The air inside the marble corridor was heavy — almost sacred. Every step Tobias took seemed to echo with judgment, each sound was swallowed by the gold-lined walls and towering portraits that looked down like silent witnesses. The scent of aged varnish and rain still clung to his coat mingled faintly with cigar smoke drifting from ahead.He followed the steward deeper into Villa Dorada, his thoughts were a controlled storm. Lucía’s cries still lingered faintly from behind — it was a broken melody of guilt and fear. Tobias didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. Not now. Not when he was about to stand before the man whose word could shift the tides of Villa Dorada’s underground world.The steward’s hand pressed softly against his shoulder, halting his pace.“Remember,” he whispered, his voice was low and reverent. “When you see him, you bow. Don Esteban is not a man you stand equal to.”Tobias nodded once. His heart gave a single heavy beat.The double doors then opened.The room b

The silence in the golden chamber was absolute.Even the fire dared not breathe. Shadows quivered across marble walls as Don Esteban Dorada’s gaze lingered on Tobias like a blade balanced between admiration and suspicion.“Leave us,” the old man said quietly.No one argued.The steward bowed once. The guards, silent as statues, stepped backward through the doors. The last hinge clicked shut, sealing Tobias inside the lion’s den.Only two hearts beat now — one steady as iron, the other thundering with uncertainty.The Don rested back in his chair, his golden key glinting under the low light. “El Poderón,” he murmured again, as if tasting the name.Tobias said nothing. The air itself seemed to lean closer, waiting.A thousand thoughts spun in Tobias’s head, each louder than the last.He could lie — smile, nod, and find a way to escape. Maybe steal the key when the Don looked away. Maybe fight his way out. But he’d seen the guards’ eyes. The men outside were killers. One wrong move, and

The corridor beyond the gilded door stretched into silence.Each step Tobias took felt heavier, echoing against walls lined with relics that gleamed under dim candlelight. The air was thick with the scent of cedar and dust — the smell of age and secrets buried too long.Don Esteban Dorada walked ahead, his gait was measured and regal, with the golden key swaying gently with each step. The faint ring of metal against his chest seemed to taunt Tobias — it was a melody of power, of inheritance denied.He followed wordlessly, his heart pounding in rhythm with his steps.At the end of the corridor, a tall oak door loomed. Don Esteban paused, resting his wrinkled hand on its carved surface before pushing it open.The hinges groaned, revealing a room unlike any Tobias had seen in his life.It was warm — unnervingly so — filled with the glow of a fireplace that crackled beside walls crowded with ancient books. Leather-bound volumes stood like silent sentinels. Old maps of Ciudad de Sanvelis

Tobias froze, breath catching.“My father…?”“Andrés Poderón,” Don Esteban said, nodding slowly. “He knew everything about me. My crimes. My skills. My hunger.”“He looked at me — not like a monster, but like a weapon waiting to be used.”The memory softened his tone.“He said, ‘You’ve lived your life taking lives for nothing. I’ll give you a reason to keep doing it — but for justice.’”Don Esteban’s expression grew distant.“He told me he’d been betrayed. His family hunted. His enemies had infiltrated government, industry, and bloodlines. And he… needed someone who could strike without hesitation.”He met Tobias’s eyes, his voice was low but intense.“I became that man. His sword.”The words lingered like smoke.“For the next eight years, I did what I was born to do. I hunted every name Andrés whispered to me. Ministers, bankers, assassins, double agents — anyone who had conspired against the House of Poderón. One hundred and fifty bodies, Tobias. I stopped counting after that. Every

He pressed harder on the accelerator. The Corolla surged forward. The motorcycles followed effortlessly.A red light blinked on his dashboard.His fuel was low.Tobias cursed under his breath. “Not now.”He glanced around. The road stretched empty, no stations, no houses—just darkness and dust.The car sputtered once, twice—then the engine coughed and died. The wheels rolled to a halt in the middle of the lonely road.Tobias hit the steering wheel. “Damn it!”Behind him, the motorcycles slowed. Their engines purred softly as they came to a stop just a few meters away.Neither rider removed his helmet. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, facing him, with the low growl of their engines breaking the silence.Tobias’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Corolla sat dead in the middle of the road, its engine was lifeless, its fuel gauge blinking red like a warning from fate.In the rearview mirror, the two motorcycles rolled to a stop several meters behind him. Their engines