The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  Leighton’s guilt-ridden face fell. “There’s no other way, Brody.”

  “I know,” he said, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I want you to go. The Harcourts don’t fare too well around here.”

  I wanted to punch him, but as long as he talked, Leighton was happy, and as long as Leighton was happy, I’d keep my hands in my pockets. Besides, no matter what we said, he’d set himself on a dark path, blaming himself—not only for Luis—but for telling his mother about Stella in the first place. He’d intended to reunite his estranged family but ended up destroying what was left of them.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” I watched curiously as he pulled her gold necklace from his pocket. “I think this belongs to you.”

  The second he clasped it around her neck, her fingers dove for the pendant. “I won’t say goodbye,” she said, her voice breaking. “Promise me you won’t either.”

  He nodded, although she couldn’t see it. “How about, ‘I’ll see you later.’”

  “See you later,” she whispered, squeezing the pendant between her fingers. At the last minute, she spun around and threw herself in his arms. This time he awkwardly held her for a few beats before catching my eye in a silent plea for help.

  “Hey,” I said, standing and running a hand down Leighton’s back. “Why don’t you go check on Stella? I’m sure she’s in the car talking Eden’s ear off.”

  “Yeah.” Letting her brother go, Leighton wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and pasted on a smile. “Good idea.”

  Once she was gone, Brody handed me an envelope. “Fake passports to get them out of the country,” he explained. “Consider it my last official illegal act as ADA.”

  I tucked it under my arm. “Speaking of which, there’s an opening as the head of Houston operations.”

  “I thought it took years to earn that kind of position.”

  “Time is measured by sacrifice, not a clock. You deserve the title. I’ve talked to Val, and it’s yours if you want it.”

  He shrugged, and I saw a glimmer of the old Harcourt in his eyes. “What the hell. This one foot in, one foot out shit was getting old anyway.”

  I held out my hand, and Brody stared at it before finally accepting it. Just as I turned to leave, he grabbed my shoulder.

  “After being in that fire, she needs to see a doctor. Both of them do.”

  Way ahead of you, counselor.

  “I’ve already called our doctor in Mexico. She won’t have a choice.”

  “Good.” He seemed satisfied with my answer but still held onto my arm. “Take care of them, Mateo. They’re all I have left.”

  “With my life,” I promised. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Nodding his head toward the open door, I followed his eyes to where Stella sat in a car seat next to the window. “Don’t let her grow up and marry a man like us.”

  We waited in the car outside Hobby Airport as workers prepared Val’s private jet for departure. Stella pressed her forehead against the window and gazed up at the sky with curious eyes.

  “Have you ever been on an airplane before, Stella?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her dark waves bouncing around her shoulders. “No.”

  “Would you like to?”

  She cocked her head, staring at me with inquisitive eyes. “Wif you?”

  I bit my tongue, honoring Leighton’s request to ease her into the idea of who I really was. “Yes, and your mommy.”

  “Awe you Mommy’s fwiend?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, old friend.”

  She seemed to consider that for a minute, rolling it around in her head. “Wanna be my fwiend too?”

  She might as well have ripped my heart out and held it still beating in front of my face.

  “Would you like for me to be?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  And just like that, we were friends. Apparently in kid world, an agreement could be forged by an acquaintance and an uh-huh. Maybe the cartel world could take a few lessons.

  Still studying my face, Stella ran her tiny fingers through a strand of my hair. “Pwetty,” she said, offering me a smile. “Wike me.”

  I laughed softly, never wanting this moment to end. “No, I think you’re much prettier. Te lo prometo.” I promise you.

  She leaned away from the window and scrunched up her face. “Te...huh?”

  I shifted in my seat next to her. “It’s Spanish, little star. Would you like me to teach you?”

  Lowering her head to my shoulder, her cheek brushed against my shirt as she nodded.

  “Something tells me you’ll be a natural,” I laughed.

  Epilogue One

  Leighton

  Mexico City, Mexico

  Three Months Later

  I lay curled on my side and watched him sleep. His long, dark hair drifted over one eye and across the bridge of his nose. It’d grown even longer since we’d been in Mexico and needed a trim. Or maybe not. I kind of liked the added reckless look it gave him.

  My fingers itched to touch him, but I settled for gazing upon him with my eyes instead. It felt like I hadn’t see him in weeks, but in reality, it’d been only a little over twenty-four hours. Since Eden was due soon, Val had handed over all day-to-day business to Mateo. I didn’t ask any questions as to where he went or what he did. I didn’t want to know. All I cared about was that he returned in one piece.

  My husband.

  I’d loved Mateo Cortes from the first moment I saw him as a teenaged girl, and nothing had changed. Actually, that wasn’t true. Everything had changed. I still loved him, but I saw him with new eyes. Stronger eyes. Eyes that viewed the world for what it was. Eyes that now knew the evil that resided in the hearts of ones trusted to protect us.

  Eyes that saw him faced with a choice, and eyes that watched him protect me over all others. Just like he promised from the first moment we met.

  He shifted in his sleep, and a lock of hair caught in between his full lips. I moved my hand to brush it away then gasped as his hand snaked out from under his pillow and wrapped around my wrist. Midnight eyes met mine, and he pulled his arm back, sending me tumbling on top of his chest. It wasn’t an easy landing. The toned and hardened planes rose and fell with even breaths as he studied me.

  “If you wanted my attention, aim a little lower, mi amor.” His voice sounded rough as he ran a palm over my cheek.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  The darkness in his gaze made me shiver. Sliding his hand down my arm, he entwined our hands and placed them over the growing swell of his erection. “I haven’t touched my wife in over twenty-four hours. What do you think?”

  The smile in his eyes held me prisoner. They weren’t hardened or shrouded in secrets. Quite the opposite. As they roamed over every inch of my face, I lost myself in their raw honesty. When I gazed into them, all I saw was the love I’d waited four years to reclaim.

  Our lips met in a kiss both tender and combustible. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulled my legs until I straddled him, and I deepened the kiss. The sheet slipped down his thighs, his cock already hard against my ass. In just a few touches, slickness had built between my legs, but that wasn’t what this was about.

  This was about a promise. This is my need to prove to him that he could walk beside me in his world as my husband—not in front of me as my shield.

  “Leighton.” He groaned low and primitive as I raised my hips and slowly guided him inside me. It was instinctive for Mateo to take control—to grasp my hips and thrust upward until my body obeyed him. But this time, he held onto my hips, calling out my name through thinly held restraint as I slowly rode him. I gripped his chest as a spark lit in my stomach and ignited into an out of control flame.

  Mateo’s face contorted, and I knew he felt it too. We were no longer Leighton and Mateo. We were a force in this world—one no one could ever break again.

  “I love you, Matty,” I whispered as I lowered onto him one last time and splintered apart.

 
My release prompted his, and he gritted his teeth through a guttural groan. Neither of us moved. We stared at each other with silent words not needing to be vocalized.

  Except for four.

  “Te amo, Star,” he said, weaving his hands through my hair and bringing my lips to his. “Siempre.”

  I love you, Star. Forever.

  Epilogue Two

  Leighton

  Mexico City, Mexico

  Four Months Later

  “Don’t go too far,” Mateo called out as Stella followed a group of older children around the grounds of Val’s estate.

  “Sí, papá,” she called over her shoulder.

  “You know, English is her first language,” I said, sipping my fourth margarita.

  Mateo laughed, not taking his eyes off her as she struggled to keep up with the herd of kids. “Not anymore.”

  Sixteen weeks ago, Santiago Nash Carrera came into the world upside down and backward. Ironically, Eden found it hilarious while Val continuously threatened the entire hospital with slow and torturous deaths during her C-section.

  Eight weeks ago, Eden argued like a seasoned litigator when Val postponed Santi’s baptismal celebration. He’d read an article online about C-section recovery and swore she needed more time to heal. I had to hand it to her; she put up a good fight, but logic didn’t stand a chance against the unshakable trifecta of a cartel boss, overprotective husband, and new father. Eventually, she gave in, and as Santi’s madrina, I helped her plan a new party from scratch.

  Speaking of parties...

  When Mateo told me that traditional Mexican baptisms were all-night parties, he wasn’t kidding. By midnight, my feet hurt, and I was half-drunk. Even though the crowd had thinned out a little, Val and Mateo’s trusted lieutenants and their families still roamed the grounds of the Carrera estate toasting to Santi, Val, Eden, the cartel, themselves, the decorations, their shoes...hell, a few of them were so drunk they were chugging cups of salsa, swearing it was sangria.

  “So, I was thinking,” he said, taking my hand in his, “we’ve been in Mexico for seven months now. Stella seems to love it here, and I think she’s used to the idea that I’m her father.”

  I nodded. “Kids are resilient.”

  “She’s still young, Leighton. If we did it now, I don’t think she’d remember anything different.”

  His statement caught me off guard, and I stared at the determination in his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

  “Her name.” Lifting our joined hands, he motioned to where Stella still played. “She isn’t a Harcourt, and now you aren’t either. It doesn’t make any sense for her to have a different last name.”

  “You want to change her name to Estella Cortes?”

  “Yes, I do.” He pushed his shoulders back and inhaled, preparing for a fight, but my answer came without hesitation.

  “I agree. Let’s do it.”

  The shock on his face was priceless. “That’s it? No arguing?”

  “Nah.” I grinned. “I’m trying on compromise for size. It’s a tight fit, but I’ll see how it goes.”

  We stood in silence as Stella ran around giggling. After a few moments, Mateo wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.

  “Do you miss home, Mrs. Cortes?”

  Home. It’d been a four-letter word to me for so long—a line in the sand drawn by betrayal, faded with time, and grayed with resentment. Until one man changed everything.

  Tilting my head back, I gazed at the thousands of stars blanketing the Mexican sky. “Not anymore.” I smiled. “He came back for me.”

  DRAWN BLUE LINES

  Everything has been one elaborate lie.

  My name.

  My identity.

  My entire existence.

  Crafted by one man and revealed by another.

  Brody Harcourt exposed me as a fraud, turning me from a queen into a pariah.

  Now there will be hell to pay.

  But I'm back for more than revenge.

  More than blood.

  My eye is on the prize.

  The Carrera throne.

  I'll win the kingpin's trust at any cost, even if it means crossing enemy lines with Houston's political pin-up boy. Brody's chiseled chest and cocky smirk won't distract me.

  But things don't always go as planned.

  Sometimes a queen has to steal her crown.

  And the one man she should never want...

  ...is the only one she does.

  “You have to take a leap of faith in yourself. No matter what it is, take that leap of faith and know you can do whatever you want to do.”

  I miss you, Shanann.

  Playlist

  Royal Blood - Krigarè

  Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz (feat. Yacht Money)

  Bad Bitch - Bebe Rexha (feat. Ty Dolla $ign)

  Natural - Imagine Dragons

  Sorry Not Sorry - Demi Lovato

  Señorita - Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello

  Come & Get It - Selena Gomez

  Safari - BIA, J Balvin, Pharrell Williams, Sky

  Bad Guy - Billie Eilish

  A Little Wicked - Valerie Broussard

  Horns - Bryce Fox

  Queen - Loren Gray

  Fuck Feelings - Olivia O’Brien

  Heaven - Julia Michaels

  Revolution - The Score

  White Flag - Bishop Briggs

  I Feel Like I’m Drowning - Two Feet

  Born For This - Royal Deluxe

  Hold On - Chord Overstreet

  This is Me (From the Greatest Showman) - Kesha

  Listen to the Drawn Blue Lines playlist.

  Prologue

  Adriana

  Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico

  Two Weeks Ago

  No one chooses fate. It chooses us.

  I knew because I came into this world cursed, my veins poisoned with a depraved and corrupt bloodline. However, after months of running, foolish unrest drew me out of hiding and into the jaws of anarchy. War was a living, breathing thing. Nurtured and cultivated, it bloomed into an unstoppable force of nature. Left in the wild, its branches twisted into a monstrosity that eventually devoured itself.

  My family’s legacy had become a treacherous beast feasting on its one remaining root.

  Me.

  Warm blood flowed around me like an unholy baptism, soaking my hair and coating my skin. Rolling onto my side, I concentrated on breathing even though the smallest inhale shredded my lungs. The beating had been brutal, but not fatal. Not because they wanted to spare my life, but because death was more satisfying when capped off by days of torture.

  I’d taught them that.

  Now, here he sat in the shadows.

  Watching.

  The one in charge. The one whose footsteps caused all the traitors to scatter like startled cockroaches.

  The muscles in his throat tightened as a dark cloud passed over his face. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his fingers twitch against the dark denim covering his thigh. I knew nothing about the man except that he was a killer, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the blade from its holster and drive it straight through my heart.

  But he wouldn’t.

  He could easily take my life, but it wouldn’t be without consequence. Even in chaos, there was order.

  I swallowed, forcing my native language from my raw throat. “Who are you?”

  “A prophet without honor.” He spat the words out like they were rancid, his gravelly Spanish raking over my thin nerves like fresh sandpaper.

  Arrogance, a familiar yet foolish friend, filled my chest. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”

  Shaking his head, he pulled a cigar from his pocket. “I don’t have to touch you. I have something you need. You’ll do whatever I say, when I say it.” He bit off the tip and spat it at my feet, his gaze never leaving mine as he lit the end. The glowing tip sparked to life, his cheeks sinking in as he sucked a few deep puffs.

  I let out a silent breath. “I am
Marisol Muñoz.”

  The low laugh that followed nearly broke my composure. Men had underestimated me all my life. However, the one on the other side of the cold, damp room wasn’t just amused by my obstinance. It thrilled him. He got off on it.

  My heart free fell into my stomach, and with my ear pressed against the concrete floor, I heard him get up, each step he took sounding like thunder. Bending down on his haunches, he bore stained yellow teeth in a smirk I wanted to carve off his face.

  “You’re no Muñoz, and you know it. I’m the one resurrecting a power you almost ruined,” he snarled. “Bringing honor back to Guadalajara. Spilling enemy blood to fortify our own.”

  “I am Marisol Muñoz.” In repeating the declaration, I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us I was trying to convince. “The daughter of your former king, and the sister of your fallen leader.”

  He leaned down with eyes harder than stone. “You are a Carrera whore.”

  Before I could respond, he wrapped his hand around my blood-soaked hair and dragged me toward him. White hot pain shot through my skull, but my stumble was momentary. As soon as I found my balance, I swung.

  It was just what he wanted. Easily catching my wrist in one hand, he pulled his knife with the other. Instinctively, I lunged for it, but he released my hair and shifted, causing me to slam face-first onto the floor.

  I turned my cheek just before my nose made contact with the unforgiving concrete. The pain was almost unbearable, but I never screamed. This was a power struggle. Blood meant nothing to a vigilante drug runner. Fuck if I’d let it mean any more to me.

  I glared as I turned, ignoring the blood dripping down my chin. “Don’t call me that.”