Devotion (3) ✔

1 - Santiago

Honestly, I haven't edited this story. I wrote this years ago and it's just been sitting in my folder. So I decided to post the draft. Please ignore the mistakes. 

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I hated being alone but what I hated more was being around people. Tilting my head from side to side, I popped the stress out of my neck. The 30-year-old whiskey in my tumbler set a smooth trail down my throat. To call the Spanish style Malibu mansion a whore house was more than highly disrespectful but at the end of the day, that's exactly what it was. Filled with high end escorts and high class men. Judges, politicians, actors and tycoons.

They didn't know who I was.

Even with so many people around, I felt lonelier than I did in my empty house. I stared at the women, serving the men drinks, giggling at nonsense jokes. It was sad to reflect on what my life has come to. Well, my life wasn't much of a joyous one to begin with any ways. I was born into a cartel mafia family. A family that ruled Mexico at one time. They controlled the politicians, the streets and the people. My grandfather called it the golden times.

Now I lived in L.A. like a ghost. Nobody knew my name apart from my 5 lieutenants who were the faces of different underground businesses. So, it couldn't be connected back to me or my Uncle. Hence, nobody knew me here. This was the first time I entered Miss Caroline's premises. An acquaintance of mine provided me with the address and the code to this Mansion.

A high end escort service.

Loosening my tie, I stood. A familiar feeling churned his stomach.

Loneliness.

I tried everything to get rid of that slow burning, hollowed emotion. Parade of women,

bottles of alcohol, drugs and pills but nothing managed to ebb the empty feeling. But all of that stopped 10 years ago when my uncle grabbed me by my shirt collar and shoved me up against the wall.

"We're doing this for our family. For all your brothers, your mother, aunts and uncles."

"I wish I was with them." I vaguely remembered slurring. If it wasn't for my uncle's reply, I would have thought that it was a figment of my imagination.

"Not even for your baby sister?" I remembered that remark clearly as if it was said yesterday. "Who will avenge her?"

I froze then. My haze suddenly cleared away as the wave of guilt assailed me. I loved her more than life itself. It was her 9th birthday when my Uncle received a call from a friend who wanted to warn us about a threat. We went there to meet him and then we got the call. We raced home to find the house burning with police, firemen and ambulances surrounding it.

All of our family was burned down with the house.

Me and my uncle died that day too. A different type of death. Not a physical death but an emotional one. One that's much more torturous that ate us alive. Alberto Catalan lived to avenge his wife and daughter. The man who Alberto had become, was not the man baby Lucia would giggle and hug any more.

To me, she'd always be a baby.

My carefree, loving, always smiling baby sister. I moved to Miami after my first couple of kills in Mexico. I stayed with my uncle to learned the ropes from him as everyone knew Alberto and Sofia had no intention of passing the business over to Lucia. Therefore, Alberto was training me.

They all wanted to protect Lucia.

When I moved, I stayed with my Uncle and Aunt and Lucia was over the moon. Some days, I'd slice a shot caller's throat one afternoon, to accumulate man power and then go to Lucia's Elementary school to pick her up.