"Armando Barillo?"

"Muerto."

"Y Ajedrez?"

"Muerto tambien."

Tomàs Herrera took a long drag from his cigar and let it set in a bit, shutting his eyes and exhaling. There had been plans. It had been promised that once all was over and done with, the Barillo and Herrera cartels would join forces in the president's absence. Now, those plans were run into the ground. However, years of close companionship with Barillo was comfort enough. Tomàs knew there was one more chance. The laws of physics, in their own way, applied to money and power. It was not created or destroyed. It had to go somewhere. A smile settled on his dark, weathered face as he opened his eyes to look at his underling.

They would just need to bring her to him. Aurelia.


"Díaz, I can stay in a hotel," Aurelia Barillo insisted. Cristóbal Díaz was something of the twenty-five-year-old woman's bodyguard, and had been since she had been small – since Armando Barillo first sent her away to live in America, away from his activities. Aurelia was the younger, gentler Barillo daughter, and perhaps even worse, the product of Barillo's affair with an American woman who mysteriously disappeared – no doubt at the hands of his wife and the mother of his older daughter, Ajedrez. Aurelia was less severe, fairer in complexion, with long dark hair and full, deep pink lips set onto round features.

Armando showed surprising gentleness and concern when it came to this daughter, never involving her in the family business and outright forbidding her to ask of it, despite the fact that it was blatantly clear that none of his dealings were anything good.

Aurelia had lived most of her life in the care of his father's trusted advisor, and Díaz in turn thought of the young woman – who, by nature, seemed much younger than her age because of her heavily sheltered life – as his daughter, in the absence of any children by blood.

Perhaps that was why Aurelia seemed only minimally shaken by the news of the passing of her father and sister – she had been hidden away from them for so long, speaking with her father only by phone, or on very brief, heavily guarded visits to his home near Culiácan.

Díaz, however, seemed unusually squirmy as he looked over his shoulder in the car at Aurelia in the back seat. "We're going to be staying with a friend of your father's. Se?or Herrera –"

"I don't want to stay long," she said adamantly, crossing her arms over herself and unintentionally rumpling the black dress she was meant to wear in mourning. "I want to say goodbye to Papa and Ajedrez and go home."

Díaz seemed pained at this statement, though he didn't let the young woman see. She wasn't even allowed to handle her own papers – that was his job, for the precise reason that there were things that it was better for her not to know about. In all of their minds – probably even in her own – she was still a child. She wasn't yet ready to know what lay in store for her in Mexico.


"How's it feel, Sands?"

"Like you just skullfucked me and gave me a shit-ton of painkillers," the dark-haired man replied as he reached up to remove his own bandages from around his head. "So all in all, pretty fucking good."

In truth, he felt like shit, and he had every reason to. He had a pair of glass eyes – ocular prosthetics – jammed into his face so he wouldn't look nearly so disturbing, and had been in the hospital for a week now. He was fucking blind. There wasn't really much else to say about how he felt.

"So, am I free to go now, Sorenson?"

"Cool it, Sheldon." The woman said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him firmly back into bed as he tried to get up. "Do you realize how big of a mess you've made down here?"

"I thought that was why the C.I.A. put me in this playpen," Sands replied with a smirk that nearly looked believable, considering now he had eyes, no matter how blank and empty they may have been. "The whole point was to put me somewhere that was a shitshow to begin with, because I'm hard to handle –"

"And now you're going to help clean up the shitshow," Sorenson said coldly, adjusting her glasses on the crook of her nose. Sands simply smirked wider. He knew what Sorenson looked like from his time back in the States – tall for a woman, broad-shouldered, wore thick glasses and her hair in a bun. Real librarian type with no time for anyone's bullshit. That is, until you get her to bed – but that was an entirely different story. "We've just received intelligence that The Herrera cartel has sent for Barillo's daughter – not the one you killed –"

"I read the files. I know there's another one," Sands said, his smirk quickly dissipating – he didn't need to have the ability to see in order to know that Sorenson got some satisfaction out of shutting him up. "She's a kid."

"She was 21 when you started the Mexico assignment. 24 now." Sorenson said matter-of-factly. "Anyway, Herrera's called in favors to have her brought to him. Source says they're on their way right now."

"How nice."

"Your new assignment – and your final assignment," Sorenson said with a biting tone that caused a visible leap in Sands' eyebrows, "Is to get her out of the way of things until we clear up this mess with Herrera, get him into custody."

"Let me get this straight," Sands said, his jaw clenched. "My last assignment as an agent – after I gave up my fucking eyes to get the last job done – is to babysit little Princess Barillo while you take all the credit?"

"What we realized," Sorenson said sternly, "Is that maybe Mexico isn't the shitshow. Maybe you're the shitshow. What we need from you is for you to take care of this – then we won't throw you in prison or send you the bill for all this medical care."

Sands sneered, but quickly turned it into a twisted smile. If this was going to be his last assignment, then fuck it all. He'd go out in style. "Brief me on the details so I can be on my way, Sorenson."


"Mi Dulce… I am so, so sorry for your loss."

Aurelia had been preoccupied staring around the main foyer of the Herrera estate – a verifiable mansion. While she had by no means lived in squalor all of her life, it was surreal to see herself what someone in her father's line of work was able to afford. She snapped to attention when Tomàs Herrera reached out and placed a hand comfortingly on her back, despite the fact that she didn't feel she necessarily needed comforting. She was sad, of course – but more than anything, she was confused why she did not feel as sad as she should.

"That means a lot to me," she said, wrapping the black cotton sweater she wore over her dress around her shoulders in spite of the heat. "Thank you."

"We are… so very glad you could come for the memorial service we are holding in honor of Armando and Ajedrez. My son, Anselmo will help you bring your things upstairs," Tomàs continued, gesturing for his tall, tan-skinned son, clad in a grey suit and sunglasses, to come forward and take Aurelia's bags. He was handsome, with sharp cheekbones and charming, dark eyes, but something about him, the way he stared at Aurelia, offset the fact that if she had met him back home, he would probably be precisely her type.

She muttered her thanks as she followed him up the grand staircase to the guest suite – a plush, lavish room covered in artwork and old cherry furniture, topped off with a four post bed.

"I hope you will be able to feel at home here," Anselmo said in heavily accented English. "And I hope… you feel inclined to stay longer than a day or so," he added with a charming smile, catching Aurelia's hand after she put her bag down, placing a chaste kiss on the soft skin around her knuckles.

He certainly wasn't an American boy, she mused to herself. She chuckled a little bit and nodded. "I'll think about it," she said pointedly. Seemingly appeased by such an answer, he respectfully bowed out of the room, though not before shooting a wink in Aurelia's direction as he shut the door behind him.

Now, finally, she was alone – but what she expected to be a feeling of relief was anything but. Ever since news had come out over a week ago of her father's passing, Díaz and the other guards hardly left her alone anywhere, as though they were afraid of something – or someone finding her. She'd been pining for time to herself for the entire week, but now that she finally had it, the sick feeling of grief seemed to slowly seep into her mind. Her father, whom she rarely saw, and her sister who suddenly when they were young stopped wanting anything to do with her – both were gone, and there was no way anymore to make things better. She blinked back an uncomfortable pressure behind her dark eyes and shook her head.

They had not been a part of her life before, she reminded herself. What reason did they have to have an effect like this on it now?


A/N

Hello again to all my readers! I have a feeling some of you might be a little bit miffed at me for failing to finish a lot of my other stories, and I'm extremely sorry for leaving you all hanging! But the mind of a writer wanders, what can I say?

Anyway, I've just finished nursing school and am enjoying my time off before taking my board exam, and in my spare time while I'm not studying, I came across the work of another FFN author, The Pirate Gypsy, and their work in the OUATIM genre in particular. Reading Rigging the Game and Risk inspired me to go into my box of old things and dig up a story I wrote and never posted years ago, when I first watched the movie. Right now, I'm working on rewriting it in my current writing style, which is, as expected, very different – I was about 15 or 16 when I first wrote it, and I'm about 24 now, and considering Aurelia, my protagonist, is around the same age, I think I can finally breathe some life into her.

Anyway, I'm glad you were able to come across this story, and I hope you'll be able to stick with it – send me your positive vibes that I will be able to finish this rewrite! Cheers!