Rosa felt something squeezing her chest.
—Of course, sweetheart.
Damian heard the request from the hallway. He didn’t go in. He didn’t say anything. But that night he couldn’t sleep.
At dawn he passed by the half-open door and saw her in the window seat, awake, staring at the rain with the teddy bear clutched to her chin. She looked like a statuette made of loneliness.
The next morning, Marcos returned with a thin file and a gloomy expression.
“Elena didn’t die in an accident,” he said.
Damian looked up.
—They killed her. They made it look like the car went off the road, but the coroner found a fracture in her neck that predated the impact.
Marcos opened the folder and swiped through some photos.
—Two weeks earlier, Elena witnessed an arms delivery at the emergency room entrance of the hospital where she worked. She recognized men belonging to Víctor Montalvo.
The name alone was enough to chill the room. Víctor Montalvo was the only rival Damián didn’t underestimate.
“There’s more,” Marcos added. “That night, Emilia was in the car. She could have seen faces.”
Damian clenched his hands on the desk.
—Does Montalvo know about the girl?
—Not yet. But if he finds out, he’ll send someone.
Damian stood up and walked to the window.
—Then he stays here. You double security. Nobody mentions his name. Nobody.
When Rosa took Emilia to the office later, Damian explained the rules: no leaving the house, no talking to strangers, always looking for Rosa or Marcos. Emilia listened to everything without interrupting, with an obedience too perfect for a girl her age.
“Do you have any questions?” he said.
She looked at her bear.
—Can I keep Mr. Buttons?
Of all the possible questions, he chose that one.
Damian looked at the torn stuffed animal, sewn with twisted thread.
—Yes. You can keep it.
Something changed in Emilia’s face. It was just a flicker, a tiny curve of her lips. A smile so small that anyone could have missed it. But it struck Damian in the chest as if a crack had opened inside him.
In the following days the house began to change.
Emilia walked through the hallways like a frightened little animal, hugging the walls. She ate very little. She never complained. She was grateful for everything. Rosa was the first to say it out loud.
—A child who never complains is a child who has learned that nobody listens.
Damian didn’t respond, but that phrase stuck in his mind.
On the fourth day, Emilia found the library. She settled into an armchair by the window, with the bear and the silence. Some time later, Marcos discovered her waiting outside Damian’s office.
—What are you doing here?
—I wanted to ask something— said Emilia. —Are there any children’s books? The ones in the big library have very difficult words.
Marcos opened the door and let her in.
Damián led her to a smaller room, closed for years. On the shelves were stories, young adult novels, picture books. They belonged to Lucía, his sister who died at eight years old from a stray bullet in a neighborhood where no one survived childhood without scars.
Emilia carefully took out a book and hugged it.
—Whose were they?
“From someone I couldn’t protect,” said Damian.
Emilia looked up.
-I’m sorry.
He said nothing more. And yet, that simplicity did him more good than any adult consolation.
They began reading together at night. At first, it was only for ten minutes. Then for half an hour. Then it became a habit. Emilia stopped calling him Mr. Rivas, and one day, by accident, she called him Uncle Damian. She put her hand to her mouth, frightened by her own familiarity.
-I’m sorry.
It took him a second to respond.
-Alright.
And I meant it.
One night, a nightmare made her scream in her sleep. Damian came in and found her huddled in the corner of the bed, sweating, with the teddy bear pressed against her chest.
—Mom… wake up, please…
He sat down without touching her.
—You’re safe. You’re here.
When Emilia opened her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing him.
“I saw him again,” she whispered. “The man.”
Damian barely bowed.
—What man?
—The one who looked inside the car. The night Mom died.
Then, at last, the truth came out. He had seen a face. A large man, with light hair, cold eyes, and a long scar on his neck.
Damian recognized him instantly.
Iván Salcedo, Víctor Montalvo’s right-hand man.
The enemy was no longer a shadow. He had a name.
A few days later, a package appeared by the fence. Inside was a torn teddy bear, stained red. The message was clear: we know the girl is here.
Damian gathered his men and began hunting down the traitor within his organization. It turned out to be Toño Marchetti, a man who had been with him for ten years. He had sold information to pay off gambling debts.
Damian stared at him for a long time.
Previously, the sentence would have been immediate. That night he only said:
—Get him out of here. Away from the house.
Even his own darkness was changing.
But Montalvo did not wait.
One December morning, Rosa took Emilia out to the back garden for a few minutes. Frost covered the grass and the air was clear, deceptively calm. Emilia walked a few steps forward, searching for birds among the bare trees.
The gunshot shattered the morning.
The rock exploded inches from her. Emilia froze. She didn’t scream. Terror emptied her from within.
The second shot was already coming when Marcos threw himself on top of her. He shielded her with his body, and the bullet pierced his shoulder.
“Put her in!” he roared through his teeth.
Rosa ran with the baby in her arms toward the house while security responded. Emilia didn’t cry. She had gone too far inside herself to do so.
Damian arrived twenty minutes later and found her hiding behind the library armchair, trembling silently with the bear against her chest.
He knelt in front of her.
—Look at me, Emilia. I’m here.
The girl’s green eyes seemed empty.
“They’re not going to stop,” she whispered. “Are they? They’ll keep going until they kill me like they killed Mom.”
Damian felt his heart break.
I could lie to her. I could tell her no. But I had already learned not to insult her pain with stories.
“They’ll try,” he said. “But first they’ll have to get past me.”
Emilia looked at him for a long time.
—I don’t want to die.
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