She explained that the statue was far more than art. Countless miracles were owed to prayers uttered at the holy site. My child’s mind heard what my mother said and imbued great powers upon the statue, seeing it as a glorified telephone to God’s house. I couldn’t wait to see it with my own eyes.
We lived in the servants’ quarters on a large estate and had few possessions of our own, but unlike many of the other staff, my mother had done well enough with her money to own a small car. We made the drive in three days. We stayed in shabby motels and ate the food she’d brought with us, except for the occasional splurge on ice cream or a soda along the way.
That trip was one of my best childhood memories. We sang along with songs on the radio and cuddled together in bed each morning before getting back on the road. My mother was my entire world, and spending uninterrupted quality time with her was a unique gift.
By the time we reached Mexico City, I was giddy with excitement to see the sacred statue that inspired our great adventure. The sight of it more than lived up to the hype. She was clad in a modest robe and floral gown, hands out welcoming the indigenous people around her, a halo of golden sunbeams radiating outward from behind her. With a rocky waterfall backdrop and artfully crafted water fountains arcing sprays of water all around her, the scene stirred something within me.
Several years later, I would disavow all that the sacred Lady stood for, but at that moment, I was in awe of her majesty. Her power and grace. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time, my skin humming with the sense of the supernatural around me.
I never experienced another feeling remotely like it in my twenty years since that day. Not until a certain petite brunette with questionable survival instincts decided she wanted to dance with the devil. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for a woman to approach me, but they rarely aroused more than my cock. Something about this woman sent an electric current pulsing through my veins. As a child, I would have sworn the sensation was owed to the hand of God. As an adult, I knew simple adrenaline and the unpredictability of body chemistry were to blame.
Something marked the woman as different from all the other pretty faces around her. Something that enabled her to trigger a reaction within me.
She was bold. Brazen. Confident.
It had taken all my faculties to control my response to her, and I hated it. I despised that someone could have that effect on me. I’d fought too long and hard for control of my life to hand over the reins to another person—especially a woman. They had a way of crippling even the strongest of men.
There was only one individual I answered to, and I owed him my life, so I was duty bound to take orders from him. I refused to allow this woman any power over me, no matter how seductive her efforts.
In what could only be a strategic play to maximize the beguiling effect of her green eyes, she wore a rich forest green dress to accentuate the jade and emerald highlights in her irises. The garment hugged her curvy figure, tying on one side like a package begging to be unwrapped. It wasn’t particularly revealing, which only made her that much more enticing. She knew the effect she had on men, and every inch of it was calculated.
She wasn’t just striking; she was fucking mesmerizing.
And if the sight of her wasn’t enough to capture a man’s interest, her sharp tongue was the ultimate lure. Men couldn’t help but take on a challenge, and she wouldn’t be reeled in easily. Winning her would be its own reward if a man was willing to fall into that trap. He may have won his prize, but at what cost? Falling for a woman would only make a man weak and give his enemies a weapon to use against him.
I would never hand myself over so easily.
As if on cue, the crowd at my table erupted in cheers, drawing me back to the present. I’d had a few hundred dollars riding on various bets at the craps table. The roller had hit paying numbers a dozen times in a row and was amassing quite the payout for his fellow players. Not one to push my luck, I took the opportunity to cash out and pocket my winnings.
I wasn’t a fan of gambling and preferred to put my money into ventures with guaranteed payouts. But milling around the casino without approaching a table made a man like me stand out, and I preferred to blend in, if at all possible.
Before I could step away from the table, my phone buzzed. No doubt it would be Naz checking in with me for an update. Nazario Vargas, known as El Zar, was my boss and had been a father figure since he took me in at the age of twelve. I was one of the few people allowed to call him by the familiar nickname, Naz. Anyone else who took such liberties ended up losing a finger.
I had expected him to call rather than wait until I reported back to him. His impatience chaffed, but I could do little about it. He trusted me as much as he trusted anyone, which wasn’t necessarily saying much. His hovering presence felt like a leash. I hadn’t been a child in need of supervision for a long time, but he couldn’t seem to accept that. He always expected the worst in people, but they often lived up to his expectations, so I couldn’t necessarily fault him. I wasn’t perfect, but if he could have relaxed around anyone, it should have been me. Yet he’d only gotten more paranoid as time went on.
I cleared a path away from the bank of gaming tables toward the edge of the room to get as far from the casino noise as possible.
“Yes, sir,” I answered as I walked.
“I just got off the phone with Juan Carlos. He said the Russians attacked and killed five of his men. I’m afraid the transition is not going as I’d hoped. How are things there in Vegas?”
“Everything’s gone well. If we need to follow through with our backup plan, it won’t be an issue.”
He was silent for a long moment, no doubt rubbing his chin the way he did when he was thinking. “I haven’t taken on something this big since I overthrew Martín Alvarez years ago. These things are never pretty, no matter how necessary.”
Naz was one of two leaders of the Sonora Cartel. Originally, three kingpins ran independent organizations under the alliance of the cartel, but before I came to live with him, Naz overthrew Alvarez and usurped his territory. I’d been told Alvarez came from a wealthy line of Spaniards, and he had thought himself superior to the other bosses. Naz had never talked to me about his motives, and I didn’t care. What I did know was that the takeover had been bloody, and Alvarez’s men had resisted the transition.
“You control nearly half of Mexico and eighty percent of the drug trade in the US. Are you certain the expansion is necessary?” I had to be careful with my words. Naz did not take kindly to others challenging him, but it wasn’t in my nature to go along blindly with a plan when it didn’t make sense. It was rarely an issue during the normal course of operations, but his expansion initiative was different. We were opening ourselves up to attack, and I wasn’t certain the payoff would be worth it.
The line was silent for several seconds.
“When I want your fucking opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Every clipped word was a warning.
I clenched my jaw to keep from snapping back at him. As far as I was concerned, my years of loyal service entitled me to an opinion, but he wouldn’t see it that way even though he’d practically raised me.
Even if he had allowed me a say in the business, it wouldn’t have mattered. Naz had been convinced of his success before the idea of expansion had even fully formed. It didn’t help that his brother was feeding him questionable intel—at least, I suspected he was. Regardless, nothing I could say would dissuade him. The only way to challenge him would be to kill him, and I wasn’t prepared to take my dissent that far.
I reminded myself how much I owed Naz and breathed through my frustration. “Yes, sir. I understand. How would you like me to proceed?”
“I want you back in Guaymas for my meeting with Morales next week. Then we move forward with the plan.”
“I’ll fly back first thing in the morning.”
The line was silent, but Naz hadn’t hung up, so I waited for whatever he still had to say.
“T
he dangers we’ll be facing are exactly why I need your full support, Primo. Tell me I don’t have to question your loyalty.”
“I owe you everything, Naz. You know I’ll always stand beside you.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” This time, the line clicked dead.
Relaxing into one of the leather swivel chairs outside a casino lounge, I dropped my head back and exhaled an exasperated sigh. For one of the most powerful, feared men in Mexico, I felt just as trapped as any other man at times like these.
What the hell was I bitching about?
I was wealthier than God and had the world at my feet. Dealing with Naz was a small price to pay. I needed to get my priorities in check and stop thinking like a petulant child.
As I brought my gaze back down to my surroundings, I realized I still had my unlit cigar in my hand. A hit of those sweet Cuban leaves was exactly what I needed. I reached in my jacket pocket and found it empty, then patted down my other pockets, unable to locate my lighter.
I recalled taking it out at the table and realized I must have left it there when Naz called. Weaving back through the crowd to the craps table I’d been at, I asked both the dealer and the pit boss if anyone had seen my silver lighter. Nothing.
I was about to chalk up the loss to my shit day when I recalled that sultry red grin the brunette had given me as she walked away.
Emptyhanded it is.
Surely not. Surely, the woman hadn’t stolen my lighter. She didn’t know me, but it wasn’t hard to guess I wasn’t a man to be trifled with, and I certainly wasn’t a good target for petty theft. As I replayed the scene in my mind, I grew increasingly certain that was exactly what had happened.
My stack of chips had gone untouched, so she wasn’t after money. The little viper had snatched my lighter as a statement. A challenge. A game.
I had sworn I wouldn’t be drawn in by her charade, but this was different—at least, that was what I told myself. It was a matter of respect. Pride. What kind of man would allow a woman to steal from him? I would have shot one of our soldiers for such a crime. I couldn’t allow her actions to go unaddressed.
Naz had just given me instructions, but I could see my plans derailing before me, alongside the vision of a sultry brunette with mischievous snake eyes. I would go back to Guaymas so I didn’t piss off Naz, but after our meeting, I was going on the hunt.
That little girl had no idea what she’d done, but she was about to find out.
Chapter 3
Giada
Two weeks after returning from Vegas to my boring life, I’d resorted to dining with my parents in order to get me out of my apartment. It was amazing how normal our lives were, considering my father was the consigliere to one of the most powerful mob bosses in New York. With such an average daily existence, it was no wonder my parents were able to hide my father’s mafia involvement from us girls for so long.
To an outsider looking in, my father seemed like any other respectable businessman. He told us he worked with his brother, my uncle Enzo, at the family construction company. He was always busy, and money was never an issue, so I’d never thought to question him. Knowing what I knew now, I wondered how much more my father kept hidden.
What went on behind closed doors? There was clearly more to my father and uncle, but what? I was insanely curious about these men I thought I knew. What had Uncle Enzo done to become boss? Had he killed people? Did he pay off politicians and the police? How did they make their money? Gambling? Drugs?
I’d tried to glean hints about my father’s secret life, but he kept a tight lid on that shit. Years of keeping his two worlds separate made him a master of secrecy. Unfortunately for him, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I was well versed at being sneaky, and I desperately wanted to know about my father’s other life because his lawless shortcomings made me feel less like a screwup. My impulsiveness and need to challenge authority weren’t aberrations; I’d come by the traits naturally. His criminal activity served as validation.
I was exactly who I was meant to be.
The revelation had been fascinating, and I’d wanted to know everything I could about this new side of my father. I’d been watching. Learning. My dad couldn’t hide everything, like respectful nods from associates or a glare from a local restaurant owner when my dad’s back was turned.
Between my observations and tidbits of information passed on from Alessia, I was able to piece together quite a bit. Al’s fiancé, Luca, didn’t tell her everything, but what she did send my way helped me understand the climate around me. In the past couple of weeks, something was making the men around me tense. The creases between my father’s brows had become a permanent fixture on his face.
The drama after Enzo’s former underboss turned on him had all been resolved, so tensions should have been easing. But I’d found the opposite to be true. My parents asked me more questions than ever about my whereabouts, and I was sure my mom had a bodyguard with her when I met her for lunch the week prior.
Something was going on, but my father would not give me any information. I’d tried early on to ask him questions and was told in no uncertain terms that family business would not be discussed. I just had to keep an eye out and see what I could learn on my own.
“How was church?” I asked my mother as I helped her set the table. Mom had wanted me to go to the special weekday mass, but I refused. As a consolation, I came to their place for dinner after the service. It was a pain in the ass to drive all the way out to Staten Island from Manhattan, but what the hell else did I have to do?
“You should have come. The message was perfect for you. Father Jacoby talked about respecting your elders and the importance they play in your life.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that respect?”
“I’m talking about that mouth of yours. It’s hard to be respectful when you pop off without even thinking.”
“You know better than to expect me to change, Ma. I’m hopeless, remember? Your words, not mine.” I’d be lying if I said the words she’d slung at me weeks earlier hadn’t stung. She’d no doubt argue that it was a figure of speech, but I knew she’d meant them. It was no secret I’d never measure up to my mother’s exacting standards.
Maybe if she could accept me for who I was, I would have been open to curbing my more abrasive tendencies. I could be pushy and had put my foot in my mouth more times than I could count. I wouldn’t deny it. But my mother hating those qualities made me adamant about not changing a thing. Her conservative nature made me more apt to be brash, and her need to follow the rules made me want to break every one of them. I wasn’t sure what made me so contrary, but it had felt imperative when I was growing up to be as unlike my mother as I could manage.
When I was thirteen, she forbade me from wearing a triangle-cut bikini because it was too revealing. After buying one in secret, I’d smuggle it to swim parties and changed suits after my mother dropped me off. If she curled her hair, I ironed mine straight. She insisted I took Catholic confirmation classes, so I made out with my classmate, Patrick Murphy, in the confessional when Father Jacoby left us unattended.
The more she pushed me, the harder I pushed back. A psychologist would have had a field day with our dynamic. Written papers and analyzed the shit out of it. Maybe someday I’d go talk to a shrink and work through those issues, but for now, I was content to be myself and watch my mother squirm.
“That’s enough,” my father cut in on his way past the kitchen. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m not interested in hearing you two go at it.”
Sometimes I wished Uncle Enzo and Aunt Lottie were my parents. They were so much more relaxed, and Aunt Lottie was loads of fun. She and Mom were best friends, but I couldn’t fathom why. Alessia and I had a similar dynamic, with Al being more like my mom and me like Aunt Lottie, but Al wasn’t as uptight as my mother. I couldn’t imagine Ma would ever be fun to hang around. Hell, even her cooking was dull.
I took in the lemon pepper chicken and B
russels sprouts with a mental groan. I wasn’t any kind of chef, but would it kill her to make a casserole occasionally?
“Giada, will you go up and tell Val that dinner’s ready?”
“I’m on it.” I walked halfway up the stairs before calling out my sister’s name at the top of my lungs and grinning at the mental image of my mother cringing. She hated for us girls to raise our voices and would fuss about not living in the ghetto whenever we shouted. It was petty of me to pull her strings like that, but I couldn’t help it. Being at their house made me feel like a belligerent teen again, and it only made things worse when she lectured me five minutes after I walked in.
“You and Mom at it again?” Val groaned as she started down the stairs.
“You know how she is. It’s not my fault.”
“Bullshit. I know exactly how she is, and I know how you are. You love to poke the angry bear. I may not see eye to eye with her, but I don’t have a desire to argue and make my life miserable.”
“That’s easy to say coming from the child who can do no wrong,” I grumbled.
“Doing wrong is one thing, but flaunting it in front of their faces is another. Admit it, you get off on the conflict.”
My jaw dropped. “I do not! I just refuse to kowtow to her every whim.”
Val paused her descent to glare at me.
“Whatever,” I muttered, pulling out my phone when it buzzed in my back pocket and ignoring my sister’s eye roll as she walked past me.
I had a text from an unknown number. Did you think I wouldn’t find you?
My heartbeats tripped over themselves as I read the message. What the hell was it supposed to mean? Who would send me such a text? It could have been a prank or a wrong number. I debated blocking the number and erasing the text, but my curiosity got the better of me. Who is this?
Impossible Odds: A Mafia Romance (The Five Families Book 4) Page 2