Vengeance From The Past

Leonel's pov The office was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. I sat back in my chair, eyes fixed on the paused video on my laptop screen. My own voice filled the room, mocking the food she made. “Dry. Tasteless. Like eating cardboard,” I’d said. It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever said about someone, but I could see how it had ruined her. The clip had been posted online, shared around, laughed at. I didn’t think much of it at the time. People talk. People move on. But not her. Camila. Her name wasn’t important before. She was just a face in the kitchen, one of the many. Now, I couldn’t get her out of my head—not because of attraction, but because the look on her face when I disgraced her and spitted out her dish had stuck with me. The way her shoulders had dropped, like all the air had been punched out of her. I didn’t need Damian to tell me she’d lost her job because of me. I already knew. I shut the laptop and leaned back, rubbing my temple. Damian stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “You wanted to see me?” “Find her,” I said simply. His brow lifted. “You already told me that yesterday.” “Then why don’t I have an update?” My voice was calm, but the warning was there. “She’s not easy to track. She’s moved, changed her number—” “Damian,” I cut him off, “I didn’t ask for excuses.” He sighed and gave a short nod. “Alright. I’ll keep looking.” When he left, I stared at the empty doorway for a moment. The truth was, I didn’t know exactly why I wanted to find her. I told myself it was about making things right—or as close to right as a man like me could. The video wasn’t the kind of thing you could take back. People remember humiliation. My phone buzzed. It was Marco, one of my men. “Boss, we found that shipment. No sign of your parents yet.” I swallowed down the frustration. My parents being gone was a different kind of headache. One I didn’t want to mix with this. “Handle the shipment. I’ll deal with the rest.” When the call ended, I opened the laptop again and hit play. Her voice wasn’t in the clip. She hadn’t defended herself. She’d just stood there, listening, while I tore her work apart. I didn’t even remember saying half those words. That’s what bothered me most—it had meant nothing to me at the time. But to her, it had probably meant everything. I closed the video and stood, pacing the length of my office. The city lights glowed through the windows, distant and cold. Somewhere out there, she was starting over, probably hating me. She had every right to. But hate didn’t matter. I needed to see her. The next morning, Damian came in earlier than usual. “Boss. I might have something.” I turned away from the window. “Go on.” “She’s been working small jobs, nothing permanent. Waitressing in a rundown café on the east side. I can have a car ready in ten.” I grabbed my jacket. “Make it five.” The drive was quiet. My men knew better than to fill silence with useless talk. When we pulled up to the café, I stayed in the car, watching through the window. She was there, moving between tables with a tray in her hands. Her hair was tied back, no makeup, no smile. She looked smaller somehow. I remembered her in the kitchen that day—focused, quick, confident in her work. But this time,it was very different.This was someone trying not to be seen, trying to survive. Damian glanced at me. “Want me to bring her out?” “No.” I kept watching. “Not yet.” I didn’t want to walk in there like some savior. She’d see through it. She’d think I was trying to buy her forgiveness, and maybe she’d be right. No, this needs to be on my terms,I didn't want her thinking I'm feeling guilty or anything.I’d get her to work again but not for anyone, and definitely not in any restaurant again. Something better. Something that would force her to look me in the eye every day. As the minutes passed, I noticed the way she avoided people’s gaze, the way her hands trembled slightly when she poured coffee. She was broken in a way I recognized. I’d seen it before—in myself, in men who had lost everything. It made me remember the pain of losing both parents,not knowing where they are. I left before she could notice me. Back at the office, Damian asked the question he’d been holding in. “Why her? You don’t usually care about this kind of thing, besides you hate being touched or close to women so why?” I didn’t answer right away. Finally, I said, “Because I caused it.” He raised a brow but didn’t push. Damian knew me well enough to know when not to talk. The rest of the day was business as usual—meetings, deals, threats that had to be made. But every so often, my mind went back to her in that café, the way she seemed to have folded in on herself. I’d seen the damage I could do with a gun, with money, with power. I’d never really thought about the damage I could do with words. Now I have. And I wasn’t about to let it end there. That night, I made a decision not for her but for myself. “Damian,” I said as he came in to give me the last report of the day. “Yeah, Boss?” “Tell her I have a job for her.” He frowned. “What kind of job?” “One that’ll pay her enough to make her forget what happened.I will make her my personal chef.” He hesitated. “And if she says no?” “She won’t.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Everyone has a price. Find hers.”