Chapter 6 - THE GHOSTS OF ATLIXCOThe iron gates of the Atlixco estate groaned as they swung open, welcoming the solitary black sedan into the overgrown, mist-shrouded driveway. The grand mansion loomed ahead like a skeletal monument to past sins, its sweeping stone balconies draped in thick ivy and shadows.
Julián parked the car near the grand entrance, cutting the engine. The silence of the estate was heavy, broken only by the steady drip of rain falling from the ancient oak trees.
“Are you sure about this, Inés?” Julián asked, keeping his hand close to the heavy tactical baton secured inside his jacket pocket. “This place is a labyrinth. Senator Silva's men could be waiting behind every door.”
Inés pushed her door open and stepped out into the damp night air. She wore a heavy black trench coat, her hair tied back tightly, her face calm and unreadable.
“That's why we came here instead of waiting for them to find us,” Inés replied, her voice echoing softly against the stone walls. “This is where my mother died. This is where my father built his first lie. If we are going to bury their syndicate once and for all, it has to end where it started.”
They walked up the grand stone steps and pushed open the heavy front doors. The interior of the mansion was frozen in time—dust-covered furniture draped in white sheets, crystal chandeliers hanging dull and lifeless in the gloom.
They made their way up the grand central staircase, heading directly toward the third-floor balcony suite where Beatriz Castañeda had allegedly fallen eleven years ago.
When they pushed open the double doors of the master bedroom, the balcony doors were wide open, letting the cold night wind sweep through the room.
Standing by the iron railing of the balcony, silhouetted against the stormy night sky, was a lone figure.
It wasn't a hitman.
It was Don Ramiro.
He looked older, his hair disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled from a day spent in a holding cell before being quietly bailed out by unseen, powerful hands.
“You came,” Ramiro said without turning around. His voice sounded thin, cracked by desperation and rage.
“We came to watch you finish reading your own sentence, Father,” Inés said, stepping out onto the balcony, stopping a few paces behind him. Julián stayed by the doorway, his eyes scanning the dark treeline below for snipers.
Ramiro turned slowly, his face twisted in a mixture of fury and pathetic pleading. “You think you've outsmarted everyone, Inés? You think Senator Silva will let you walk away with those files? He’s already outside. The entire perimeter is surrounded.”
“Let him come,” a voice called out from the doorway behind Julián.
Julián spun around instantly, pulling his baton, but it was too late.
Three armed men in black tactical gear stepped out of the shadows of the hallway, their assault rifles raised and aimed directly at Julián’s chest. Behind them walked Senator Roberto Silva, adjusting his immaculate silk tie with a calm, predatory grin.
“Family reunions are always so emotional,” Senator Silva said, stepping into the bedroom and looking out at the balcony. “Don Ramiro, you really should have taught your daughter better manners. Instead of locking her away, you should have locked her mouth.”
Ramiro lunged toward Silva, desperation overriding his fear. “You promised me protection! You said if I brought them here—”
Bang.
The sound of a silenced gunshot shattered the night air.
Before Ramiro could finish his sentence, a bullet tore through his chest. The former patriarch staggered backward, his eyes wide with utter shock, before collapsing onto the cold stone floor of the balcony—right beside the exact spot where Beatriz had fallen eleven years ago.
“Father!” Inés cried out, running to his side, though her voice held more shock than grief.
May you like
Senator Silva stepped over Ramiro's bleeding body, walking out onto the balcony with cold, unbothered precision. He raised his pistol, pointing it directly at Inés’s forehead.
“Now, Inés,” Silva smiled coldly. “Hand over the blue folder, and perhaps I'll make your death look just like your mother's. A tragic, accidental fall.”
