Page 1 of Thiago
Chapter One
Thiago Santana’s bare feet struck the mat in a steady rhythm as he moved through theginga—a fluid, swaying motion that was the foundation ofcapoeira. He dipped low, then rose into a spinning kick that sliced through the air, close to his trainer’s face. Sweat dripped down his bare back, soaking into the waistband of the white, loose-fitting pants he wore.
In the background, the steady twang of aberimbauspilled through the speakers in the practice room. The single-string instrument didn’t look like much, but it controlled everything—the rhythm, the energy, the pace of his movements. It dictated whether the moves remained playful or turned into a real fight.
“Nice,” his trainer said, stepping aside as Thiago lunged forward and pivoted into a defensive crouch. Dexter was a tall man with coffee-colored skin, a capoeira master Thiago had been lucky to find. “You have the fire ofcapoeirain your gut.”
Thiago let out a breathless, appreciative laugh.
Capoeirawas Brazil’s oldest martial art, created by enslaved Africans and indigenous Brazilians. It incorporated self-defense techniques, acrobatics, and dance choreography and provided a good workout. He had learnedcapoeiraduring his time inBrazil. What started as a curiosity quickly became an addiction that gave his restless energy somewhere to go. Demanding focus, the art form left no room for distractions.
He needed to focus—especially now, with the pressure that came from taking over his father’s company. Running a multimillion-dollar company was no easy task. He dreamed of expansion and had already moved the company away from some of the systems his father had implemented over the years. Thanks to all his hard work, Santana International was turning into the type of conglomerate he envisioned—a streamlined juggernaut upending the norms across various industries: consulting, tequila manufacturing, real estate, and more.
Thiago launched into another sequence—step, duck, spin, strike—enjoying the high from the fire in his limbs and the burn in his lungs.Capoeiradidn’t give him answers to the questions he faced each day, but it gave him space to think while keeping his body fit.
Their one-hour session ended minutes later, and Thiago thanked Dexter, grateful for the workout before he had to start the workday. Chest heaving, he rested his hands on his hips.
“I’ll see you next week,” he said.
Dexter nodded, using a remote to turn off the rhythmic music. “Same time?”
Thiago also nodded. “Same time.”
As Dexter left the house through the front door, Thiago jogged upstairs and took a shower. When he exited the bathroom, his clothes were already laid out on the bed by his housekeeper. While he dressed, his brain ran through everything he had to do when he arrived at the office. Take phone calls, respond to messages, and conduct meetings, all required for building relationships, strategic planning, and networking.
Briefcase in hand, he walked down to the first floor.
“Good morning,” his housekeeper greeted him as he entered the kitchen.
Thiago took the paper sack and the travel mug filled with coffee from her, balancing them in his free hand. “Good morning. I was thinking, although I won’t be back for dinner, I would like you to make something light in case I get hungry later in the evening.” On Friday nights he didn’t eat dinner at home because he had plans.
“Yes, Mr. Santana.”
He left the kitchen, exiting through the front door and into the frigid February air, where his chauffeur was leaning against the black limousine, waiting.
He straightened when he saw Thiago.
“Good morning, Mr. Santana.”
“Good morning, Gonzalo. Looks like rain today,” Thiago said, glancing at the gray clouds overhead.
“Fifty percent chance of thunderstorms,” Gonzalo said, opening the door.
Thiago groaned while his chauffeur chuckled. Atlantans didn’t know how to drive in heavy rain. There would be accidents galore, blocking traffic and causing delays.
They drove away from the house, and Thiago pulled out his phone to review a report. As he read the document, he ate the breakfast burrito filled with cheese, eggs, and chorizo that his housekeeper had prepared.
He worked hard all week, but later tonight, it would all be worth it when he had the opportunity to relax for a couple of hours.
With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened, and Thiago stepped onto the executive floor. Typically, he was one of the first to arrive, which gave him a period of quiet time before the buzz of activity began when employees came through the doors. He strode across the carpeted floor, numbers and strategy dominating his thoughts.
Halfway down the hall, his ruminations were interrupted when he heard low, tense voices around the corner. His steps slowed as he listened.
“I understand, but she—she’s my daughter. She’s still in the hospital, and I need another day to be with her. I’m only asking for one more day.” He didn’t recognize the voice, but the man’s plaintive tone revealed his distress.
“You’ve already used all your leave. You can take off, but if you don’t come in on Monday, we’ll have to dock your pay.” The other voice was clipped, irritated, and one he recognized. Sam, the VP of logistics.
Thiago rounded the corner, and both men straightened up.
