BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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THE PLANE LANDS peacefully, the gentle thud of the wheels touching down bringing me back to the present. My eyes peer outside the window, taking in the starry night that reveals the dark sky. The lights of the city below flicker like a sea of diamonds, contrasting against the inky expanse above.
The plane's speaker dings, and the kind voice of the flight attendant echoes through the cabin, "We have landed at your destination. Welcome to Germany, Ms. Garcia."
Seeing the seatbelt sign flicker off, I unbuckle my seatbelt with a gentle click and stand up. I pick up my Hermès black leather purse from the seat next to me and rest it comfortably on my arm. With a practiced motion, I lift my sunglasses from the top of my head and slide them onto my face, adjusting my hair as I do. The polished, reflective lenses shield my eyes, adding an extra layer of mystery.
I walk down the carpeted hall, my heels softly digging into the plush surface with each step. The muted sounds create a rhythm that matches my heartbeat, steady and purposeful. As I approach the exit, I meet the flight attendant who had announced our arrival. She smiles warmly at me, her hand extending toward the door, signaling that it's okay to leave.
Stepping out of the plane, the cool air of the jet bridge envelops me, a stark contrast to the controlled environment inside the cabin. I adjust my sunglasses, ensuring they sit perfectly on my face, and continue down the walkway. The terminal is a hive of activity, but my focus remains unbroken. Every step I take is deliberate, each movement calculated.
I descend the plane steps, each movement precise and controlled. The moment my feet touch the rough concrete, the familiar click of my heels against the ground resonates in the quiet night air. Turning my head to the side, I see the three black cars waiting as usual.
Without a hint of emotion, I walk towards the cars, my strides long and purposeful. The drivers, all dressed in dark suits, stand at attention beside the vehicles. They straighten slightly as I approach, a silent acknowledgment of my authority.
One of the drivers steps forward and opens the rear door of the lead car. "Ms. Garcia," he says with a respectful nod.
I give a curt nod in return, sliding into the back seat with practiced ease. The door closes with a solid thud, sealing me in the cool, leather-scented interior. The driver takes his place behind the wheel and starts the engine, the car humming to life.
The convoy moves smoothly through the city streets, the other two cars flanking mine. The rhythmic thrum of the engine is a comforting reminder of the power and resources at my disposal. As we approach our destination, I mentally review my plan one last time, ensuring that every angle has been covered.
I glance out the car window, taking in the sparse pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks, their figures illuminated by the dim glow of the lampposts. The soft light casts long shadows on the pavement, blending with the reflections from the nearby buildings. The moonlight dances off the surface of the rivers, creating a shimmering path that runs parallel to our route.
