Chapter 4 - THE HOUSEKEEPER’S CONFESSIONSocorro didn't look like an elderly, humble housekeeper anymore.
Her back was straight, her shoulders squared, and the trembling, timid posture she wore around the mansion was entirely gone. In its place was the cold, dead-eyed expression of a seasoned professional killer.
"Socorro," Alejandro said, his voice shockingly steady, though his hand drifted slowly toward the heavy brass paperweight on the desk behind him. "Twenty years. You managed my father’s estate. You watched me grow up. You held Mateo in your arms when he was born."
"And for twenty years, Alejandro, I watched the Ríos family bleed San Pedro dry," Socorro replied, her voice smooth, dripping with venom. "You thought you were the kingpin. You thought because you controlled the ports and the warehouses, you owned everything in Nuevo León."
She flicked her gaze toward Valeria, who was frozen in place near the mixing boards.
"And you, little girl from Santa Catarina," Socorro sneered. "You just had to play the hero, didn't you? If you had stayed in the laundry room like a good little servant, you and your brother would have had your blood money, and none of this would have happened."
"You did this," Valeria whispered, her voice shaking with rage. "You tortured that little boy. You used his dead mother's voice to keep him in a state of permanent terror for two whole years!"
"Terror is a magnificent tool," Socorro smiled coldly. "A terrified child cannot focus. A traumatized heir cannot inherit. Every time Mateo started to heal, every time a new psychiatrist or therapist got close to breaking through his shell... I simply turned on the speakers in the north wing vents. Played a little clip of Elena screaming. And bam—back into the psychiatric ward he went."
Alejandro’s eyes darkened into an abyss of pure fury. "Who is paying you, Socorro? The Garcia cartel? The Federal Police? Who bought my most trusted servant?"
"Nobody bought me, Alejandro," Socorro laughed softly. "I built this empire long before your father ever washed blood off his hands. Elena wasn't an innocent victim in that car bomb two years ago. She was trying to sell out the family accounts to the DEA. I planted the bomb. I arranged the ambush. And I would have finished the job on Mateo tonight... if you hadn't brought a stray dog into the mansion to ruin my schedule."
Socorro’s finger tightened on the trigger of the Beretta.
"Say goodbye, boss. The Ríos dynasty ends tonight."
May you like
CRASH.
Suddenly, the lights in the hidden studio flickered and died, plunging the room into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
