Violent Triumphs

by Jessica Hawkins

He made a fist. It hurt him that an enemy had succeeded in debilitating him and would keep him from doing everything he could for his comrade.

  His hand flexed. Covered mine on his pec. “Every one of your touches comforts me. Heals me. But as you soothe me, the opposite is being done to Max. He’s a prisoner, not a guest.”

  I shut my eyes against the idea, but the image only became clearer in the dark. If Max was still alive, there was no doubt he was being tortured. I tried to fight the vision of him tied up in a dark room, bloody and swollen. “I understand,” I said. “I want Max to come home, too. But we need more information. Maybe they took him to bait you.”

  “Can’t bait a dead man.”

  “Maybe you weren’t supposed to die.”

  After a beat, his eyebrows cinched. “What?”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about all of this,” I said. “‘If you’re going to aim, kill.’ You taught me that. So why take Max? Why go to the trouble of attacking your home if they’d planned to kill you at the hotel?”

  Recognition dawned as Cristiano picked up my line of thinking. “Any message would be pointless if I was dead,” he said, his expression easing. “They wanted me to live. And you, too.”

  “Me?” I shook my head. “My attacker almost choked me to death. He almost slit my throat—”

  “Almost,” Cristiano said. “He might’ve had orders to get you out alive. He had a syringe on him.”

  “What?” A hazy memory returned of the man holding up what I’d thought was a blade. “A tranquilizer?”

  “You would’ve been their first target. Why not just shoot you?” He swallowed. “My worst fear, as I thought I was dying, was that they’d take you, Natalia.”

  I refrained from shuddering. This new information changed that night entirely. There’d been more at risk than my life. I could’ve been in Max’s position now, in the grips of a rival cartel with an axe to grind.

  I did want Max out. Desperately. But Cristiano’s life meant more to me, so I spoke to him in a way I knew would get through to him. “Are you going to take me with you to retrieve Max?”

  The corners of his mouth drooped. “Why would I?”

  “Because you’d be leaving the Badlands unprotected again if you go. You’d be leaving me vulnerable. If they want me, they may try again.”

  Torment marred his features, but it didn’t deter me. I needed him to understand what he could lose if he acted recklessly.

  “They might be waiting for you to walk—no, run—into a trap,” I said. “And if they have you, then they have me, too.”

  He brought my palm to his chest. “I . . . I can’t let him sit there and rot, Natalia. And if I can’t help him, I’ve failed him.”

  I threw my arms around his neck, our wet, naked bodies flush. “Hay un tiempo señalado para todo,” I whispered, quoting from the bible. “Un tiempo de matar, y un tiempo de sanar.”

  There’s a time for everything. A time to kill, and a time to heal.

  “You didn’t make these decisions alone. Max knew what he was getting into,” I said. “He can handle it. He would never expect you to save his life at the expense of everyone else’s. He’s strong.”

  He shuddered. “What do I do?”

  I had one of the most ruthless, foreboding crime lords in my arms, asking for my help. It wasn’t the first time. My advice to him in the upstairs bedroom of his nightclub had been wrong. If I hadn’t told him to go, maybe he would’ve stayed and neither of us would’ve faced death.

  Then again, we wouldn’t be here now.

  He’d returned to me. Not just physically, but emotionally. He came back to me for help.

  In the possible event of his death, I’d known I’d have to step up. Why should that change since he’d lived? More than ever, I could be the woman he thought I was. The queen he’d chosen for his bride.

  I smoothed my cheek against his bristly chin, while all six-foot-five inches of him stood powerful—and naked. Emboldened by the juxtaposition of his masculinity and vulnerability, I drew back and said, “You make a plan. You assemble a team. But you don’t rush. Max is tough and stubborn. He will hold on until your men can get to him.”

  Cristiano rested his forehead against mine. “We,” he said. “We will make a plan. We will assemble a team. We will get him out.”

  I was in it now. I had been for a while. With a few words, Cristiano told me I was no longer here against my will. And I accepted that.

  I let Cristiano in. I stepped into the role he’d been pushing me toward. I stood by his side in the ivory tower.

  We were Calavera royalty.

  6

  Natalia

  News of Cristiano’s latest brush with death had spread through the Badlands, and in the following week, it became a full-time job receiving well wishes in the forms of home-cooked meals and handmade goods such as pottery, candles, and tequila. It was a celebration of his good fortune rather than what could’ve been, and I was grateful for the distraction.

  But as I came in from the town square one evening, I was reminded that I still had other, more personal matters to deal with. I peeled off gloves dirty with soil from planting trees and left them in the entryway as I followed voices to the dining area.

  The last two voices I wanted to hear—Tasha and Cristiano.

  Regardless of where in the house Tasha was, she was becoming a more unwelcome presence each day, but more maddening was Cristiano’s aversion to rest.

  I strode in and found them chatting at the far end of the long table, where nobody ever sat. “Do you have wings now?” I asked, satisfied with how my voice carried and my sandals slapped the tile.

  Cristiano stopped mid-sentence to turn his gaze on me. “¿De qué estás hablando?”

  He wanted to know what I was talking about? Pfft. I slapped a cordial smile on my face. “I know you didn’t walk downstairs since the doctor explicitly ordered you not to. And the elevator’s out of service while it undergoes security upgrades. So did you fly? Or is there a slide from the top floor I’m not aware of?”

  “I’ve been in bed for two fucking weeks,” he said.

  “It’s been eleven days—don’t exaggerate.”

  “Doctor Sosa was just upstairs with us,” Tasha said, “and she told us it was fine.”

  Us? I turned my glare on Cristiano. I shouldn’t need to forbid him from being alone in our bedroom with a woman who wasn’t Jaz or Doctor Sosa, but apparently I did. And to make matters worse, not only had he used the stairs, but he’d gotten dressed—and he looked infuriatingly handsome in a pressed, white dress shirt and charcoal-colored slacks. It was the first time he’d been out of loungewear since he’d been delivered home to me bloody and half-dead. Did he think he was going somewhere?

  “Lighten up, Natalia,” Tasha added. “Cristiano heals at a superhuman rate.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” I walked to stand by his chair. “Because he’s not superhuman. He’s a man, and he was stabbed three times.”

  “I’m still struggling to understand why you care.” Her narrowed eyes stayed trained on me. “What did you call your marriage, Cristiano? An alliance between you and Costa? Nothing more.”

  I hated the idea of Tasha thinking this was all for show. She’d been intimate with Cristiano. She knew what he liked, and—considering they’d been spending time together without me—how to get his ear. Not to mention she was a beautiful woman who likely knew her way around a man as experienced as my husband—where I was still a girl in many ways, especially when it came to sex.

  I turned to face Cristiano. “The doctor was here? What’d she say?”

  His eyes twinkled. “That I’m cleared for almost everything.”

  A flush made its way up my chest. “I’ll have to hear that from her mouth.”

  “You would’ve if you’d been by his side,” Tasha said behind me. “Where were you?”

  Gardening suddenly sounded unimpressive, but spending time in the Badlands was much more than that. Without Max,
Cristiano, or even Alejandro to talk to, the residents had issues to be resolved, and I heard some of them while helping out around the chapel.

  I turned to Tasha. “Handling business. Teresa was showing me some things.” I held up my left hand before adding, “She’s the goldsmith who made my wedding rings.”

  Tasha checked her manicure. How it was still perfectly intact after the last couple weeks was beyond me. “Ten cuidado, Cristiano. You should be careful,” she said. “When a mafioso falls, there are always vultures lying in wait.”

  Cristiano pushed back from the table, rose, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Are you suggesting I’ve fallen?” he asked.

  Tasha wet her lips. “You will if you don’t take control of this situation. Word is spreading.”

  She’d indicated something similar before, when she’d first arrived. Before I could ask her to clarify, Alejandro opened the door to the kitchen, holding it for Jaz to pass through.

  “How many places should I set for dinner, señor?” Jaz asked.

  “Set it for five,” I answered. “Pilar will be joining us as well. Will you get her, Alejandro?”

  “Of course,” he said, nearly jogging off in the direction of the library where Pilar had been spending most of her time.

  As Jaz distributed silverware and napkins and filled glasses with red wine, Cristiano moved to the head of the table, walking almost as if he was back to normal. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still in pain, though.

  I linked my elbow with his and lowered my voice. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than ever,” he said without looking at me.

  “Tasha said word is spreading. Does that mean people beyond Belmonte-Ruiz are beginning to learn the truth about the Badlands?”

  “We’re not discussing this now.”

  “But—”

  “I said no.”

  Tasha and Jaz quieted, looking at us.

  “It’s not a topic for dinner.” Cristiano grabbed one of the elaborate candelabras from the center of the table and thrust it toward Jaz. “Get rid of this. Nobody can see each other with these malditas cosas in the way.”

  My mouth fell open as he cursed something as stupid as candlesticks. Even though he and I had argued since his return, it was the first time he’d snapped at me. I wasn’t even entirely sure what the topic was, but it was obviously a sore one.

  Pilar’s laugh floated in before she did with Alejandro. He’d clearly said something to amuse her, but when her eyes landed on Cristiano, her demeanor shrank.

  Cristiano hadn’t left our room much since he’d been confined there, which meant . . . this was the first time Pilar had seen him—at least while he was conscious—since our wedding. She wrung her hands in front of her, her nerves palpable, even from across the room. “Wh-where should I sit?”

  “Anywhere but in Natalia’s seat,” Cristiano said, standing behind his chair at the head.

  Pilar’s eyes darted around. Since we rarely ate at the table, she had no way of knowing whose seat was whose. “Here,” I said, holding out a hand for her. I led her to the chair next to mine. “Alejandro, you sit opposite her.”

  Cristiano pulled out my chair but spoke to Pilar. “I take it you’ll be staying with us a while.”

  Pilar glanced at Alejandro as she tucked a napkin on her lap. “I . . .”

  “The fiancé won’t be bothering Pilar again,” Alejandro replied for her.

  “Good,” Cristiano said, gesturing for me to sit.

  I stayed where I was, feeling suddenly out of the loop. “What are you talking about?”

  “Whose fiancé?” Tasha chimed in.

  “Siéntate.” Cristiano ordered me to sit, waiting as beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. Knowing he wouldn’t relax until I did, I obeyed. He helped scoot me under the table and asked, “What kind of food do you like, Pilar?”

  I gave her an encouraging smile.

  “Traditional,” she said.

  “Traditional what?” Cristiano asked, taking his seat at the head. “Traditional Vietnamese? Do you like pho? Indian? Chicken curry?”

  “You know what she means,” I told Cristiano. What was his problem? Whatever nerve I’d hit earlier, it was obviously still tender. “Most people count their blessings after a near-death experience—you just come out even grumpier.”

  Pilar shifted her horrified stare to me. In her world, women didn’t go around calling dangerous kingpins grumpy.

  Cristiano paused in the middle of unfurling his napkin into his lap and looked at me. “You haven’t seen grumpy yet, mamacita.”

  “She has a point,” Alejandro said from across the table. “Maybe it’s because you stopped the painkillers.”

  “When?” I demanded.

  Cristiano sat back in his seat, massaging the bridge of his nose with a hefty sigh. “Days ago.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it a headache?”

  “It’s becoming one, yes,” he said.

  Pilar giggled, then sucked in a breath when Cristiano looked at her, as if laughter might get her into trouble. She was still scared of him. I didn’t blame her—he’d kidnapped both of us—but he wasn’t going to hurt her.

  Cristiano wasn’t going to hurt me.

  It hit me for the first time—I’d known all along that he wouldn’t.

  Cristiano would never hurt me.

  Not back then, as a child, when he’d chilled me to the core with the White Monarch under my chin. Not when he’d had me alone and stripped down in my bathroom at Papá’s house, or when I’d been at his mercy in the church. Not when I’d stood before him as his new bride, claimed as his property.

  My gut had told me so, but as the full realization passed over me, I peered at him. Perhaps all along, Cristiano had simply been pursuing me at any cost. That didn’t make what he’d done okay, but it didn’t make him the monster I’d thought he was, either.

  As I studied Cristiano, his eyes traveled from Pilar’s shoulders, which were practically at her ears, to her hands laced tightly on the table. She wore a long-sleeved dress, but I knew Cristiano was seeing the faded bruises beneath it.

  He dropped his hand from his face and gave her a comforting smile. It was clearly forced, but he was making an effort. “I’m sorry I was short with you just now. And I’m sorry about Manu.”

  She looked down. “It’s—I’m fine.”

  Cristiano had just spent the last several weeks trying to convince me he wasn’t a threat—now he’d have to start all over with her.

  But then, she lifted her head with a hint of a mischievous smile. “I’m better than Manu at least.”

  Cristiano released a genuine laugh. “Yesterday went well then?”

  “Yesterday?” I asked. “And what’s wrong with Manu? If somebody doesn’t tell me what happened . . .” I threatened.

  Tasha puckered her crimson lips. “Who the hell is Manu?”

  “Pilar’s ex who got physical with her for the last time,” Cristiano explained, then turned to me. “I promised Pilar that she wouldn’t be a prisoner here. Yesterday, Alejandro took her home.”

  I gaped at my friend. How had I missed that? With my time split between caring for Cristiano and handling Badlands business, I hadn’t seen much of Pilar lately. She’d only planned to spend a weekend here, for God’s sake, and it’d completely slipped my mind to check in with her.

  “You went home yesterday?” I asked her.

  “Sí, and she chose to come back,” Cristiano said, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Imagine that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let her speak for herself.”

  He responded with a scolding arch of his eyebrow.

  From the short, quick shake of Pilar’s head, she didn’t want to speak, but I urged her on. “You want to stay?”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes darting from Alejandro to Cristiano. “On the condition that I can leave anytime I want. I just couldn’t see any other way out of my engagement to Manu. I had to tell my parents, though, a
nd pick up some things from home, so Alejandro came with me.”

  I reached for her hand across the table. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”

  “You’ve got plenty to deal with,” she said. “I’m settling in now—don’t worry about me.”

  Jaz and the chef came through the kitchen door to deliver salads adorned with peach slices, feta, pecans, and dried cranberries.

  Tasha forked a small bite into her mouth and moaned. “Divine. Where do you get such perfect peaches?”

  Cristiano grinned. “Right here in the Badlands.”

  “Doesn’t Fisker make the best meals?” I asked, smiling at him and then Pilar. She knew food best of all, and I hoped a comfortable subject would help ease the tension in her shoulders. “My husband may not have much going for him, but his food is straight from the ground, and he employs a world-class chef.”

  Cristiano narrowed his eyes on me. I lifted a corner of my mouth enough to convey I was teasing. He opened his hand on the table to me. It was the perfect chance to show Pilar that I was comfortable around him, so she could be, too.

  When I placed my hand in his, he brought it to his lips briefly, then lowered it under the table. “Surely your husband has something else going for him,” he said.

  The sudden masculine power underneath my palm sent memories of our shower together flashing across my mind and a tremor of excitement through my body. Part of it was the anticipation of knowing Cristiano was counting the days until he was healed enough to have me.

  “Forgive me for staring at my wife. I so love when she calls me husband without sneering.” Cristiano moved our hands to my upper leg and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “You want me to stay in bed so I’ll heal faster. But remember that the faster I heal, the sooner that tender spot between your legs is mine to devastate.”

  I released a shaky breath. What once had been a threat was now a delicious promise. Tenderness wouldn’t do. Not our first time. And he knew it, biding his time until then, teasing me with his words.

  Cristiano didn’t wait for my response. As his fingers slipped up my inner thigh, he turned to Alejandro, who was buttering a slice of bread. “How did Manu react?”