We are all surrounded
Olivia is visibly stunned and frightened, while George appears despondent, his expression conveying that he might break down at any moment, his face-a portrait of sheer disheartenment. His eyes were vacant, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world pressed down on him. It was clear to anyone looking that George was a man who could crumble at any moment, his facade of strength disintegrating before their eyes.
In stark contrast stood Marcelo, calm and impassive. His father’s news, which had sent ripples of panic through Olivia and brought George to the edge of despair, had left Marcelo unmoved. His expression remained unchanged, a stoic mask that betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. His presence in the room, however, was an anchor, an unsettling stillness amidst the chaos that gripped the others.
And then there was Theressa. Her eyes, wide and brimming with a mixture of sorrow and betrayal, were locked onto Marcelo’s. It was as if the rest of the room had ceased to exist for them, the intensity of their gaze creating an invisible cocoon around them. Theressa’s voice, when she finally spoke, was barely more than a whisper, her words tremulous and laden with emotion.
“You knew,” she murmured, her words more an accusation than a question. Her eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, while Marcelo remained steadfast, his face an unreadable mask. The silence that followed her revelation was thick, charged with unspoken emotions and unvoiced accusations.
Theressa stood rooted to the spot, her heart aching at Marcelo’s perceived betrayal. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his silence, each thought more distressing than the last.
Marcelo, despite the turmoil swirling around him, remained a pillar of calm. His eyes never wavered from Theressa’s, as if he was willing her to understand, to see beyond her hurt and grasp the reasons behind his actions. But he offered no explanation, no words to soothe her wounded heart. Instead, he stood silent, his presence both a comfort and a source of frustration.
Olivia, desperate for answers, turned his attention back to George. “Why are you here?” He demanded, his voice breaking with the strain.
The tension in the room was thick, a palpable force that seemed to press down on everyone present. George’s voice, strained and desperate, was the first to cut through the oppressive silence. “Who? Who among us is Theressa’s brother?”
Olivia’s reaction was immediate and violent. His jaw clenched tightly, the shock of seeing his sons quickly morphing into a furious rage. His features contorted grotesquely, and without warning, he pulled a gun from his coat and aimed it directly at Mary, who stood just before him. The room collectively gasped, the threat of violence suddenly very real.
“And how will that be fun, letting any of you know?” Olivia’s chuckle was dark and sinister, a sound that sent chills down the spines of everyone there. In that moment, he seemed no better than a psychopath, his eyes gleaming with a mad light.
“Let her go,” Marcelo’s voice rang out, clear and authoritative. It reverberated through the room, a stark contrast to Olivia’s manic laughter. His command hung in the air, a demand that brooked no argument.
George, his voice breaking with emotion, pleaded with his father. “Father, why?” The pain in his words was evident, a raw wound laid bare for all to see. Meanwhile, Theressa, standing a few feet away, was calculating her next move. Her eyes flicked to the gun pointed at her from the side by one of Olivia’s men. Her mind raced, weighing her options.
Olivia’s laughter continued, a grating, unhinged sound that made Theressa’s stomach churn. Her senses screamed at her to act, to tackle the man by her side and disarm him. But she hesitated, knowing that her proximity to Olivia meant that any sudden movement could result in her mother being shot-or worse, herself.
“Surrender!” Olivia’s voice cut through the room like a blade, his command sharp and unyielding. His men materialized from the shadows, encircling George, Marcelo, and Theressa, their presence suffocating.
The three of them had no choice but to comply, lifting their hands in a gesture of submission. The atmosphere was electric with tension, hearts pounding wildly in collective fear. Theressa could feel her pulse in her throat, each beat a painful reminder of their dire situation.
Marcelo’s eyes locked onto Theressa’s. “Theressa,” he called out, his voice steady but urgent. She remained still, knowing exactly what he was signaling.
“Do it.”
That was all the motivation she needed. With a swift, practiced motion, she spun around, her leg arcing through the air and striking the gun out of the man’s hand beside her. The gun clattered to the floor, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.
A shot rang out, deafening in the confined space, but it missed its mark, embedding harmlessly in the wall. Marcelo and George sprang into action, their movements a blur as they tackled the nearest opponents. The room erupted into chaos, the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the cacophony of shouting and gunfire.
Theressa moved with a dancer’s grace, dodging and striking with precision. She barely registered the arrival of more men until she saw them engage with Olivia’s forces. Only then did she realize Marcelo’s men had arrived to turn the tide.
Amidst the turmoil, Olivia made his escape. She saw him slip through a doorway, his form disappearing into the shadows. Panic surged through her as she scanned the room for Mary, but she was nowhere to be seen. George, too, had vanished in the fray.
Theressa knew she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Another of Olivia’s men lunged at her, and she met him head-on, her body moving on instinct. She blocked his first punch, countering with a sharp elbow to his ribcage. He staggered back, giving her just enough time to survey the room.
Marcelo was in the thick of the fight, a force of nature as he disarmed one opponent after another. His eyes met hers briefly, a silent message passing between them
“Go after him. I’ll take care of things here,” Marcelo said, his voice firm and resolute. Theressa hesitated, guilt gnawing at her insides. Marcelo was sacrificing his chance to confront his father, all for her sake and her quest for revenge.
She nodded, a silent promise in her eyes, and sprinted down the hallway. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, each step echoing loudly in the oppressive silence. She reached a staircase and hurried down, the harsh fluorescent lights flickering ominously overhead. This wasn’t a passage to a hideout-it was an escape route.
As she burst into the underground parking lot, her eyes locked onto Olivia. He was shoving Mary into the trunk of a sleek, black car. Rage boiled within her, but she kept her movements controlled, her grip tightening on the gun Marcelo had retrieved for her.
“Olivia!” she yelled, her voice reverberating off the concrete walls. The figure turned, a sinister smile playing on his lips as he closed the trunk.
“You think you can kill me?” Olivia taunted, taking measured steps toward her, his smirk growing more pronounced with each stride. “You think if you kill me, it’s over?” He continued to advance, his tone dripping with arrogance.
Theressa raised the gun, aiming it squarely at his forehead. Her hands were steady, her resolve unshaken. “I’m not the only one, Theressa,” Olivia said, his smirk fading into a grave expression. “If you don’t die by my hands today, you’ll die by his.”
His words gave her pause. He? Theressa’s mind raced, trying to piece together who Olivia was referring to. The moment of distraction was all Olivia needed. In a swift, brutal motion, he kicked the gun out of her grip and tackled her to the ground.
Theressa hit the concrete hard, the impact knocking the breath out of her. Olivia’s fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing relentlessly as he choked the life out of her. He was muttering something, but the edges of her vision were already starting to blur. The world was narrowing to a pinpoint of pain and desperation.
She clawed at his hands, but her strength was fading fast. Just as the darkness began to overtake her, she felt a sudden release. Olivia’s grip slackened, and she gasped for air, her lungs burning.
She felt a warm, wet splatter across her face and looked up to see Olivia’s lifeless body crumpling to the floor. Standing behind him, a gun still smoking in his hand, was George.
“George,”