Louis

"Why did you do that? Why did you do that to me?" Enzo, his face flushed with anger, screamed, slamming his fists against my chest. I quickly caught hold of both his hands, holding them still.

"Listen, puppy, we did this for your own good. You need to learn how to survive on your own. You're not a child anymore, Enzo. You have to learn to live without him," I said firmly.

"No, you sent him away because you hate me. You hate me! I know you hate me," Enzo shot back, trying to break free and hit me again. But I held his hands tight, not letting him.

"Stop crying like a baby, Enzo. You're not a baby. It's time you learned to be a man," Pedro said, casting a hard look in our direction.

"Fine, then I'll just run away," Enzo retorted, his voice trembling.

"If you run away, we'll have to fire Manuel. You're supposed to stay here for one year without him. If you pull any stupid stunt, your 'beloved bodyguard uncle' will have to pay the price. And believe me, we'll make sure you never see him again. You know we can do that, right?" I said, my voice low but firm.

"Oh, and this is Papa's idea, by the way. Don't take it up with us—go argue with him if you want," Pedro added with a shrug.

"But you didn't even let me talk to him before he left!" Enzo snapped, his voice laced with hurt.

"Papa didn't want you to. He's your bodyguard, Enzo. He could be gone any time—don't you get that?" Pedro said, his tone exasperated. But Enzo just stared back at him, as if he were speaking a foreign language.

With a final look of defiance, Enzo stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Pedro and I exchanged a silent, knowing glance.

—----

It was a good day for traveling. Pedro and I were already set to head to the airport, but Enzo was still getting ready.

"Hurry up, Enzo," I called out, glancing at the time.

"I don't want to go to Spain to meet my ancestors," Enzo muttered as he finally came down the stairs.

"We're not going to meet our ancestors; they're dead. We're going to meet relatives," I replied, rolling my eyes. Who wants to meet dead ancestors, anyway?

"Is Esmeralda going to be there?" Enzo asked, sounding as if he were talking about something revolting.

"Yeah, don't worry, we'll see her too," I said.

"I don't like her. I don't want to meet her," Enzo grumbled, his tone sharp.

"Nobody likes her, Enzo. Just pretend you do. That's what we all do. Even in business, we have to act like we like our clients and partners," I said, giving him a knowing look. He stared back with worried eyes, and I couldn't help but notice how much his eyes resembled Tino's. They both must've inherited that look from Papa. I had a feeling Tino would look just like Enzo when he got to his age. Hopefully, he wouldn't turn out to be as much of a jerk as Enzo.

"What?" Enzo asked, looking at me with narrowed eyes.

"Nothing," I replied, brushing it off.

"You were staring at me. Why?" he pressed, putting his hands on his hips.

"I said it was nothing," I repeated. Ugh, he's so annoying. I have no idea why Papa made this decision. Now I'm stuck spending months with Enzo. It feels more like Papa wanted to punish Pedro and me, not him.

"I saw you thinking about something while you were staring at me," Enzo insisted.

"You'll never know what I was thinking. Now, shut up and get in the car," I snapped. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, I pushed him into the SUV and closed the door.

As the car started moving, Enzo spoke up again. "Who are we going to meet there?"

"All the relatives live there," I replied.

"Do you know them?" he asked.

"Yeah, and you know them too," I said.

"I don't," he protested.

"Some of them have visited us before. Can't you remember?" I asked.

"I remember some of them, but it was a long time ago," Enzo said.

"Yeah, you were little. You might not remember them well," I said, glancing at him.

"I need my old phone," Enzo added.

"No," I replied flatly.

"Why can't I call him?" Enzo asked again, his voice filled with worry.

"Because Papa doesn't want you to," I replied. "Now stop talking. I need to check my phone—I have work to do. Watch some cartoons or nursery rhymes on yours," I said, giving him a look. In response, he kicked me angrily. I kicked him back, and then he kicked me again. I kicked him once more, and he hit my arm.

"Oh, really, dog?" I shot back, glaring at him.

"Yeah, really, dog," he said, matching my glare. I unbuckled my seatbelt and lunged at him, and we started wrestling in the back seat.

"Cut it out, you two," Pedro growled from the front. "What the hell is wrong with you both? Acting like little kids. Have some shame!"

"Yeah, stop it," I said to Enzo, giving him a quick slap as I settled back into my seat. He scowled and raised his hand to slap me back, but I grabbed his wrist before he could. He struggled, but I held on tight, and soon enough, we were tussling again.

"Enough!" Pedro sighed. "Louis, let's switch seats."

The car pulled over so we could switch places. As I opened the door and started getting out, Enzo took the opportunity to kick me right in the butt, sending me sprawling to the ground. Behind me, I could hear him laughing like a complete idiot. I spun around, ready to hit him back, but Pedro grabbed my arm firmly.

"Enough! Get in the front seat," he ordered. I shrugged off his grip, glared at Enzo, and got into the car. Enzo laughed behind me for several minutes. Dog!

Enzo

Believe it or not, this is the first time I'm getting on a plane. No one in my family ever bothered to take me along when they traveled abroad. Now we're headed to Spain on Papa's private jet, along with my two boring brothers and our equally boring guards. This is going to be a long flight.

I miss Papa so much. None of these guys get what I'm going through, and it's pointless to even try to explain it. I spent the whole flight sitting alone, lost in my own world, while Pedro and Louis were talking about something—probably business.

I can barely remember any of my relatives except Esmeralda and one of my cousins, Rafael. Rafael came to our place when we were little; he's a few years older than me, though I have no idea what he looks like now. I'm not even sure he'd remember me. Some other relatives visited from time to time when I was younger, but they never stayed more than a day, and they mostly spent time with Papa. So, it's all a bit blurry. I do know Papa has three brothers.

As I stepped off the private jet, flanked by my two older brothers and our guards, I was greeted by the warm June sun in Barcelona. The weather was nice—not too hot—with a light breeze that made walking across the tarmac pleasant. We were directed through a private entrance at the airport, bypassing the usual bustle of the main terminal.

Once inside, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between the private jet experience and the bustling airport. The terminal's architecture was sleek and modern, with large glass windows flooding the space with natural light. Shops and restaurants were scattered around, offering a variety of food and goods, but we were quickly escorted through a private corridor. Despite the lively atmosphere, I felt strangely detached from it all. This was my first time in Spain, and I didn't know quite what to expect. Our luggage was handled by the staff, and soon, we were making our way towards the exit, ready to explore Barcelona—with the added security and privacy that came with our family's status.

As we left the airport, a sleek black car was waiting. I settled into the plush leather seat with my brothers beside me, while our guards took their positions in the front. The driver expertly navigated the busy streets, and I found myself gazing out the window, absorbing the sights.

The city was alive with energy. People strolled along the sidewalks, enjoying the warm June weather. The architecture was an intriguing mix of old and new, with grand historic buildings standing beside modern structures. As we drove farther from the city center, the urban landscape began to change, giving way to a more relaxed, coastal vibe.

After about an hour's drive, we arrived at our destination: Cala Dorada(fictional name). The name, meaning "Golden Cove," was fitting. The Mediterranean stretched out before us, its turquoise waters glistening in the sunlight. The beach was a long expanse of golden sand, dotted with colorful umbrellas and sunbathers basking in the warm rays.

I could see people swimming, playing beach volleyball, and enjoying a range of water activities. Behind the beach, a lively promenade lined with palm trees, cafés, and small shops added to the inviting atmosphere. The scent of salt water mixed with the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore, creating a sense of calm. It was a picturesque scene, and I found myself genuinely looking forward to exploring this beautiful coastal retreat during our stay.