Speaking the words out loud peeled back the hidden layers to reveal a truth that I didn’t want to face but couldn’t deny.
“What’s wrong rat? Cat got your tongue?”
“Cristiano,” I whispered, the word muddled behind the safety of my palm.
Ignacio’s dark gaze gleamed under the muted glow of the swinging overhead light. “How do you think I found you in the first place, puta?” he taunted, running his tongue across his teeth. “Did you think he really wanted to marry you?”
“It can’t be.” I was going to be sick. I rolled over, my stomach contracting into a coiled knot of betrayal.
As the light flickered again, Ignacio stood, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. “I warned you not to fear the knife to your throat as much as the one in your back, Mari.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brody
Mexico City, Mexico
Val looked up from his glass, narrowing his bloodshot eyes at the bruised man standing before him. “Your eyes are blue.”
Ignoring the two soldiers holding him immobile, Cristiano centered his gaze on the force of nature across the room. “And yours are red. And blue and red make purple, which, incidentally, is the color of Harcourt’s face. Care to discuss the other sixty-one colors in the crayon box?”
I shook my head.
Dumbass.
Antagonizing the man who held his life in his hands wasn’t a smart move.
Val had Cristiano hauled in bleeding, bruised, and barely able to see out of two swollen eyes. To be honest, I had no idea how he could tell the guy had eyes, much less what color they were.
“Adriana,” I muttered. Not that anyone heard me. Those two idiots were too busy playing some fucked up alpha dick chess game we didn’t have time for.
However, it was Val’s move, and he played to win. “You’re only half Latino.”
Cristiano smirked. “And yet, you’re one hundred percent asshole.”
“Motherfucker,” Val growled, his monotone voice low and clipped. Even soaked in alcohol, it was there, stretched to its limits.
Snap threat.
Cristiano glanced my way while licking blood off his teeth. “Is he always this pleasant?”
“Shut up!” Tilting my head back, I stared at the ceiling, trying to rein in my temper.
I swore, once he helped us get Adriana and Santi back, I was breaking that asshole’s nose.
Inhaling hard, I settled my eyes on a pissed-off, half-drunk, guilt-ridden Val. “Where did you find him?” My teeth gnashed as I scanned my eyes across Cristiano’s beaten face. “And why didn’t you let me at him first?”
Cristiano smirked. “Patience, Brenda.”
I glared at Val. “Screw first, I just want to be last.”
“Stop it!” Val roared. “My sister and son are missing. I want them back. I don’t give a shit if it’s you…” He shouted, pointing to me. “…you…” He swung his finger toward Cristiano. “…you…” He tossed a nod over his shoulder at Mateo. “…or the goddamn tooth fairy who makes it happen. When they’re safe, you two cabrones can beat the hell out of each other for all I care, but until then, shut the fuck up!”
Cristiano’s face paled. “Mari is missing?”
I didn’t bother to correct him. “Along with Val’s son, Santiago. They disappeared sometime last night.”
“No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The sudden shift in his demeanor set me on edge. “What wasn’t supposed to happen? Do you know something, Vergara? I swear to Christ, if you had something to do with—”
“How could I have had something to do with it?” he snapped, a razor’s edge away from losing control. “Your boss’s men ran me off the road into an embankment. I’m good, but I’m not that damn good.”
What the hell?
I glanced at Val, who simply nodded.
“Ignacio,” I said, speaking the one name on everyone’s mind.
Cristiano laughed. “I guess I can cross running from a homicidal parent off my bucket list.” A dark haze crossed his face. “That asshole has kept me in a dirty warehouse for days until I managed to overtake a couple of his stupider guards and stole a car. I was trying to find Mari when I was given an unwanted escort.”
Stopping his pace, Val swung around, his fists locked by his side. “You’re Ignacio Vergara’s son.”
The room fell deathly silent as Cristiano closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with short rapid breaths. When he opened them, the earlier arrogance was gone, replaced by dull acceptance. “Yes.”
Mateo shot to his feet. “Does anyone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“My father was a son of a bitch who left my mother pregnant and shamed,” he ground out, cracking the surface of his façade. “Even as a boy, I knew I’d find him and make him pay. Watching my grandfather reject both of us, condemning her to a life of disgrace, and forcing a child to become a man to ensure our survival kind of sealed the deal.”
Crossing his arms, Mateo circled around him, his stoic expression firmly in place. “I take it he didn’t approve?”
Cristiano barked out a dry laugh. “Only pure blue Irish blood deserved Ronan Kelly’s kindness. When contaminated by a lower-class Latino, the only thing it deserved was to be spilled.”
Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I saw Val’s face morph from blank indifference to shock to blackened rage. “¡Qué chingados! You’re Ronan Kelly’s grandson?”
“The Northside Sinners,” I added.
Ice shot through my veins. I heard the words and each one clawed into my head, digging through facades and lies until all that was left was a stripped away version of my own blindness.
Ronan Kelly. Cristiano Vergara. Ignacio Vergara. Esteban Muñoz. The Northside Sinners. Chicago port alliances. Missing shipments.
They all linked with one name.
Carlos Cabello.
Val’s stare didn’t stray from Cristiano’s face. “Ronan Kelly hates cartels. It’s why the Carreras have never fucked with the Midwest. It’s the one policy my father and I agreed on. Kelly never had a son—only two daughters, so we decided to bide our time until the old bag of shit croaked, and then strong arm his daughters into opening up their ports.”
“My mother is a good woman,” Cristiano hissed, his tone dangerously close to a challenge.
I’d give it to him—Cristiano Vergara had a pair of iron balls and didn’t give two shits about juggling them in front of Valentin Carrera’s face. It was either the bravest thing I’d ever seen or the dumbest.
“My grandfather hates cartels,” he continued. “It was why Esteban sent my father to Chicago. He didn’t give a shit if he ever made it back. But he lured him into forging a trade alliance with promises to make him a lieutenant.” His lips curled into a snarl. “Ignacio met my mother and assumed the way to his rank was through her.”
My head snapped up. This sounded too familiar.
“He got her pregnant and never returned to Chicago. She was shunned and forbidden to give me the Kelly name. That’s why I’m a Vergara.” He shot me a look. “Lucky me.”
Mateo cocked his head. “You must not have been too ashamed. You followed in his footsteps.”
Hate seared across Cristiano’s bloody face. “Fuck you. I watched her suffer because of the promises my father made and never delivered. The only truth she told me was that he was a Muñoz soldier, so the first chance I got, I came to Mexico to find him. To make him answer and pay for his sins.”
A quiet click drew my eyes to my right where Mateo’s fingers released his gun from its holster. It was a subtle move, but one that caught a set of pale blue eyes as well.
“I kept my mouth shut. I worked my way up the ranks from street dealer to top sicario while searching for any information I could find,” he explained, pulling his gaze from Mateo’s gun up to his face. “The path to truth was long, but then I caught Mari’s eye, and I realized she was my detour. An easy and beautif
ul shortcut.”
Her rules.
It hit me, inflaming my already burning jealousy tenfold. He was the reason for all her rules. Why she built walls. Why she wouldn’t kiss a man. Why she believed she didn’t deserve love.
“You son of a bitch.” I flew across the room, ready to tear him apart only to be blocked by Val’s outstretched arm. I glared, and he glared back, the unspoken message clear.
Let him speak.
“I said she was a detour! I was a kid whose only tie in this life was a heartbroken mother banished from her family. We were nothing to them. A stain on their precious empire. I’m not proud of using her to get what I wanted, but there’s not a man in our world who hasn’t manipulated a woman for his benefit.” He swung an accusing glare at all three of us, settling on me.
I returned it with a scowl.
Val broke the silence. “Obviously, something changed.”
“Esteban saw how close we were getting.” My eyes bounced between them as Cristiano’s shoulders lowered, his defensive stance diminishing. “He finally took the time to notice my last name instead of just seeing a face amongst men not worth his time. He sat me down and gave me every disgusting detail of my existence.”
Adriana’s sad, solemn voice echoed in my head.
“So why the split? Did you get cold feet?”
“No, he did.”
My furrowed eyebrows faded into disbelief. “It was an arranged marriage. For Chicago port access.”
He didn’t confirm it, but the regret in his eyes did. “Whatever benefitted Esteban, right? He thought I was his ‘in’. I’m not innocent though. He dangled the same lieutenant carrot in front of my face as he did Ignacio, and I grabbed it. Sins of the father, and all that.”
“But you didn’t go through with it.”
He shook his head. “No. Esteban died before he could promote me. Manuel took control of the cartel, and he hated me. I knew I had to stay away from Mari. Especially after knowing who her father was and what he’d done.”
I had no idea if he knew what he just said, or if there was so many hidden truths spilling out of him that it slipped out. All I knew was that I heard it.
And worse than that, Val heard it.
“You’ve known who she really was all this time, and you didn’t say shit?” Val roared, charging forward with his arms up, hands wide, and fingers spread, ready to choke the life out of him.
But I beat him to it.
Rage and fear and the sickening images that kept filling my head consumed me. Images of Adriana and Santi. Crying. Bleeding. Begging for help. All of it spiraled out of control, and I grabbed Cristiano by the shirt, out of the guards’ hands and crashed us both against the wall. “When Adriana and I were in your office, she gave you his name. She begged you for help finding the man who was terrorizing her family, and you knew. She gave you tears, and you gave her riddles. Did you know about the safe deposit box?”
He wheezed as my forearm braced across his throat. “I told her I’d been waiting for her to come to me. That wasn’t a lie. I suspected Esteban had damning information hidden inside the estate. I just didn’t think she’d find it.”
“So, you lied to her again!”
“I was protecting her! I sure as hell didn’t want her to find out this way!”
“Bullshit! You were protecting yourself, and now your father has her!” I pushed harder, cutting off more of his air supply until a set of hands pried me off him. He dropped to his feet, coughing as I turned and shoved Mateo away from me. Still shaking with rage, I spun back around to where the piece of shit still stood. “What does he want with Adriana and Santiago?”
“He saw firsthand with Carrera’s mother how quickly a parent will give their life when it comes to the safety of their child. My guess is he was using Adriana to do the same thing to Val. When she didn’t play by his rules, he made new ones.”
“You never loved her,” I hissed.
“Don’t tell me how I felt about Mari! Maybe I was never in love with her, but I’ll fight to the death for her. Adriana and my mother are the only two women who have ever given me love without wanting something in return, and Ignacio Vergara ruined both their lives. He only deserves the same.”
I was sick of his declarations. Any asshole could say words. It took a man to back them up. I’d crawled to the lowest level of hell for love. I wondered if Cristiano Vergara would do the same.
I flashed a cold smile. “Let’s put that theory to the test, shall we?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Adriana
Tlajomulco de Zuñiga, Jalisco, Mexico
My head felt like it’d been stuffed with a bag of cotton balls.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to force them open while fighting through the fuzzy cloud blocking my memory. Nothing made sense, as if my brain were a giant puzzle that had been scattered about. Nothing fit, and there was no discernible pattern.
Everything hurt. An aching, stinging, heavy hurt that made me want to give up and sink back down into the black nothingness I just came from. Frustrated, I tried to move, but my limbs felt numb and uncooperative. I blinked, the room dark except for two overhead swinging lights. It looked industrial. Almost like a…
Warehouse.
Ignoring the pain, I pressed my palms onto the cold concrete and pushed myself up, praying the images flashing through my head were residual pieces of a nightmare and not memories. But the clearer they became, the more I remembered, and the more I remembered, the harder I shook.
The late-night text that came through on my phone from Cristiano.
Running to the back door to meet him, only to come face-to-face with Ignacio.
The sting of the needle as he plunged it into my neck.
Then pain when I awoke to the burning orange ember of a lit cigar inside a different warehouse.
And the moment I wanted to die as I heard Santiago’s faint cry.
I closed my eyes, remembering how Ignacio took sadistic pleasure in telling me no matter what I did, the people I tried to protect were going to die right along with me.
All because I’d been played for a fool.
Cristiano was Ignacio Vergara’s son, and even he was a pawn.
I tried to block out his words, but he tied my hands behind my back, forcing me to listen. His boy. His heir. His pride. For years, he’d lied to me. He knew I was Adriana Carrera.
I brought all this to Val’s door. That hurt worse than any pain Ignacio could inflict.
I’d lose my family again.
It was too late to save me, but I’d die a thousand deaths before I’d let a damn thing happen to Santiago. No child should ever suffer like I did.
Or because of what I did.
Someone would come for me. Ignacio enjoyed playing with his puppet too much to leave me alone much longer. I only had one shot. One chance to find Val’s son, and I refused to fail him twice.
I needed a weapon. Unfortunately, captors didn’t make a habit of leaving sharp objects lying around their captive’s cages. I’d have to improvise, but there wasn’t even a chair to break. No table. No window.
I scrubbed a blood caked hand across my forehead. “Great. Any more bright ideas, Adriana?”
I stilled, my hand sliding down my face.
Bright.
Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I watched as the two hanging lights swung back and forth.
Back and forth. Two lights. With two bulbs.
Two glass bulbs.
I glanced down at my flimsy tank top and tiny shorts I’d pulled on after leaving Brody’s bed, and the first time since waking up in this hellhole, I smiled.
Before running to meet “Cristiano” at the back door, I put on the first shoes I could find.
High-heeled sandals.
Unbuckling the straps, I slipped them off and climbed to my feet. Aiming the heel toward the bulb, I threw hard, missing the target by about two feet and snapping the heel off as it crashed into the wall. With a deep breath, I grabbed th
e second one. Drawing my arm back, I threw twenty-four years of pain in the air and watched it return over twenty-four shards of glass.
* * *
I made a fist, and warm blood trickled down my wrist.
I didn’t mind. Blood reminded me I was still alive, and pain was fleeting. I’d felt less. I’d felt more. None of it mattered. All that mattered was who was on the other side of that door and how close I could get to them.
I waited. I forced everything out of my head except the turning of the doorknob. I learned the hard way that letting my guard down was a mistake, and emotions had no place in cartel life. So, I shifted on the balls of my feet, my knees protesting my crouched position against the far corner wall. No pain, I reminded myself, squeezing harder, blood now dripping off my fingertips.
The door cracked, and I clenched my teeth.
Why didn’t he just come in and get it over with?
Finally, it swung open and a muscular figure stepped inside the now barely-lit room. I saw nothing at first but an outline of a dead man. However, the closer he came, the more the remaining overhead light swung, illuminating the shadow hiding his face.
The more the shadow lifted, the harder I squeezed, and the thicker the river of blood ran.
The permanent scowl he wore was dangerous, unremorseful, and calculating. Tall and muscular, with skin dark enough to earn a rank but light enough to raise an eyebrow. He looked more like an underwear model than a ruthless killer.
And underestimating him had been my downfall.
“Cristiano,” I breathed, venom lacing my voice. “You look like shit. Although, it seems we’ve both survived another day.”
His icy blue eyes turned toward the corner. “Mari, thank God!”
I let out a low laugh. “Not God. Thank your papá.”
He froze, emotions spinning across his face like a roulette wheel. Finally, the ball settled in the resigned slot, and his smirk fell. “You know.”
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