instantaneous. Dressed in khaki pants and a white polo shirt, Eduard Burns sat in Santiago’s chair with one leg crossed over the other, perfectly at ease, and a glass of amber liquid resting loosely in his hand. He looked relaxed. Like he’d stepped away from a quiet evening on a yacht just to drop in.

Their eyes met and held. Just like that, Santiago’s pulse spiked. For a split second, just one, something old and buried clawed its way up from his chest. Fear. Not the kind that came from danger. The kind that came from memory.

Thankfully, before a trace of it could show on his face, Santiago crushed it. Buried it deep, back where it belonged in a box labeled ‘Do not open.’

When he spoke, his voice was cold enough to freeze the room. “How did you get into my house?”

Eyes still glued to each other, Eduard didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, reminding Santiago that the man had to have been in his office long enough to make himself at home.

Then Eduard lowered the glass, the corners of his lips twitching.

Santiago's nostrils flared. “Say whatever you came to say and get out.”

Eduard’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his posture didn’t change. “I watched your little performance. Very touching.”

Santiago’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“No,” Eduard said, tilting his head. “You didn’t ask for anything, did you? Even though you know you should.”

Santiago let out a humorless breath. “You broke into my home to complain that I didn’t call you?”

Eduard’s lips curved faintly. “Don’t be dramatic. I didn't break in. I just walked in.”

That did nothing to ease the tension. If anything, it made it worse. Someone was definitely going to get fired.

Santiago took a step forward. “Well, then,, do us all a favor and walk right out of here.”

Of course, Eduard ignored that suggestion. He set the glass down on the desk with a soft clink. “Your son is missing.”

His eyes narrowed even as his fingers twitched to curl into fists. “I’m aware.”

“And yet,” Eduard continued smoothly, his tone carrying the tone of disappointment, “you haven’t reached out.”

He didn't miss a beat. “Why would I? For all I know, you’re the one who took him.”

Silence met his words. It stretched just long enough to feel dangerous. Then Eduard scoffed. “There you go being dramatic again. Really, son, I thought I taught you better reasoning than this. Would I be here if I took him?”

Santiago swallowed back the urge to growl at the word ‘son’. Knowing the man, he was sure Eduard had said it on purpose just to rile him up. Well, Santiago had a few shots of his own. “I read somewhere that criminals love to revisit the scenes of their crimes. Something about the pleasure of seeing all the suffering they cause.”

A beat passed. Eduard leaned back slightly, studying him now. Of course, he totally ignored the criminal comment. “You think I would harm my own blood?”

“I think,” Santiago said slowly. “That you’re capable of anything if it serves you.”

That wiped the amusement from Eduard’s face. Finally, the older man’s features changed, something colder slipped through, and right then Santiago knew he was now dealing with Ed Burns, the feared man in the city’s underbelly, and not Eduard Burns, the man he’d called father and thought was a superhero for the first twelve years of his life.

“You always did have a flair for dramatics,” Eduard said.

Santiago bared his teeth. “And you always did have a way of making people disappear.”

There was another pause. Heavier this time. Then Eduard exhaled through his nose, like he was losing patience. “If I wanted the boy, Santiago, you wouldn’t be standing here guessing.”

Santiago wasn’t convinced. “Then enlighten me,” he said. “Why are you here? I’m not going to ask you for help finding my son.”

Eduard leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. “Are you willing to lose your son over your pride?”

Santiago’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was that word again. Pride. Is that what everyone thought ran through his blood? Did he base his decisions on ego? Santiago wasn’t that stupid. “I called the police.”

“Yes,” Eduard said, nostrils flared. His lip curled as though the very words disgusted him. “And in doing so, you made your son vulnerable.”

That hit like a slap. Santiago’s eyes flashed. He stepped closer, his voice low. Dangerous. “Choose your next words very carefully, old man.”

“You think those people who took him are amateurs?” Eduard continued, unfazed. “You think they don’t have eyes? Ears? Connections?” He stood. The room seemed to drop a few degrees. Even standing across the desk, he somehow still felt like he was looming. In that moment, Santiago felt like he was a young boy again, called into his father’s office to be chastised over something he had done wrong again.

“You refuse to do what needs to be done,” he said. “You refuse to use the resources available to you because of your… Moral objections.”

Santiago forced a scoff, still refusing to show the man how much he still affected him. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“And because of that,” Eduard went on, ignoring him. “Your son is paying the price.”

Suddenly, something snapped inside him. He curled his hands into fists and bared his teeth. “You don’t get to stand there,” Santiago said, his voice rising for the first time, “And blame me for this.”

“Don’t I?” Eduard’s tone didn’t change. That made it worse. “If anything happens to that boy,” he said calmly. “It will be because you chose your morals over survival.”

The words sank in deep. Too deep. For a moment, Santiago couldn’t breathe. A part of him, the part that never wanted this man to think he’d won anything over Santiago, urged him to say something. To state he knew what he was doing. That he would save his son, and he didn’t need to resort to dealing with the devil. To his frustration, the words never came.

Across from him, Eduard reached for his glass, finished the last of the whisky in one smooth motion, and stepped around the desk. When he reached Santiago, he paused just long enough to press the empty glass into his son’s hand. A quiet, deliberate gesture.

“Think about it,” Eduard said. And then he walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence rushed back in. For a second, Santiago just stood there. Still. Breathing. His fingers tightened around the glass. Once. Twice. And then he erupted. With a shout torn from his gut, he hurled it across the room.

There was a moment when time seemed to slow before it made contact. The glass shattered against the wall in an explosion of crystal and sound, shards scattering across polished wood like fallen stars.

Santiago stood there, chest heaving, eyes burning. His gaze dropped to the broken pieces on the floor. Then slowly, his hands curled into fists again. “Pride.” The word squeezed past the rage consuming him. “I have no pride.”

Which was the truth. Santiago only had the single-minded determination to find his son. No pride, which was why he knew he would make a deal with the devil if it meant bringing his son home. He almost pitied whoever had his son because Santiago had no ounce of mercy left in him. None.

He just felt numb, and he welcomed that feeling. Preferred it even. It was better than the gaping hole that had formed in his chest that pulsed and bled, threatening to drain his life but not doing so. Yeah, being numb was better. Numb meant he could make the ugly decisions without remorse.

An ugly, dry chuckle slipped from his lips as he realized he was doing exactly what Eduard wanted. “f**k!”