“Here.” I cupped my hand behind his head and lifted it up to meet the glass of water in my other hand. He took a quick sip and leaned back.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never loved my pajamas more,” he said, glancing at me. The shirt had pushed back as I sat on the edge of the bed revealing most of my thigh. I quickly stood.
“Will you sign something that gives me custody of Rosalie and in which you agree to never try to come after her?”
He frowned. “No. Of course not.”
“She’s mine,” I said.
He exhaled loudly. “Gia, you have to give her to me. Or I have to kill you.”
I reached over to the nightstand and handed him the gun.
He shook his head. He knew as well as I did that he wasn’t going to kill me. I didn’t know why, but I knew this.
“There is no way to resolve this,” he said. “We are both very stubborn people, aren’t we?”
I chose my words carefully. “Now that I’ve met you, I see you’re not a monster.”
He raised an eyebrow but did not speak.
“I think you probably do want Rosalie in your life for all the right reasons,” I said and paused. “But here’s the thing. She has a good life with me. She has a normal life. She goes to school. She has friends. She has a dog. She is learning to play the saxophone. She is happy. And safe.”
“The saxophone, heh?” He bit his lip.
“You cannot provide her with those things.”
“I am her father,” he said in that same booming voice from the night before. “I am her blood.”
“But she will be in danger if she is with you,” I said. “She is safe with me.”
“That is not true.”
“The price on your head, the life you lead—you are living by the sword, and you will die by the sword. This little girl deserves better.”
What I said must have struck home because I saw him swallow hard and look away.
Triumph filled me. I had appealed to his humanity. His caring as a father. With words that were true: Rosalie deserved to be kept safe and deserved better than life with one of the world’s most notorious criminals.
He cleared his throat and met my eyes. “Are you safe here with me?”
I looked around. Nobody was getting into that house without him knowing. He had an army, hell a SWAT team, at his disposal.
“I asked you,” he said. “Do you feel safe?’”
I nodded.
“If I make you feel safe when I really don’t care if you live or die, do you not think I would do everything in my power to keep my own daughter—my own flesh and blood—safe?”
For whatever stupid reason, him saying he didn’t care if I lived or died stung, but I ignored it and said, “What kind of life is that? Would she be a prisoner? Would she be able to go to school like a normal girl? Would she have to memorize a code to go outside and play every day?”
It was slightly hypocritical because my own loft had top-notch security, but I didn’t care.
He reached for my hand. I started to draw back in surprise, but then let him take it in his. He began to caress it. That’s when I yanked it back.
Suddenly I realized that the dangerous current of tension between us since we’d met held a massive element of sexual attraction. Oh fuck.
“She has you. And she is very lucky,” he said. “But she also needs a father.”
I stood. “I need coffee. Stat. Otherwise, I’m going to get crabby as fuck, and you won’t like anything I have to say.”
He laughed.
In the kitchen, I found coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. I returned to the bedroom to find the bed empty. A small door was open, and I saw El Jefe in the doorway of a small bathroom. He was buck naked. I realized he’d been naked in bed beside me all night long. Well. Well.
He walked back to the bed, not the slightest bit self-conscious, and I watched him sit and pull on loose pajama pants that rested on a nearby chair. He looked at a T-shirt on the chair.
“I don’t think I can put that on.”
“I don’t think so either.” I ran up to the master bedroom and came back down with a black button down shirt. I helped him slip it on and button it up.
“Doctor Yvonne said the bullet went in and out. Under the clavicle and out to the side of the scapula. Missed an artery by this much,” he held out his fingers a half-inch apart. “I should be back up to speed in the next day or two.”
“Huh,” I said. “I thought I was a better shot than that.”
“Apparently not,” he said.
He looked at the tray I’d prepared. “If you wouldn’t mind carrying that up to the upper deck, I’d love to take my morning coffee with you up there. Most mornings the dolphins come to visit and put on quite a show.”
Settled into the patio on the upper deck, we sat side by side facing the sea, sipping coffee and breaking off pieces of some pan dolce I’d found in a paper bag on the counter.
“There!” he said, exclaiming and pointing with his uninjured left arm. He handed me a small pair of binoculars.
Sure enough, there was a small pod of dolphins playing in the surf, leaping up in what seemed like sheer joy. They seemed smaller than I would’ve thought they’d be, but the binoculars helped me see them even better.
“Wow,” I said. “You see them every day?”
“About every other, but that’s amazing in itself, no?”
“It’s pretty cool,” I said.
We sat in companionable silence. I hated how easy it was to be around him.
At one point, our thighs brushed against one another as I leaned over to put the binoculars down. Everything about sitting there felt good—drinking strong coffee, eating sugary bread, and feeling the warm sun on my bones as I looked out at the water. I felt safe.
When his left hand landed on my thigh, I didn’t move it away. I didn’t move when his hand found its way high up under the silk pajama shirt. Soon I was straddling him on the wooden chair. I then proceeded to make sure he forgot about any pain I’d caused him the night before when I put a bullet in him.
36
While Nico took a shower, I sat in his backyard on a lounge chair smoking and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened over the past twenty hours. I was in this beach village to do one of two things: talk El Jefe into giving up his quest to take Rosalie from me or—if that didn’t work—kill him.
So far, neither were even a remote possibility.
I’d had the chance to kill him. But I had to admit that I didn’t want to. My entire being rebelled against that option. I knew if I absolutely had to, I probably could do it.
The thing was, he hadn’t made it necessary.
He wasn’t going to kill me, so I didn’t need to kill him first.
And what, I was going to walk into his beach house and shoot him dead between the eyes because he wanted his flesh-and-blood daughter in his life?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This was a major clusterfuck without any clear answers.
I looked at my bag on the tiny wrought iron table beside me. My gun was still inside. I wished I had my phone. I needed advice. But what was Dante going to say? He’d say I was fucking losing it.
And Eva, my aunt? She was a trained assassin. She’d wonder why the hell El Jefe was still alive.
No, I was on my own.
I had to figure out how to proceed. I needed a plan.
But I had nothing. Zip. Zilch.
And, worst of all, I really wanted to go back inside and fuck him again. Even thinking it made me squirm in my seat. I loved sex. And I used to have a lot of it before Rosalie was in my life. And goddamn it, I missed it. And that was okay. It was natural and beautiful and really, really, really good with the man inside the house.
He was obviously not a monster.
But even though I was extremely attracted to him, it didn’t mean anything when it came to Rosalie.
Her well bei
ng was more important than my own life.
I was all she had.
I stubbed out my cigarette.
That was it. I knew what to say and do.
37
We were walking down the beach on the wet sand, which made the going a little easier.
Only once did he wince when I brushed his side by accident.
“You cool?” I asked. It’d been my idea to take a walk. He’d readily agreed. “You’re not in pain, right?”
“I’m good,” he said. But I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses. They had been the only thing he’d grabbed, along with a key to the back gate leading to the beach.
I’d slung my purse over my shoulder.
We’d nearly reached the end of the beach that met the rocky point. It was nearly time to turn around.
“You take me down here to whack me?” he said.
“Whack you?”
“Yeah, isn’t that the term they use in the Godfather? Or maybe the Sopranos?” He had a mischievous grin on his face.
I rolled my own eyes, even though I knew he couldn’t see them through my dark sunglasses.
He laughed. But then grew serious.
“You know why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” he asked again.
“I know, I know. Because I’m not a killer like you,” I said in a sing-song voice. “But the real question is, why haven’t you killed me?”
I stopped and turned. He pulled up to a stop as well. He turned to face me, razing his hand through his thick head of hair while seemingly staring out at the ocean.
“Because I’m a foolish old man who’s lost the touch,” he said.
“How old are you?” I suddenly wanted to know. Partly because I wondered if he was the oldest man I’d had sex with, but also because I wanted to know how much longer he would live. What if he was, like, in his 70s and could die any day? What would happen to Rosalie then if he somehow got her from me?”
“I’m 53.”
I didn’t answer. Definitely the oldest man I’d ever had sex with.
“Old, right?” he said.
“Does your family have a history of dying young? I mean do you have like cancer or other diseases that run in your family that increase your chances of dying in the next few years?”
“You do care,” he said.
I scoffed. “I’m thinking of Rosalie. What if she grows attached to you and then you up and die on her.”
“What?” He frowned. “What are you trying to say?”
“Here’s the way I see our situation,” I said. “You want Rosalie. I want Rosalie. But what does Rosalie want?”
I paused. He started working his lip with his teeth as if he were thinking.
“If she went to live with you, what kind of life would she have? And what if you die in the next few years, then what does she have?” I said.
He swallowed. “I’ve thought of these things.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Can we both agree that we want what is best for Rosalie? That is not in dispute?”
“Agreed,” he said. “But I also have to find out if what’s best for Rosalie might be having her father in her life. I can’t assume that her current situation is what’s best for her. I need to know if my involvement in her life will be a positive or a negative. I can’t die not knowing that.”
“You’re dying?”
“No. I mean no, not right away—unless the doctor told you something you’re not telling me.”
We both laughed.
This time I turned toward the sea and looked out at the vast horizon. I spoke without turning toward him. “I have an idea.”
“Go on.”
The sound of a boat came to me at the same time. El Jefe yanked me by the arm and ran, dragging me with him toward the rocky outcropping on the point.
“What the fuck?” I complained but ran with him.
He pulled me down behind a large rock just as a spray of bullets struck the rocks behind and above us, sending sharp splinters of granite raining down on us.
“Give me your gun,” he said.
I handed it to him, and he poked his head above the rocks only to quickly duck back down as gunfire erupted again.
He pulled a phone out of a pocket. I heard voices in the distance, and the sound of the boat’s engine stopped. Oh shit. They were coming to shore.
El Jefe dialed a number and spoke rapidly in Spanish. I could make out a few words and phrases, such as “at the point” and “guns” and “cartel.”
He hung up and tucked the phone back in his pocket.
“Just so you know?” I said. “This isn’t convincing me that Rosalie would be safe with you.”
He shook his head. “This is a minor problem. It’s the Rivas Cartel thinking they can get the avocados away from me.”
Avocados? “You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“No,” he looked surprised at my reaction.
“You mean opioids, hashish, cocaine, right? Not avocados. Or is avocados a euphemism for something else?”
He smiled. “No. Avocados.”
I stared at him, speechless. He poked his head back up over the rock and dipped it back down. “They are on shore now. One is busy with the boat. We should make a run for it.” He gestured behind us to a larger outcropping of boulders.
Unfortunately, we were at the worst possible spot to be confronted. The end of the beach was in a sort of sheltered pocket. The road that ran parallel to the beach through most of the village was now about twenty feet above us, up a craggy, inhospitable hillside. And the sand basically dead-ended at the rocky outcropping, which was also impossible to scale.
There was a small opening between two rocks in our little hideaway, and by crouching down I could see out to the water. Two men were standing in front of a motorboat that had been pulled up onto the shore. They stood with guns pointing toward us. I ducked back behind the larger rock.
Two. We were evenly matched. For what it was worth.
Nico stuck his head up above the rock again and quickly drew it back.
Another volley of gunfire rang out, striking the rock in front of us and above.
“Did you call for someone to come help us?”
“They are too far away.”
I thought about that for a second.
“What’s the plan, El Jefe?” I said. He shot me a glance of annoyance. I knew it was because of the name.
“On my count of three, we stand, you turn and run toward the rocks. I will cover you,” he said.
I looked behind me. The last thing I wanted to do was turn my back on two gunmen and run, but I didn’t think I had much choice. We had to put some distance between the men and us, and the rocks behind us would give us much more shelter and room to maneuver.
“One.”
I got to my feet and crouched.
“Two.” I put my hands on my knees in a sprinter’s pose. As I did, I saw him reach down underneath his pant leg and withdraw another small gun. What the fuck?
“Three,” he said and I bolted, sprinting at a crouch toward the outcropping of rocks behind us and zigzagging a bit. I heard a volley of gunfire behind me and half expected to feel bullets piercing my back any second, but I made it behind the rocks a few seconds before Nico ducked in beside me. We were both breathing heavily.
I straightened and found that in our new location I could fully stand without exposing myself. I knew that sometimes people who’d been shot didn’t even realize it at first, but after a quick check of my body, I relaxed. I looked at Nico. He was crouched slightly with his hands on his knees catching his breath. When our eyes met, we both smiled.
“Did you hit them?”
He shook his head. “No. But I got us here.”
“True.” I peeked out. “Now what?”
“My men should be here soon.”
“I thought you said they weren’t close.”
“Well, they were ten minutes o
ut.”
“What? Are they usually much closer?”
He nodded. “Yes. I always have bodyguards. Always.”
“Except last night and this morning?”
He looked away. “Yes. Except for last night and this morning.”
“In honor of my visit?”
“I thought it would be more conducive to an honest conversation if I didn’t have my men eyeballing you.”
“Eyeballing?”
“They would be suspicious of any move you made.”
“Aha.”
“Would they have watched us fuck?” I said.
“Fuck?” He said the word with a frown as if it were distasteful.
I didn’t answer. That’s what it was. What did he think I should call it? Making love? Hardly.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he busied himself by slowly poking his head around the side of a rock. Shots rang out, and he drew back quickly. I stared, waiting for him to answer. When he didn’t, I finally caved. “Would they have? Watched us?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” I said and saw him wince. He obviously wasn’t used to a woman who swore like a truck driver. But his answer had me thinking. “Did they watch you with—”
“No,” he cut me off. “When I am with someone I trust, they do not watch.”
“You do not trust me?”
He laughed. “Why should I trust you? You shot me in the shoulder.”
“Grazed,” I said. “Let me get this straight—you always have bodyguards in your house at all times. Always?”
“It’s how I avoid getting myself into situations like this one,” he said.
“Fair enough,” I said.
The phone rang. He picked it up and listened and then said, “Yes. Very well.”
He hung up and said, “They are coming by air.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No.”
As soon as he said it, I heard the whirring vibration of a helicopter approaching.
“Look,” El Jefe said and stepped out from the cover of the rock.
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