That was as far as I let my mind go. Whatever struggle had caused the tear in Mamá’s dress and the bruises on her face—whatever had happened between the intruder entering the bedroom and me skipping in—I couldn’t think of without getting sick, so I never did. I knew it tortured Papá enough for the both of us.
And the final detail that didn’t add up was the small fact that a sicario didn’t kill of his own volition. He would’ve been hired. So if Papá believed Cristiano hadn’t done this, then who did? Who had the hitman worked for?
Some of the more conspiracy-minded newspapers back then had speculated rival cartels had done it instead of Cristiano, but growing up, I’d dismissed their theories without a second thought.
I stopped pacing. “Could any of this have to do with the Maldonado cartel?”
Diego frowned from a couple meters away. “Cristiano’s return?”
“No. My mother’s death.”
“The Maldonados didn’t exist back then.” Diego sat on the edge of the fountain, placed his cowboy hat next to him, and scrubbed a hand through his disheveled hair. “They’re newer. What do you know about them anyway?”
“Mostly what I’ve read in the news or what I overheard in the study the other day,” I said.
“I thought you wanted to stay out of all this.” He sucked on his cigarette, squinting at me as silky strands of his dark-cocoa hair fell around his cheekbones. “Yet as soon as you got here, you were already hiding in hallways like you did as a kid.”
“I want to live a respectable and honest life away from all this, but that doesn’t mean I want to be ignorant.” I couldn’t blame his quizzical look. When I was away at school and we spoke on the phone, I was ignorant. I’d ask about business because it was his life, but then I’d let him get away with cursory answers.
After my mother’s death, I’d no longer wanted to hear about the things I’d sought to know growing up—the handshake deals made over caramel flan with men visiting from exotic-sounding countries. The foreign sports cars, endless vices, and other spoils that came from feeding the world’s various drug addictions. The lost boys of the town that the cartel took under its wing, protecting and feeding them while training them like wards.
Back then, I’d do more than hide. I would seek information, curious about the dangers I was always kept from. I’d sneak away from the house and ride my bike a few kilometers to the sprawling, private ranch house on our property that housed boys and men like Diego and Cristiano. There, they’d learned everything about the business—including how to protect and kill for it. From a distance, I’d been introduced to the different kinds of arms and how to carry them. Other things happened in those training camps too, but those I didn’t stick around for. I hadn’t wanted to learn what could be worse than death.
As far as I knew, the ranch house had been empty since Papá had traded all that for less violence, going from rival cartels’ competition to their solution. They now paid him top dollar to move contraband across borders, and since he’d nearly monopolized the shipping market, he could be more discerning than most.
“My father can pick and choose who he associates with,” I said. “If he worked so hard to minimize risk and violence, why are we suddenly involved with two of the most dangerous cartels?”
“Calavera and Maldonado have nothing to do with each other,” Diego said, raising his eyes to mine.
“Are you sure?” I resumed pacing in hopes that moving would help the uneasiness building in me. “Maybe there’s some connection between them.”
“I don’t see how there could be. Maldonado is my thing. I brought them in.”
From what I’d heard in the office, it hadn’t sounded as if Papá had been completely on board. “It wasn’t my father’s call?”
“I brought the contract to him once it had all been arranged.” The orange tip of his cigarette flared with a drag. “He would’ve said no otherwise. Your dad wants to keep doing things as he’s always done, but that’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous or wise?” I stopped in front of Diego and crossed my arms. “If it works, why tempt fate?”
“What do you think happens when a wild animal slows down to rest or to tend to his wounds, or if he gets sentimental about his prey—the way Costa has about Cristiano? Nothing good.” He put out the smoke on the ledge, picked up his hat, and leaned his elbows on his knees. “If you’re not moving forward, you’re going backward,” he said. “Adaptation is the key to survival.”
I could see Diego’s point. We’d done case studies in business school about insolvent companies—those that’d changed too fast, or in the wrong ways. Those that had been left behind.
“Why does adapting have to mean taking on more risk?” I asked.
“Working with the Maldonados isn’t any more dangerous than what we normally do—it just sounds that way because they’re . . .” He scratched his temple. “Let’s just say they’re less forgiving than most.”
“What does that mean?”
“Can you come here, please?” He reached for me. “We don’t get much time together as it is. Why waste it on talking about stuff we can’t control?”
It was all I had wanted in the last year—to have Diego’s hands on me again. To be ignorant of the dark side of this business. This was exactly why I tried to stay out of these things. Now, I knew too much and had too many questions to overlook what was happening.
Not only that, but I couldn’t ignore how invested Diego was in the future of a cartel he was planning to leave behind soon.
I stayed where I was. “What does ‘less forgiving’ mean, Diego?”
He looked down at the hat as he turned it over in his hands. “They don’t do business the way your dad and his friends did. If they don’t like something, they get rid of it. They kill unnecessarily and without regard for the rules.”
“There are no rules,” I pointed out.
“Not true. As you know, up until the past decade or so, there was a code. There were agreements—like the one my family broke. But older cartel leaders are being replaced with ones who think they’re above the law of the land. With the Maldonados, there’s no justice—only the word of those in charge.”
Justice. In a strange way, it did exist in this world. I thought back to what Cristiano had said to me about justice and loyalty before he’d forced me down the tunnel. My father or his men would’ve killed him without trial based on the damning evidence they’d had. I could almost see Cristiano’s reasoning. If the Maldonados murdered who they wanted when they wanted, then that bred more distrust, disloyalty, and violence within their own cartel and amongst others.
“And you made a deal with them?” I asked, spinning the diamond on my ring finger. “What happens if you don’t deliver?”
“I will, Talia. I’ve done my homework. I’m talking over fifty percent more profit for maybe nine or ten percent more risk. How can I refuse those odds?”
“Because if there are no rules, how do you know when you’ve broken one? Or what they’re capable of?” I paused. “What are they capable of?”
“Things you’ve asked me not to tell you before.”
This was the kind of information I could never forget once I knew. And yet, if it involved Diego’s life, remaining in the dark didn’t feel like an option. I stilled my fidgeting hands. “I’m asking now. You’re caught up in this. So is my father. I want to know what happens if something goes wrong.”
“You’re overreacting, Tali. I’ve got everything under—”
He stopped when he picked up on my glare. “Life or death is overreacting?” I asked tersely.
Sighing, he looked away from me. “What happens if something goes wrong with the Maldonados? Death if they’re merciful. If not, it’s because they can do worse. Enslave a man to do their bidding, hold his family hostage, torture him by killing off his brothers, sell his women and kids.”
My heart rate kicked up a notch. It wasn’t as if I had no clue of the reach these criminals around me ha
d. But it scared me that although Diego was most likely smarter than the people he did business with, he’d never be as ruthless. “You have to cancel the deal.”
He whipped his gaze to me, brows drawn. “I can’t do that, Tali. What’s done is done, and we need their business anyway. If this goes well, then an ongoing arrangement with the Maldonados would set all of us up for life.”
“What kind of life is it if you’re looking over your shoulder every day? If you’re never allowed to make mistakes?” I ran my hands over my face. “No amount of money is worth that.”
“You can’t even comprehend the kind of money I’m talking about.”
“I don’t care,” I said, throwing up my arms in exasperation. “This is exactly the life I don’t want—one I’m trying to help you escape. Why are you even worrying about an ongoing deal if you’re trying to get out?”
“I have to make as much money as I can before I leave,” he said adamantly, imploring me with his eyes. “When I get to the States, I’ll be back at square one. What will I do for work? I need a bank account with enough zeros to take care of you.”
“Diego.” I squatted in front of him, set his hat on the lip of the fountain, and took his hands. “That’s not how I need to be taken care of. I could have that life if I wanted it, but I don’t. I chose to leave, and I thought you wanted the same.” I swallowed, searching his eyes. “Do you not want to come to California?”
“I do. I want that so much, but I have to know I can provide for you first. Whether you ask me to or not, it’s my responsibility as a man, and I won’t be happy anywhere if I can’t do it.” He moved some of my hair behind my ear and tilted up my chin. “It’s not just about the money. This first run will net me enough to come with you, and then you and I will be set until I get on my feet. But if it goes well, it’ll also secure the most profitable deal your dad has ever made. It’ll prove to your father that he can bring his business into the present, and . . .”
“And?” I asked.
He looked at me with cinched eyebrows, as if in pain. Diego felt everything. I hated arguing with him, but it was important that he see that money and status meant less to me than being with him. I was tired of living a country apart.
He glanced toward the house, avoiding my eyes. “It’ll show your dad what I’m capable of. That I’m more than some lackey on his payroll. That I’m good enough for you and can care for you—not just financially, but in every way.”
“Oh, Diego.” I cupped his jaw, and he leaned into my hand. “He doesn’t doubt what a strong, smart, skillful man you are. He just doesn’t want me near any of this. It wouldn’t matter who you were.”
He put his hand over mine, turning his face into my palm to kiss it. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of this. Worrying you about Maldonado and Calavera. I’m sorry you had to see my fucking pinche brother.” He brushed his lips up my wrist and forearm, smiling against my skin when I shivered. “I know how those memories of Cristiano affect you,” he said softly, “but I’m not going to let him anywhere near you.”
Diego didn’t know. Not entirely. My nightmares were not limited to the horror of finding Mamá in a pool of her own blood. Cristiano had taught me that the gilded fortress I’d grown up in wasn’t as secure as I’d thought. He’d robbed me of my carefree childhood. I’d sat in the dark, my nine-year-old mind growing more and more paranoid I might never be found, trying to think of how I could reach the last rung of the ladder without the height or vision I needed. Even if Cristiano hadn’t killed my mom, I didn’t know if I could ever disassociate him with the fear he’d inspired or the lessons I’d learned too early in life.
Trust no one.
Never draw a weapon unless you meant to kill.
Loyalty didn’t guarantee loyalty, even to your own blood.
Anyone, even the most loyal disciple, could turn.
And I had danced with him tonight, aroused by a possessive touch and menacing words that should’ve sent me running into Diego’s arms. I could’ve screamed like I’d threatened—but I hadn’t. What was wrong with me?
I stood, pulled Diego up from the fountain’s ledge, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank you for protecting me,” I whispered as I brushed my cheek against his. “For wanting more for us. For taking a bullet for me all those years ago. I love you.”
“I only wish I could do more.” He slid his hands down my back, lowering his mouth but pausing before our lips touched. “I would erase that day for you.”
I hugged him more tightly, breathing him in as he pecked me once. Twice. His tongue slid between my lips, tasting me. “My sweet Natalia,” he said on a moan.
I loved how he said my name. Even as Diego and I had changed, as our relationship had grown and our devotion to each other had solidified, he continued to say my name the same way—as if he owned it. As if nobody else knew it like he did.
I deepened the kiss. The world fell away, and we were just two people in love who hadn’t had enough chances to show it.
His hands moved everywhere—searching, finding, claiming. He cupped my ass and pulled my hips against his, and I groaned.
“God, I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”
In that moment, I felt the same. I’d preserved my virginity for him—that part was easy. But keeping it from him? I struggled to be good. I wanted to do right by my faith, act with grace as my mother had, and be a woman she would’ve been proud of. But sometimes I wondered if it even mattered since I would marry Diego no matter what.
His hand dropped lower than it ever had, and the wrongness of being groped outside where anyone could happen upon us made something pull deep in my tummy. From behind, Diego cupped me between the legs and held me in place as he ground against me, rubbing a sensitive spot that made me moan up at the sky. “Oh, god. That . . .”
“Hmm?” he asked, running his tongue along the shell of my ear.
“That feels so good,” I breathed.
“For me too. I’m getting hard, Tals.”
Desire washed over me. This was still new territory for us. It wasn’t easy to talk dirty to my best friend over the phone when we’d only ever stolen a few kisses here, a few intimate touches there.
“Tell me something too,” he said in my ear. “Are you wet?”
I curled my fingers in his hair, taking two handfuls of honeyed downy strands. I hadn’t known a question like that would excite me so much. “I think I am now,” I said.
He smiled against my cheek. “You’re pulling my hair.”
“Oh—sorry.” I released my fists.
“I don’t mind it. How about you?” Keeping one hand under my ass, he tugged on my curls with the other, causing a butterfly clip to fall out. “Or is it too much?”
He’d been gentle, but I bit my lip as a passion we rarely got to explore warmed the space between us. “It’s not too much.”
His eyes darkened. “Tell me you love me, Talia.”
“You know I do.”
“But say it, princesa.” He growled a little, in a way I’d never heard from him. “When I ask, that means I want to hear it.”
I was taken aback by the tremor of frustration in his voice, especially because I couldn’t think of a time I’d ever denied him anything. That was one thing he and I had never experienced—a chase. We played the games that had been forced upon us by keeping our romance a secret, but maybe the hungry look in his eyes now meant Diego also wanted to hunt a little.
What would happen if I didn’t give him what he wanted every time he asked for it?
“No,” I said softly.
“No?” He pulled me against him once more, bringing me to the tips of my toes. “Don’t keep your love from me, Talia. Ever.”
He sounded angry, but his excitement was growing more and more obvious against my stomach. And something about refusing him was equally as exhilarating for me.
I shook my head.
/> “You don’t love me?” He nipped my earlobe. “All I want is to take care of you. Protect you. Love you. And you’ll deny me?” He took my face with one large hand, his grip rough but his dancing eyes boring into mine, challenging me in a way that sent a thrill down my spine. His hand under my buttocks crept lower and locked between my legs. He had me trapped, my face secure, while his fingers were centimeters from my most intimate spot. “Tell me how much you love me,” he demanded. “I won’t ask again.”
With footsteps at Diego’s back, I jumped back as my heart launched into my throat. We’d let down our guards, which might’ve made our fondling more thrilling, but which was never smart around here. I hid behind Diego, adjusting my neckline, even though we hadn’t been doing anything.
Diego turned just his head to the side. “Move along,” he called over his shoulder. “Pervert.”
No response. I looked around him and swallowed at the skull in the shadows. One that both arrested my gaze and inspired my instinct to flee. Cristiano had found us vulnerable, away from the team that protected us. I wasn’t even sure if Diego had his gun. Cristiano could shoot me. Take me. Hurt me.
But would he? Who was he now? How was he different from the protector I’d grown up with? I couldn’t even be sure that version of him was the same man who’d murdered my mother.
If he had at all.
Was I really questioning what I’d seen?
God. Cristiano hadn’t even spoken yet, and he was playing mind games with me. His composure and coded words from earlier put a match to the embers of curiosity I continually tried to extinguish.
Diego turned, standing protectively in front of me.
The figure stepped into the moonlight. “You were going to take her out here for everyone to see,” Cristiano said with an inviting gesture. “Don’t let us interrupt.”
I shivered at the thought, wondering how long he’d been watching.
Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1) Page 7