Xavier sat behind his wide oak desk, a file spread open before him. The blinds were drawn halfway, letting in streaks of late afternoon sunlight while Jeffery stood opposite him, flipping through a folder, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.“You asked me to dig into Antonio’s Spanish partner,” Jeffery began, snapping the folder shut. “It wasn’t easy. The man doesn’t leave a lot of footprints. But I’ve got enough to work with.”Xavier leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Talk to me.”“He goes by the name Alejandro Vargas. Big player in underground networks. Illegal ammunition mostly, but he keeps a clean public image. You’ll never see him with blood on his hands, but the man dines with devils. He owns three restaurants in Madrid, a vineyard outside Valencia, and he’s a patron of some ridiculous art foundation. The kind of man who can host a charity gala on Friday and move weapons across borders by Sunday.”Xavier frowned. “He sounds dangerous.”“Extremely

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual. Xavier sat on the torn couch, arms wrapped around his knees. His stomach growled, but the cupboards were empty. Again. He glanced at the clock, it was past midnight. Still no sign of her.The sound of a key fumbling at the door broke the silence. He stood quickly, his small frame stiff with both hope and dread. The door swung open, and she staggered in.“Mom…”She dropped her bag to the floor, almost falling over it, laughter spilling out as if she were in the middle of a joke no one else heard. “Look at you. Sitting here. Waiting like a puppy.”“You’re late,” Xavier whispered. "And wasted, again."She shut the door clumsily. “Late? Oh, I’m late? And who are you, huh? My father? My boss? You’re a kid. You don’t get to tell me I’m late.”“I was just...”“Just what? Just hungry? Just lonely?” She threw her coat across the room. “Always needing something. Always whining. God, you never stop.”Xavier swallowed hard. “I haven’t eaten.”“Then

Xavier rubbed his eyes, dragging his feet into the kitchen. He stopped dead. A man in nothing but boxers leaned against the fridge like he owned the place.“Jesus Christ!” Xavier blurted. “Do you live here now?”The man grinned, sipping from a mug. “Good morning to you too, kid. And no, I don’t live here. I’m your mom’s guest.”“Guest?” Xavier’s face twisted. “You’ve been here for days. Guests don’t stay this long.”“Special kind of guest,” the man said with a smirk.Xavier scoffed. “Special? More like a squatter.”The man chuckled. “You’ve got jokes. I like that.”Before Xavier could retort, footsteps padded in. His mother walked in, tying her robe, hair messy from sleep.“What’s going on?” she asked, yawning.Dante, because Xavier knew the name now, pointed. “Your boy here was interrogating me. Wants to know why I’m in the kitchen.”“Because you don’t belong here,” Xavier snapped.“Xavier,” his mother’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t talk like that. Leave him alone. He’s my guest

Amber stirred awake in the early hours, the room heavy with silence. Her hand stretched to the other side of the bed, instinctively seeking the warmth of Xavier’s body, but the sheets were cold. She blinked, forcing her sleepy eyes open, and turned her head.His robe lay draped carelessly on the armchair. That was strange. If he was still at home, he was usually wrapped in that robe until morning meetings pulled him away.Amber sat up slowly, yawning into her palm. Maybe he went downstairs for water. Or maybe the study… She reached for her slippers, but before she could slide her feet into them, a sharp knock rattled the door.Her head whipped around, heart suddenly racing.“Who’s there?” she asked, voice low and groggy.The door creaked open and one of the staff stepped inside. The woman’s face was pale, almost frozen in terror.“Miss Amber… please… you need to come downstairs quickly.”Amber’s confusion deepened. “What’s going on? Why are you...”“It’s Mr. Xavier,” the staff interru

The door creaked open as Xavier slipped inside, clutching a small paper bag. His shoes scuffed lightly against the worn floorboards, his face bright with a kind of pride only a child could hold. He emptied the bag on the small kitchen table.... packets of chips, a sandwich, a bottle of soda.He was arranging them neatly when the door banged again. His mother walked in, sunglasses covering half her face even though the sun was long gone.She sniffed, looked at the table. “And where,” she asked slowly, her voice already edged with suspicion, “did you get all of this?”Xavier turned quickly. “I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”Her lips curled, one brow lifting above the dark shades. “Didn’t steal? Then where? Don’t lie to me, Xavier.”“I’m not lying,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I helped some people walk their dogs at the park. They gave me money and I bought food.”She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her bag on the chair and sat heavily. Reaching acro