Chapter 87

• MONIQUE
• Sunday brunches at Don Antonio's mansion were always a spectacle. The clink of mimosas, the peals of drunken laughter, and the incessant hum of girl talk filled the air. To the untrained eye, these women were just the glamorous girlfriends and wives of powerful men. But beneath the designer clothes and sparkling jewels, they were mere shadows, standing behind men who ruled with iron fists, cartel owners, mob bosses, and everyone in between.
• I leaned back in my chair, swirling my mimosa, watching them from the sidelines as they gossiped about the latest shopping trips, plastic surgeons, and the vacations their husbands promised them. Their voices were high and animated, oblivious to the darkness that truly ran their lives.