Chapter 1
Andreas sat in his small, sparsely decorated office aboard the naval ship. The hum of the engines vibrated through the walls, but he was focused on the piece of paper in his hands—Roberto’s grades from his sophomore year. Nearly perfect, just like last time. Andreas leaned back in his chair, a quiet sense of pride swelling in his chest. All those years of sending money back home—almost everything he earned, except for the little he saved—were for moments like this. He didn’t need much for himself; the military was his life, and the rest went to his family. Roberto’s education was an investment he’d never hesitated to make, and now, seeing his brother thrive, it felt like all the sacrifices were paying off.
As he glanced around his bare office, Andreas’ thoughts drifted back to their childhood. It hadn’t been easy after their father’s death—he was only 15 at the time, and suddenly the weight of responsibility fell on his shoulders. Roberto was still just a baby, unaware of the world’s harshness, but Andreas knew he had to step up. Joining the Marines was his way out of the rough neighborhood, a way to ensure Roberto would have more options than he ever had. He’d sent money home religiously, funding school supplies, meals, and eventually, college tuition. Carlos, their uncle, had helped where he could, but Andreas carried most of the burden. Looking at Roberto’s grades now, it felt like all those sacrifices—nights spent on duty, holidays missed, and time lost—were finally worth it.
Just as Andreas let himself relax into the moment, his phone buzzed on the desk, the harsh sound cutting through the quiet hum of the ship. He frowned, glancing at the caller ID—Carlos. His uncle rarely called, especially this late. A knot formed in his stomach as he picked up the phone. “Andreas,” Carlos’ voice came through the line, shaky and breathless, “you need to come home—now. It’s bad, man. Something terrible happened.” Andreas’ heart pounded in his chest. Carlos never sounded like this. “It’s Roberto... FBI... there was a raid. Something went wrong, hermano. Just get home.” Andreas sat frozen, the air knocked from his lungs, the grades in his hand suddenly meaningless.
The phone call blurred in Andreas’ mind as Carlos’ words echoed through him, each one hitting harder than the last. Roberto—gone. He stared at the grades still in his hand, the paper trembling slightly as he gripped it tighter. Just moments ago, it had symbolized all of Roberto’s potential, the future Andreas had sacrificed so much to build. Now, it felt like a cruel reminder of everything that had been ripped away. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible. Roberto wasn’t supposed to be there—how could this have happened? The grief, anger, and disbelief collided inside him, leaving him feeling hollow and powerless.
The call ended, but Andreas sat frozen, unable to move. The room around him seemed to blur and fade, as if the world itself had become distant. Roberto’s grades slipped from his hand, landing softly on the desk, a haunting reminder of everything that would never be. The future they had both worked so hard for was gone, shattered in an instant. Memories of Roberto flooded his mind—laughing, talking about the future, the promises they had made. And now, nothing. Andreas had faced loss before in combat, but nothing could prepare him for this. He was left with the heavy silence, the unbearable realization that his brother was truly gone.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold, sterile glow over the room. Andreas sat in a rigid chair, his hands gripping the armrests, trying to steady his breathing. The government office was as impersonal as they came—white walls, metal desk, the hum of air conditioning filling the silence. It had been weeks since Roberto’s death, weeks of sleepless nights, and endless grief. Now, he was here, staring across the desk at the man who was responsible for the raid that had taken his brother. Special Agent William Grayson sat calmly on the other side, papers neatly stacked in front of him, his hands folded. Andreas had expected to feel a surge of anger seeing him, but instead, he felt a hollow ache settle deeper in his chest.
Grayson sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of the file on his desk. “Mr. de la Vega, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for your loss. What happened that night... it wasn’t supposed to end like this.” His voice was steady, carrying a weight Andreas hadn’t expected. “The raid was part of an ongoing operation targeting a known gang house. We had credible intel on drugs and illegal firearms in the building, and your brother... well, Roberto wasn’t supposed to be there.” Grayson paused, locking eyes with Andreas. “When the team moved in, he reached into his backpack. The officer thought it was a weapon—turned out it was just his ID.” He rubbed a hand over his face, his regret palpable. “The men he was with had guns. There were drugs on the premises. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Andreas shifted in his seat, his hands tightening around the armrests as memories of Roberto flooded his mind. The late nights spent talking about his future, the dreams he had—dreams Andreas had fought so hard to make possible. Now, it was all gone, wiped away in an instant by a single raid. Grayson’s words hit him hard, but not in the way he had expected. He wanted to be furious, to throw the blame squarely at the man across from him, but the sincerity in Grayson’s voice confused him. It wasn’t enough, though. No apology, no investigation would bring Roberto back. The ache in his chest deepened, and the rage he had been clinging to began to slip, leaving him with nothing but hollow grief.
Grayson shifted slightly in his chair, leaning forward. "I know this won’t bring your brother back," he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of strain. "But I want you to know that I will personally see to it that we investigate what happened. Every detail of that raid will be reviewed." He paused, his brow furrowing as if the weight of the situation sat heavily on him too. "Roberto deserved better than what happened to him, and I’ll make sure that no stone is left unturned. We need to know exactly how it all went wrong." The words were more than Andreas had expected. Grayson wasn’t dodging responsibility, wasn’t dismissing Roberto’s death as just another statistic. But it didn’t matter. Not really. Andreas still felt the loss, deep and raw, and no investigation could change that.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Andreas stood up slowly, the weight of the conversation settling over him like a heavy blanket. Grayson’s words lingered in the air, but they didn’t offer the relief he’d hoped for. The sterile office around him felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the warmth of the memories he held of Roberto. As he walked toward the door, the hum of the air conditioning and the cold fluorescent lights only deepened the emptiness inside him. Grayson’s apology and promises echoed in his mind, but they couldn’t bring Roberto back. They couldn’t fill the void that his brother’s absence had left. As Andreas stepped out of the office, he felt no closer to closure—just more lost, more powerless.
Andreas stepped out of the government building, the conversation with Grayson still replaying in his mind like a broken record. The sun was blinding as it hit him, but the cold emptiness in his chest remained. As he reached the sidewalk, a voice called out from behind him, hesitant but clear. “Mr. de la Vega?” He turned to see a young woman approaching him, her eyes sharp and focused despite her soft tone. “I’m Sylvia Gomez,” she said, holding out a card. “I was supposed to interview your brother, Roberto, before... well, before everything happened.” Andreas frowned, unsure where this was going. “It was about a kid, Vincenzo Rios, who disappeared a few months ago. I was hoping you might be able to help.”
Andreas’ face tightened at the mention of Vincenzo. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be dragged into anything else. “I don’t know anything about Roberto’s friends,” he said, his voice flat. He started to turn away, but Sylvia wasn’t done. “I know this isn’t easy,” she pressed, stepping closer. “But I think Roberto knew something about Vincenzo’s disappearance. They were close, weren’t they? I’m following the case, and... I just need to know if Roberto told you anything.” Andreas clenched his jaw, the grief and exhaustion weighing on him. “No,” he said more firmly. “He didn’t.”
Sylvia didn’t back down. “Vincenzo was around a lot before he disappeared. Are you sure you never saw him?” she asked, her voice more insistent now. Andreas exhaled sharply, feeling the pressure of her questions. He remembered the kid—a street kid who hung around their house sometimes, especially when Roberto was home. His mother had fed Vincenzo more than once, and the boy seemed to disappear into the background like so many others. But Andreas wasn’t ready to share that. “I don’t know anything about Vincenzo,” he lied, his eyes hardening. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Sylvia crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “Maybe you didn’t know, but Roberto might’ve been involved in something bigger,” she said, her words deliberate. “I’ve been digging into Vincenzo’s disappearance, and there’s more going on here than just a missing kid. Whatever happened, I think Roberto knew something. If you really want answers about what happened to him, you should start with Vincenzo.” Andreas stared at her, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably on his shoulders. Doubt flickered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it down. He wasn’t ready to dig through his brother’s life, not yet.
Andreas shook his head, taking a step back. “I’m not ready for any of this,” he muttered, his voice tight. He turned and started walking, his mind swirling with grief and exhaustion. Sylvia didn’t follow, but he could feel her eyes on him as he left. She’d struck a nerve, he knew that much, but he wasn’t ready to face it. Not now. The idea that Roberto might have been involved in something more—something dangerous—gnawed at him, but he pushed the thought aside. Right now, it was all he could do to keep moving forward.
Andreas sat slumped in the corner of his dimly lit apartment, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. Around him, empty bottles littered the floor, the sharp scent of stale alcohol filling the air. He stared blankly at the wall, his mind swirling with memories of Roberto. The apartment felt foreign now, more like a prison than a home. The life he had once carefully built—a military career, a law degree, a future—had collapsed the moment his brother died. Now, all that was left was the empty ache in his chest and the burning desire to forget.
Andreas reached for the half-empty bottle beside him, the amber liquid sloshing as he took another long swig. Each drink dulled the edge of the pain, but only for a moment. The more he drank, the more the memories flooded back—Roberto laughing, talking about his plans for the future, how he would change the world. Andreas had fought for that future, sacrificed for it, and now it was gone, just like his brother. The apartment was a wreck—clothes strewn across the floor, law books stacked haphazardly, the framed law degree hanging crooked on the wall. He’d built everything for Roberto, and now none of it mattered.
Late that night, with the alcohol coursing through his veins, Andreas stumbled into the bathroom. The room seemed to spin for a moment, the edges of his vision blurring in a way that felt heavier than just drunkenness. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked mirror, but something about it made him pause. The face staring back at him wasn’t just tired or grief-stricken; it seemed distorted, wrong, like a shadow had settled over his features. For a brief second, his reflection didn’t seem to move in sync with him, a flicker so subtle that he wasn’t sure if it was real or just the booze messing with his mind.
Without thinking, a surge of anger rose inside him. Before he knew it, his fist collided with the glass. The mirror shattered, but the sound felt distant, muffled somehow, as if the room had suddenly dulled around him. Shards fell into the sink, and a sharp pain shot through his hand, but even that felt muted, as if his body had stopped processing the full extent of the sensation. Blood began to drip, staining the white porcelain, but Andreas just stared blankly at the mess, a strange calm creeping into the edges of his mind. He should have felt something—pain, rage, anything—but instead, there was only a growing emptiness, like the world was slowly receding from him.
He sank to the floor, the cold tiles pressing against his skin, but even that felt distant, like a memory of a sensation rather than the real thing. His hand throbbed, and the blood continued to pool, but it all seemed so far away now, as though it was happening to someone else. Andreas whispered a prayer, half to the universe, half to no one at all, pleading for something—anything—to fill the void inside him. But as the words left his lips, they seemed to dissipate, lost in the emptiness that surrounded him. The pain, the grief, the exhaustion—they all began to fade, replaced by an unsettling stillness.
And then, through the haze of alcohol and the weight of his grief, that strange calm settled in fully. The chaos in his mind—the endless storm of anger and sorrow—suddenly stilled. It wasn’t peace, not quite. It was something else, something deeper, like a heavy silence had fallen over everything. The overwhelming hopelessness that had suffocated him lifted just slightly, replaced by a sense of quiet resolve, as though something larger than him had made a decision. He didn’t understand it, didn’t know why, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Andreas felt like he could breathe again. The room seemed to still, the broken mirror’s shards glinting faintly in the dim light, but they felt more like distant stars now, unreachable. And then, as if cradled by the calm itself, Andreas slipped peacefully into sleep.