A knock on the door of my small office at the women’s home makes me look up from the new software I’m thinking of adding to our budget. It’s nothing fancy or difficult to navigate, but definitely one you need if looking to land any office job.
“Can I help you?” The man standing there looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t pinpoint him.
“Miss Rubens?” he asks, voice rough as if he’s smoked his entire life.
“That’s me.” Discreetly, I bring a hand to my waist and the new bottle of pepper spray there. It’s a new brand and promises near blindness upon contact. “And again. How can I help you?”
In his hand he holds a stapled sheet of paper and envelope. “I’m here to deliver this. Can you please sign for me?”
“Sure.” I’m not expecting anything, and he just doesn’t fit the bill of a courier. This man is in a cheap suit and is wearing too much cheap cologne. His hair is slicked back and face unshaven. “What is it?”
“It’s from Governor Rubens’s office.” Five words that ruin my day. My stomach plummets and hands begin to sweat as he brings the envelope over.
I thought he was leaving me alone. I thought I was free.
Hastily, I sign my name, the man leaves, and I’m stuck with the manila bomb sitting atop the desk.
Just get it over with. Tearing into the package, I’m greeted by the sight of airplane tickets, a fake itinerary, and a note that says:
My beautiful daughter,
* * *
You work too hard and deserve a break.
There’s more to life than the hustle and bustle of an office or school, Aliana. Please accept this early birthday present from your mother and no complaining, sweetheart. It’s done, and we’ve booked you an all-inclusive package with six days of fun in the sun and relaxation.
* * *
You leave in five days!
* * *
Have fun,
* * *
Your, loving parents.
But worse than that is the picture I find folded within the itinerary of my father with an arm thrown over my brother’s shoulders. A knot forms in my throat. This is a silent threat. The picture depicts a loving family, a dad and his two boys, but I see the evil in his eyes. I take in the way my brothers are tense and…
The ringing of my cell in another room pulls me from those depressive thoughts—how easily they use and manipulate me while always saving face for the public. To an outsider, they seem like loving, caring, and generous parents. Doting and sweet, but I know better, and my father does everything in a way that saves his own behind.
He’ll gamble mine, but never his. He’ll hurt them to make me bend.
Rushing out, I toss my basket atop the dryer. It’s Aurora’s ringtone and I manage to pick up on the fourth ring, slightly out of breath and stomach in knots. “Yolo!” I half wheeze, half chuckle. “You back to the land of the living?”
“I am,” she laughs, whatever music she’d been listening to dimming down a bit. She’s been a bit under the weather the last few days, not coming into the Conte House. Thank God it’s been manageable, the women who’ve been there the longest stepping up to help the newbies acclimate to the rules and daily routine.
Everyone has a chore or job: from cooking, to cleaning, to daycare, and that has nothing to do with the classes we offer. And while most don’t like the tight structure at first, they love it soon enough when it cements bonds with those around them. Friendships. Understanding.
They no longer feel alone or misunderstood.
“I’ll be back in the office tomorrow. We need to go over the new class schedule before you leave, and that software you mentioned. Sorry about that, by the way. This bug came out of nowhere.”
“Only you would apologize for being sick.”
“Shut up.” Roe snorts, then smacks her lips as if tasting something sour. “God, this stuff is awful.”
“What are you eating?”
“Drinking.” A groan of disgust comes through the line. A little gagging. “Kombucha is just not for me. Dear Lord, just say no.”
“Who told you to put that in your mouth?” I’ve had that experience. That’s one of those drinks that you either love or hate, and there is no in between. I get that the benefits outweigh the taste, but I’m a chicken and avoid it at all costs. “You should know better.”
“Just a friend.” The way she says friend makes me smirk. Why are you hiding him, doofus?
“Does this ‘friend’ have a name?”
“The person does, but my lips are sealed.”
“Why is that?” A text comes in, the small device in my hand vibrating. I pull back to look, and a smile stretches across my lips.
We’re going on a vacation soon. Just you and me. ~Callum J.
I’m not thinking of Aurora when I begin to type, ignoring her voice in the background.
Where to? Somewhere sunny and with a private beach I can skinny dip in? ~Venus
A few moments after I hit send, two things happen at the same time...
Aurora’s face greets me through the FaceTime setting, switching over without me knowing.
Callum texts back, and I open it like an idiot, face flaming red when I’m greeted by a glistening-from-the-shower, thick cock.
My mouth waters. Her eyes narrow.
“You’re hiding something,” Roe sings, arching a brow from her kitchen, the phone propped up against something. But more importantly, that look is daring me to deny her. Funny, she says I’m a dog with a bone when I want to know something, and yet, I’ve left her alone. I’ve been too busy losing myself in Callum. “Spill.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Matching her stare, I mock-glare. “So, what does that make you?”
“Too nosy for her own good when I’ve been a shitty friend lately.” Her voice is contrite and face sheepish—sad. It’s not what I expected either, nor is it right. She has no reason to feel like this. Not at all.
“Stop it, chica,” I say, flicking the camera as if it were her head. “You’ve done nothing to feel like that. We’ve been busy and life is a hormonal bitch at the moment, but a shitty friend you are not.”
“Feels that way.”
“Then so am I, if you look at it from that perspective. I should be burned at the stake.”
Aurora rolls her eyes. “Always need to one up me. So extra.”
“Who else will keep you in check?” Taking the device with me, I make my way back to the laundry room and lean it against the large detergent pod container. “But if you want to make it up to me...”
She snorts, the tightness around her eyes disappearing. “Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yup. I’m in the mood for Thai.”
“Done.” While I pull out my small load, she takes another sip of her fermented drink, grimacing after she swallows. “By the way, where are you guys going this time? Did the governor tell you, or does he just expect you to show up?”
“What do you think?”
“The latter.”
“Word.” With my hip, I close the dryer and walk out with her lying atop my clean ankle socks. “That’s how the dependable man of the people always behaves. We are his sheep.”
“He’s so much like my father. Exhausting.”
“How is dear Papa Cancio?” My luggage is atop the bed, empty, but there. I have my clothes all in piles and separated by types. I’d rather go on vacation with Callum. “Is he still expecting you to take over?”
“He is.”
“And?” I ask, looking back at the screen to find her head tilted, studying me. “What?”
“You can’t hide your emotions, Ali. Not from me.”
“Why do you say that?” My voice comes out an octave higher. My hands are a little shaky and I dig them into the laundry, pretending to be looking for something.
“Maybe it’s because in the span of this conversation, you’ve gone from smiling and blushing to sadness and then a one-eighty into irritation, onl
y to turn back around and end at longing.”
“You’re seeing something that isn’t there.”
“Or something’s going on with you.” She taps her lips with her middle finger, and I can’t help but snort. So immature, but it does help loosen a bit of my tension. “Something you don’t want to share.”
“Like you and mystery man?”
“Do you have one of your own? Because I know you, Rubens, and you’re being weirder than normal.”
“And if I do?” Better to give her something than continue evading. This way, she understands. “What if it’s really new and I’m just feeling him out? What if he’s knocked me on my butt, but I’m not ready for the intros and—”
My best friend holds up her hands. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“I do.” For a beat, we’re both silent but then she sighs, and I scrunch up my face in question. “I’m being an ass when you’ve been patient with me...aren’t I? It’s not like I’m sharing.”
“No. You’re not, but I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“And I’ll do the same.”
“Deal.”
23
It’s been two months since I last touched her. Showed up unannounced and tasted her.
Sixty-one days since I’ve had to live off FaceTime and phone calls. Where I spend all day waiting for our nightly routine where I log into the cameras in her home and watch her sleep. My obsession knows no bounds. My need is near maddening.
Because since taking over, I’ve had one truth smack me in the face over and over. No matter where I am, who I’m dealing with, or while joining Casper on this search, I always have her on my mind.
Her place is beside me. She’s my home, and I am hers.
It’s one of the reasons I’d been so calm while flying into Cuban soil. We’re here to put an end to the manhunt—I’m quiet and alert, talking only when necessary, and my bloodthirst is high.
The man inside is more than my aunt’s killer; he’s an obstacle that needs to be removed.
Where the fuck am I?
Let me go, cabron!
I’m going to kill you.
Mauricio Hernandez is a loud one, yelling and threatening from his place inside of the De Leon compound in Cuba. He’s been here a few days now, a place where those who enter do not escape, and I admire the colonial facade and isolated structures.
No one to hear you for miles.
No one here will lift a finger against this family.
The doors are closed to the main area, and a quiet Casper opens them without pause.
Archie will stay outside with the De Leon guards, awaiting orders, while Ivan, the second-in-command and youngest son, walks beside me in silence. He’s a lot like me in a way: easygoing until you touch one of ours. And the putrid twat inside did just that.
All the women in crime families are sacred. Untouchable, but to kill a mum?
That’s an instant death sentence.
My nostrils flare as I step inside. The stench is rotten—disgusting—but it only makes the demon within me happy. Because I know the smells will match the almost corpse tied up and awaiting trial.
Bright lights turn on, and the noise level rises. Animals—large hogs—make their presence known within empty cells. Each door is open, the inhabitants quiet and watching now, while surrounding the lone figure at the center. I’m pleased with the hospitality he’s been shown.
Dirt-caked blood on bruised skin, a dislocated shoulder taking the brunt of his weight from his restrained position.
For a second, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Ire pulses through my veins. Heat licks at my flesh.
I’ve come to accept a long time ago that I crave moments like this. I need the violence, but today it’s more. It’s personal while signaling a rebirth.
Casper’s and mine. Two different paths, two syndicates to run, and yet, we’ll always be intertwined by more than familial ties because of the women we love.
Because I do. It’s been there the entire time.
No hiding. No denying. The moment she sassed me inside that lounge, she owned me.
Burn him alive if you must, Callum. Just take me away when you’re done. ~Venus
Her text from this morning replays in my mind then, and I can almost hear Aliana’s sweet voice utter her plea. Her need. Something is off with her. I notice it each time we talk now.
It’s been that way since finding out she’s going on holiday with her family. As if she hates the idea. No excitement. No funny quip or mention of the things she’ll be doing while at some all-inclusive resort in Mexico.
Something that further cements she needs me as much as I breathe for her.
“I will, sweet girl.” No one hears my words, and I open my eyes to meet Mauricio’s.
He’s dirty. Smells like utter shit. An old cunt with a big mouth.
“Who the fuck—”
“Evening,” Casper says, tone even and calm. Mauricio’s eyes turn to look at him, squinting due to the bright lights before looking at me again. He does this a few times. Back and forth before pausing on my cousin.
We’re both dressed similarly; all black and wearing the damn suspenders I hate, but his mum thought they were dashing. And like him, I carry with me a piece of jewelry she had blessed when we were young—his by the Pope, and mine by a Buddhist monk.
He has a chain, while I have a bracelet with an attached medallion: a Greek warrior’s helmet on the front.
“Who are you?” he asks again. “Why am I here?”
“Why is he here?” Casper repeats, looking back at me, then Ivan. His eyes hold a feral tint I’m sure reflected in my own, but we’re not here for a quick death. Hernandez will hurt. Bleed. “The man’s asking why he’s here?”
“Poor lad,” I answer in the same tone, my rage barely controlled as I walk over. In my hand, I have the package Ivan gave me when we arrived. “This is a horrible predicament to find yourself in.”
Ivan steps into the light then, placing a chair in Mauricio’s line of sight, then steps back. “It is.”
“You!” the arsehole yells, fighting his restraints. His eyes are narrowed at Ivan. So much hate. “You were at the bar—”
“Yes. I was. And it was an interesting night, indeed. Many stories shared over a bottle of Havana Club. Do you remember that?” The doors to this room slam shut, locks engaging before Ivan hits the button at the center of the remote in his hand. At once, the lights dim making it easier for the piece of shit to get a better look. No more squinting. “Remember the story you shared of your recent time in London?”
“I don't remember.”
“I’m going to give you a minute to go through your memories, Mr. Hernandez.” Casper cracks his neck, then shakes out his arms. “Use your time wisely.”
“You have the wrong man,” he says without pause. His body glistens with sweat, more than when we came in. A natural reaction to fear; his choking is a pulsing wave permeating every inch of this personal jail. “I’m innocent.”
The wanker gave himself away.
If you’ve done no wrong, there’s no reason to defend yourself.
“I haven’t accused you of anything yet, mate.” Casper looks toward Ivan. “Have you?”
“Not at all.”
“And you?”
My response is a snort. “I haven’t said a word.”
“See?” My cousin does a 360-degree turn, arms out wide. “No accusations. However, I do believe you have a story to tell us.”
“I’m not him.”
At that moment, Ivan turns, and I follow him toward the last cell. This one doesn't have an animal inhabitant but is full of useful items: a collection of knives in various sizes, ropes and chains, and two hospital beds that have seen better days. Both are rusted, and I'm not sure if the stains aren’t blood.
We move the latter of the two farther back and pull out an old, creaky cart.
The laptop and camera on top of it are new, and it’ll serve two pu
rposes. We have a special movie-time feature, and my uncle deserves to watch his last moments.
This was too short notice for him to come.
“Motherfucker!” Mauricio suddenly yells out, and I smirk. Fucker didn't wait. Not that I blame him. This is his kill. “Stop! This is a mistake.”
We stop with the cart a few feet from the now wounded arse, the blood coming from the back of his leg.
Casper's Karambit drips with blood.
The large swine squeal.
My eyes meet Ivan’s and I nod. He's quick to press the button for the cells and they close, locking in all of the pigs but two.
Those two roam close. They're curious, the scent of blood creating a frenzy, and soon hunger will follow.
Because pigs can be cannibals. Cases have been reported of bodies being consumed, leaving only the bones behind.
“I’m going to ask you once more, Hernandez.” Casper crosses his arms, his expression neutral. Yet, I notice the twitch of his fingers around the knife’s handle. “Tell me the story you shared with my friend, here. Last chance.”
“He’s lying!” Mauricio’s struggles intensify against his bonds, thrashing—shaking. “I was just at the bar celebrating my wedding anniversary.”
“Really?” Ivan shakes his head, eyes hard on him from his position by the laptop. He's hooking everything up. “Because there was no one with you but the prostitute you bought for the night. And don’t worry; I left her every single cent you had in your wallet back at the cheap hotel you were hiding in. Those two hundred thousand in cash will be used by her family and friends to survive and have a better life.”
“You piece of shit. I will kill you!”
Ivan just stares. “That’s a mighty big threat from an innocent man.”
“Do you know who I am? I will...fuck!” My cousin strikes, this cut running from knee to mid-thigh. It's deep, bleeding heavily, and the floor beneath him soon has a puddle. This gets the animal’s attention.
Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5) Page 18