Envy (Criminal Sins 1)

“I was already supposed to be a queen by now...” I remind her for the 10000th time, sighing a little more somberly than our playful little banter may warrant. The memory of what I’ve been stripped of, and how I was stripped of it, always manages to darken my mood to a dangerous extent. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, heavy storm clouds are always just around the corner, threatening to crush me under their dark weight; the only way to hold them off is with a little bit of inner fire.

Marcela pats me on the back of my hand sympathetically. “I know, dear, and you will be again, but only if you play by the rules, their rules.”

I don’t like the sound of that, but what other choice do I have? I’m practically stuck in Colombia because of my family’s lengthy criminal record. All of the other good countries in the world are shut off to me, along with every opportunity that they could provide. My only way out is to meet someone good and powerful enough to wipe my slate clean. “Whatever,” I pout, dismissing my sadness for cheek, “as long as they speak English. My Spanish is rusty...”

“Just don’t lose your head,” Marcela warns, referencing to my famously spicy temper. It’s not my fault I act on impulse sometimes, it’s in my blood.

Some good that did my parents...

I shake that negativity from my head.

“No promises.”

“Ms. Alzate,” the bellboy practically bows as he opens up the front door of the Grand Casa hotel in downtown Cali for me. I smile back at him, strutting inside while desperately trying to swat away all the gnawing insecurities about being in such a lavish place. I deserve to be here, I remind myself, unsure if it’s true or not, don’t let anyone tell you any different!

I’m pointed down a dimly lit hallway. The extravagant walls are lined with larger than life portraits of conquistadors and kings, each bordered by polished white marble statues of tiny cherubs and heroic angels—they’re a nice change of pace from the ominous grey gargoyles that loom outside. I follow the sconce lights to the towering double doors at the end of a dark red carpet. I’m either later than I thought or earlier than I expected, because there isn’t another soul to be seen on my walk to the ballroom, other than the security who stand out front of the giant angel wing doors.

Maybe this was a mistake. My gut tightens and I subtly scan my surroundings for some route of escape. It’s not like I’m being led to an execution chamber, but after all that I’ve been through in my life, it’s become a second instinct to always be looking for a way out.

There aren’t any false doors or trick lights to disappear behind, though. Of course. These people I’m trying to integrate with aren’t criminals—at least, not in the common sense. They don’t fear for their lives every second of every day. They aren’t in need of quick escapes. In fact, the last thing any of them probably ever want to think about is leaving their inner sanctum of power and influence and control. Their big worry is keeping people out; keeping people like me out. Well, they’ve made a big mistake, because I’ve finally gotten an invitation into the big-boys room, and I’m not leaving without something important—even if that means I have to stuff some silverware down my panties on the way out.

The coral-winged ballroom doors are guarded by four gigantic men wearing dark suits and even darker demeanors. I catch my reflection in their black sunglasses as I approach. My white dress flutters like a grounded dove as I pull out my invitation and hand it to the nearest agent.

He’s not as friendly or knowledgeable as the bellboy out front. I’m left to stand in the hallway while he turns his back and disappears behind a small door carved into the wall. My stomach rolls with nerves and I desperately try to control my breathing. The closer I get to my destination, the more anxious I become. This is a big moment in my life, and what I make of tonight will have huge ramifications for me and my bloodline from now until the end of time.

I can’t screw this up—but first, I need to be let in.

It feels like an eternity before that small semi-hidden door just off to the side of the grand ballroom entrance squeaks back open. The giant security guard ducks under the doorway and gives a subtle nod to his companions. I wonder if he works for the government? Probably. From what I’ve heard, there will be plenty of mayors and senators at this shindig, and they’ve all brought their spoiled sons to gawk at what their country has to offer them.

It takes two of the burly agents to push open the epic double doors before me. I straighten up and take a deep breath as the chitter chatter from inside the ballroom washes over me like a roaring wave. I’m nearly overcome by the weight of it all before I can even take my first step inside, but somehow, I manage. I always somehow seem to manage.

Whether anyone notices my entrance or not is hard to tell—I’m too focused on not tripping over my strappy sandals to look anyone in the eyes—but the moment I hear the doors click shut behind me, the world goes quiet.

Blood rushes to my ears; the only sound is my breathing. I want to close my eyes and gather myself, but I know if anyone is watching, doing such a thing will make me look weak. I can pretend to be docile and subservient all I want, but I can’t appear to be weak. I won’t appear to be weak.

“Ah, Catalina, I’m so glad you made it!” The semi-familiar voice is muffled at first, but when a smooth hand gently falls upon my shoulder, the oppressive silence that has invaded me dissolves and is replaced by that overbearing chitter chatter that echoes off the unending ballroom walls.

I follow the hand t

hat has brought me back down to earth and I can’t help but let a natural smile slip. It’s Luis Morelos, the mayor of the little town I’ve been living in for god-knows how long now. He’s who invited me here; he’s who has been sheltering me, despite my past, despite my family’s underworld connections, despite the darkness that seems to follow me everywhere I go. He’s a good man, and I’m glad to see him. I’m even more thankful for the opportunity he’s provided me: a way out. A path back to normalcy—well, my normal.

“Mr. Morelos,” I curtsy. He chuckles and studies my traditional garb, an impressed scrunch coming over his face.

“I like the dress, very appropriate.”

I do a quick scan of the room. All of the men are dressed in perfectly fitted designer suits. Most of the woman are in gorgeous gowns that show off their tall slender figures. “I feel a little underdressed,” I think out loud.

“Nonsense,” Luis chuckles. “Marcela was right to have you wear it. I wonder where she got the idea from?” A sly smile tiptoes on his lips as he taps his nose suggestively.

The distinguished man couldn’t be over 65. He has thick salt and pepper hair and smart brown eyes and a face that says he’s seen some hard days but those are long behind him now. He’s been a government worker for some time, and he’s managed to squeeze his way into some pretty high circles.

I politely giggle at his playfulness. Luis has been good to me, even if I know his intentions aren’t completely altruistic. He’s well aware of the slice of power my family left behind in their destruction, and he knows that once I get with the right crowd, I’ll be in a position to reclaim some of that wealth and influence. He thinks that he’ll be first in line to prosper from my resurgence—and, well, he’s not wrong. If things go as planned, then I’ll make sure he gets his slice of my pie. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have been given this chance to get my foot in the door. Now, it’s up to me not to screw it all up.

If only I could trust myself as much as others seem to trust me.

“Let me introduce you to some people,” he offers, pointing me forward through the crowd of nearly indistinguishable wealthy people. I spot another darker skinned girl in a traditional outfit similar to mine. She slides through the crowd like a ghost before disappearing behind a wall of shiny suits and glittery dresses. My stomach lurches a little at the idea that we’re both being put on a sort of auction block. I wonder if she’s been through anything like what I have, or if she’s just a beautiful village girl some scout picked up on his way home from a vacation in the countryside?

“Catalina, this is Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, and this is their son Mateus,” Luis snaps me back to reality with a subtle nudge to the elbow. “He just graduated from Oxford law school this past spring, right?”