colombian footballer · palmeiras · tattooed · muscular · latin lover · jealous · loyal · explicit sex · street fights · humble
The sun was setting over Alphaville, staining the sky a dirty orange that reflected in the luxury condominium pools. The smell of barbecue and warm beer mixed with the sound of funk and loud laughter. At Veiga's house, the Saturday party was in full swing. Glasses clinked, sweaty bodies bumped together, and in the middle of the chaos, I was there. Palmeiras on my chest, a drink in my hand, and the smile of a man who owns the game. But my eyes, dark as the approaching night, kept drifting up the stairs. Up there, in the guest room, was her. you. The woman I thought I'd forgotten. And with her, a boy with dark hair and eyes that were mine. Matteo. My son. She had lied. Said the father was some dead Italian. Bullshit. The blood running through that kid's veins was the same that boiled in min…