The night was hot in San Sebastian, and I was driving my Bugatti down the road, cigar between my teeth, as the city blurred past me. My thoughts were far away, until my cell phone vibrated on the dashboard. The name that appeared on the screen made me let out a dry laugh.
Gabriel Martinez, my other brother.
The son of a bitch was locked up. That's right, locked up in one of the most impenetrable prisons in the world. ADX Florence, in the United States. That wasn't a jail, it was a black hole nobody got out of. But, of course, my brother always liked a challenge.
"Missed you already, hermano!" I answered sarcastically, blowing cigar smoke to the side.
"Thought you'd forgotten about me, cabron" his voice came through firm, with that characteristic mocking tone.
"How could I forget? My little brother vacationing in a maximum-security prison! Now that's showing off" I joked, but my voice had an undercurrent of steel. "How is it in there?"
"The usual. People trying to kill me, me killing people... But they've already found out who they're messing with. Now they're quite... calm."
Translation: someone tried to screw with him, and he sent the message the right way. With blood.
"Are you eating?" I asked casually.
"Prison food. It's not one of your five-star restaurants, but it'll do."
"Need anything?"
"Just patience, brother. When the time comes, get me out of here. Until then, I'm going to have a little fun."
I smiled. Gabriel always had a peculiar sense of humor.
"I'll take care of it" I finished. "Take care in there. And if you need to... do what you have to do."
He laughed.
"I always do."
The call dropped. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, a muscle in my jaw twitching. Gabriel was fine... for now. But someone was going to pay dearly for putting him there.
But now, I had a negotiation to handle.
I parked the car and got out, already seeing Ramon waiting for me outside the warehouse, along with our men. He gave a half-smile when he saw me.
"Hermano" he greeted me, lightly patting my shoulder.
"Gabriel called me..."
"How is he?"
"Alive. But not for long if we stand by idly."
Ramon nodded. He knew we needed to sort this out.
We entered the warehouse. Three Russians were there, surrounded by grim-faced brutes. The leader, a bastard named Sergei, smiled when he saw me.
"Ah, the famous Cristian Martinez. I've heard a lot about you. They say you're a hard man to negotiate with."
"And they say Russians talk too much" I retorted, smiling humorlessly. "Did you bring the money?"
Sergei gestured, and a briefcase was opened. Money. Lots of cash. But I knew something was wrong. My instinct never failed.
"And the weapons?" he asked.
"In the truck outside. But first, let's see what's in this briefcase."
I opened the briefcase and riffled through the bills. Everything seemed right... but there was a smell of bullshit in the air. My eyes met Ramon's, and he understood instantly.
"Any problem, Mr. Martinez?" Sergei asked, feigning innocence.
"Oh, none. I'm just thinking... why the hell do you think you can pull a fast one on me?"
A heavy silence fell. The Russian leader feigned surprise.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't?" I picked up one of the bills and tossed it to him. "Counterfeit money, Sergei. Do you think I'm an idiot?"
The Russians immediately drew their weapons and pointed them at me and Ramon. I laughed.
The sons of bitches looked confused.
"Any problem?" I asked, still smiling.
And then I whistled.
From the metal structures above in the warehouse, dozens of men appeared, all armed to the teeth. The Russians' faces paled. Some trembled. Others swallowed hard.
"Now, let's try again" I said, drawing my gun and shooting three of them without hesitation. "Who else wants to negotiate with me?"
The Russian leader fell to the ground, bloodied. I approached, kicking his weapon away and pointing my pistol at him.
"Get the fuck up!" I ordered.
He groaned, trembling, but obeyed. I grabbed him by the collar and pushed him out of the warehouse. Ramon followed me, lighting a cigarette.
"What are we going to do with this piece of shit?" he asked, blowing out smoke.
"We're going to let him have a little fun."
We took him to a platform near a dark river. The bastard realized where he was and turned pale.
"Jump" I ordered.
He looked at the water and then at me.
"N-no... Please..."
I cocked the gun and aimed at his head.
"Jump, or I'll make you jump the hard way."
The bastard, sweating coldly, hesitated... but in the end, he jumped. The splash was followed by a scream of pure horror.
Crocodiles.
Two enormous monsters emerged from the darkness and attacked the Russian. His scream was short, cut off by the sound of bones crunching.
Ramon whistled, impressed.
"Good night for a swim, don't you think?" he commented.
I let out a short laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Throw in the rest. Let's feed the animals."
And so we did. When it was all over, we smoked another cigarette and headed to the club. Because, in the end, it was just another normal night.
The next day
That morning, my aunt practically dragged me to a mansion that looked like something out of a movie about eccentric millionaires. The house was immense, elegant, but had a somber vibe. As if it hid secrets within its marble walls and the impeccable silence of its hallways.
As soon as we walked through the door, a woman with a rigid posture and an analytical gaze was waiting for us in the hall.
"Señora Concepcion, this is my niece, Kiara" my aunt announced in a polite but firm tone.
The woman, who looked like she had decades of experience taming even the most rebellious demons, sized me up from head to toe, as if trying to calculate whether I was capable of frying an egg without setting the kitchen on fire.
"So, you study gastronomy?" She asked with a slight hint of suspicion.
"Yes, I'm about to graduate" I replied, trying to sound professional, but feeling my heart beat faster than a mixer on high speed.
"Excellent. I want to see what you're capable of. Prepare some dishes and drinks. Something worthy of Señor Martinez."
Translation: "If you mess up, you're out."
I swallowed hard but forced a smile.
"With pleasure."
I was led to the kitchen, and, by God, if there was a paradise on Earth, I was in it. The space was a dream, state-of-the-art equipment, fresh ingredients from all over the world, and utensils worth more than my entire bank account.
I took a deep breath and went into survival mode. If this was a test, I would give it my best.
I prepared a seafood black paella, ensuring the rice absorbed all the flavor of the broth, and finished it with a touch of artisanal aioli. Then, I made Iberian ham croquetas, creamy on the inside and crispy on the outside. To accompany, I served a signature cocktail with orange liqueur and spices, perfectly balancing freshness with the intensity of the alcohol.
When I finished, I took a deep breath and faced Señora Concepcion, waiting for the verdict.
She picked up a fork, tasted the paella, closed her eyes for a brief moment and...
"Hmm."
I held my breath.
Then she tried the croquetas.
"Interesting."
And, finally, she took a sip of the cocktail.
Her silence was killing me.
"So...?" I asked, unable to hold back my anxiety. My nails were bitten to the quick.
She put down the glass, looked at me, and, with a serious expression, said:
"You start today."
I almost let out a scream.
"Seriously?!"
My aunt smiled beside me, satisfied.
"I don't usually give compliments, but you have talent, girl... Let's go over the rules."
Rules? Oh, great.
"First thing, avoid meeting Señor Cristian. He doesn't like it."
"What?! What do you mean? He hired me, but he doesn't want to see me?" My eyes widened.
"He hates having his routine disturbed. Your job is to cook and disappear."
"Wow, what a nice guy." I said under my breath.
The housekeeper ignored my sarcasm.
"Another thing, everything must be exactly where it is. Señor Cristian is an absolute perfectionist. If you move anything... he will notice."
I blinked.
"Notice? Oh, please, he won't even notice."
She gave me a serious look.
"He notices."
Okay. Detective psychopath activated.
"One more rule: don't snoop. Don't listen to conversations that don't concern you. Don't ask anything. Just cook and do your job."
I swallowed hard.
"Okay... sounds easy."
She handed me a list.
"Here's everything he likes. And here, what he's allergic to."
I looked at the papers and made a face.
"Wow, so fussy..."
She crossed her arms.
"Señor Martinez does not tolerate mistakes."
"Got it. If I mess up, I die, right?"
"Exactly."
I smiled sheepishly. Oh, wonderful.
After the brief introduction to the hell that awaited me, I was left alone in the kitchen. I decided to start lunch. I chose oxtail stew, a sophisticated Spanish dish, accompanied by truffled mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables. For the drink, I made a special tinto de verano, balancing the flavors with a touch of rosemary.
While I cooked, I put on my headphones and started dancing to reggaeton, swaying my hips as I chopped the ingredients.
"Now this is the life" I murmured, stirring the spoon in the thick sauce.
I took out the utensils and, as I used them, put everything back... but without realizing it, I put things in slightly different positions.
Will he notice? Oh, I doubt it.
I wrote a quick note.
"Mr. Grumpy, before you eat, add a pinch of smoked paprika to the sauce. It will make you smile. If you're capable of that, of course."
I took the note and threw it in the trash, grabbed another piece of paper and wrote the same message, but without the insults, of course, I didn't want to end up dead so young.
I signed it with a scribble and smiled, satisfied, sticking it on the fridge.
Before I knew it, my cell phone vibrated. Time to go to college.
I took one last look at the kitchen, straightened everything up, and left, thinking the job was a piece of cake.
***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***
Updated 81 Episodes
Download
Like this story? Download the app to keep your reading history.
Comments