“I love him.” He froze, his mug halfway to his mouth. “Don’t look so surprised,” I said. “You know I do.”
He lowered his drink, staring at me. “I know you think you do.”
“Why do you doubt it?” I asked. “Diego has been there for me practically since I was born. He takes care of me. He treats this family and me with respect. He loves me.”
“He is dangerous, Tali. Everyone here is. I wouldn’t let you date the fucking chief of police.”
I looked out the window. Two sparrows played in the terracotta birdbath Mom had hand-painted brown and green to look like a tree. Though the landscapers maintained it along with her garden, much of the paint had chipped off. “He’s not like the others,” I said, turning back. “Diego is sensitive. Sweet. Creative.”
My dad seemed to think a moment before he burst into laughter. “My sweet girl. You’re smart like your mother. She could teach me about everything from Shakespeare to how to have patience. She’d philosophize on the nuances of morality and ethics, then help me devise the best plan of attack against those who’d wronged me. She’d explain expressionism versus impressionism in a way that made me care.”
I had not fully gotten to know that side of my mother. By age nine, I was only beginning to learn the many facets of her personality. But I still understood her innate warmth and intelligence exceeded that of most people. “Do you still think of her every day?”
“What a question, Tali. Of course I do. The day I don’t is the day I never think again. But her heart was too pure,” he continued. “She could never pull one over on me. When it comes to character, that’s where I’m smart.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, nesting my hands together in my lap. “You doubt Diego’s character?”
“No—he has been a good addition to the cartel, and faithful to me. But I wouldn’t call him ‘sensitive’ or unlike the rest of us. He is very much an active part of this world.”
“Then why would he want to leave it?” I asked.
My father drew back, looking amused as he dipped crust from his toast into the salsa. “Does he?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I wrung my fingers. “Diego’s and my plans.”
“Your plans.” He sighed, reclining a hip against one counter. “Which are . . . ?”
I stilled my hands. This was why I was here. Asking my father to accept us might not be an easy conversation, but it was a necessary one. The thought of leaving here knowing Diego would follow gave me strength. I steeled myself with a breath. “I want you to let Diego leave the cartel so he can come to California and be with me,” I said. “I—we—want to start a new life there. Together.”
He took the sip of coffee I’d kept him from and said simply, “It can’t be, Natalia.”
Expecting he’d say that, frustration rose in me quickly. I set my jaw. “You’re not even listening. He’s only dangerous here. With you. Once he’s away from all of this, he’ll be free to start over. To reach his full potential.”
“As what?” He set down his mug and rapped his knuckles on the counter as he intoned, “This is in his blood, Tali—it will follow him wherever he goes. He can run away from México, but not from this life.”
“Then maybe it’s better to have him by my side,” I argued. “Diego is a natural protector. He confronted Cristiano when he could’ve run away. He knows how a criminal thinks and won’t let anything happen to me.”
He chuckled. “I’m impressed with your efforts. That debate class has paid off. But my answer is no.”
My head began to throb. I slid out my ponytail holder and scrubbed my hand through my hair. “I know Diego is an important part of your business, but he isn’t happy—”
“Maybe that’s what he tells you, but it isn’t so,” Dad said, crossing his arms. “There’s no escaping this life for me or him. What would he do in California? Bag groceries? That’s all he’s qualified for.”
I frowned, stung and perplexed that he was around Diego nearly daily and somehow didn’t see what I did. “He’s smart and resourceful,” I reasoned. “He can do anything.”
“That means nothing to a man like him. We’re cut from the same cloth. Here, he’s respected—a businessman, a top advisor. In the U.S., he’ll be powerless. He will be nothing.”
“He’ll be with me,” I said, rising from the stool. “That’s all we care about.”
“Diego will never have a normal life. And I know him better than you—he doesn’t want one.”
“He does,” I shot back. It earned me a look that made me lower my voice. “You’re wrong. He’s not made for this world. You’re the only thing keeping him here.”
Again, he laughed, and it echoed flatly off the tile floors. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” my father said. “Diego’s in too deep. People’s fortunes, futures, and lives are in his hands. Once a man gets a taste of that kind of power, he can never walk away from it. Not even for a woman.”
“But—”
“Enough.” He pressed his mouth into a firm line. “Your safety is my number one priority, and Diego can’t offer you that. A peaceful, simple life would be death for him.” He turned to dump the rest of his toast into the sink. “Go back to school,” he grumbled. “Meet someone who can offer you more. Someone worthy.”
“He is.”
He turned abruptly. “Diego has been an asset to me in many ways,” he said evenly. “He’s shrewd, and a better businessman than most—even without an education. He’s good, but for you, good isn’t enough. I want someone great.” He paused as he balled and flexed both hands. “These things are not to be taken lightly, Natalia. I loved your mother very much. There is no higher honor in my life than to be called her husband and your father.”
“Then you’re taking that honor from Diego.”
He finished off his coffee and placed it in the sink too. “You will thank me one day.”
My face heated. Did he think he was god? That he could control love? That he had any right to decide who was great and who wasn’t? “I’m sorry you don’t see the truth about us,” I said, “but you can’t stop me from loving him. I’m going to marry him someday, with or without your blessing.”
He leveled me with a glare. “No.”
“No?”
“Marriage is sacred. You will do it once, and only once,” he said, raising his voice. “You’re too young to know how you feel about him.”
“You were twenty when you married Mami,” I accused. “She was even younger.”
“What your mother and I had was one-of-a-kind. Special. By comparing it to you and Diego, you make a mockery of my marriage.”
As he spoke, frustrated tears heated the backs of my eyes. I lowered my gaze to hide them from him. What else could I say to convince him Diego and I had something real? Papá was leaving me no option but to find a way to show him.
“When you talk about building a life with someone,” he said, “it should only be with the person you’re going to die next to.”
Shiny black and orange specks blurred on my arm. I fruitlessly tried to pick off the glitter. “Diego is that person.”
“I don’t want you around him anymore. He’s already let things get too far with you. You’re on the verge of getting your heart broken, and if that happens, I’ll have to kill him. Do you want me to kill him?”
I choked back a sob. It was an empty threat, I knew. But for him to react so vehemently was like a slap in the face. I had no misconceptions that he’d disapprove, but he didn’t actually think he could forbid me from Diego—did he? “He’s my best friend,” I said. “I don’t want to stay away.”
Papá sighed, then came around the counter and pulled me into his arms. I fought him at first, but his comfort was exactly what I needed just then—even if he was the cause of my distress. “I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of my head. “But nobody risks their life for puppy love.”
“Mami did. She cut off her family knowing the danger it would put them in t
o be associated with the cartel, and she traded small town security for—for you.”
“And look what it got her, eh? Is that the fate you want?” He took my shoulders and peeled me off. “You have much to learn yet about manipulation, Talia. It won’t work on me. I’m your father.”
“Please,” I begged as he stomped away in the direction of his study.
He turned back. “Diego is this life no matter where he lays his head at night. You might think it’s romantic what your mother did for me, but let me tell you—the pain of losing her plagues me every day. You might think you’d die for him, but I won’t permit it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” I said. “At the end of the day, we’re adults. And you can’t keep us apart.”
On his way out of the kitchen, he snorted. “Watch me.”
My father’s blessing meant as much to me as his opinion. He was the rock in my life. The one who’d done everything in his power to protect me, and not just physically. After Mamá’s death, I could sense how badly he’d wanted to shut down, but he’d pushed through as a newly single parent—for me.
But Diego had been there too. He’d proven his love through a lifetime of standing by me. I had to believe with all of my heart our love was enough for him—even if my father didn’t.
8
Natalia
It was a good thing Diego had described his home to me in such detail—it made it easier to find and show up uninvited. A large concrete wall enclosed the property, but the custom look of the wood-and-steel gate and the natural stone driveway gave away Diego’s eye for detail.
I rang the buzzer at the end of the drive. Diego had told me not to come, but if I didn’t take things into my own hands, I’d never get time alone with him. On top of his work obligations, now I couldn’t even spend time with him at home, where Papá might see.
After a few moments, movement in the top right corner of the wall caught my attention. I waved into a security camera. With some yelling inside the house, I heard a door open on the other side of the gate.
“Por Dios, Natalia Lourdes,” Diego called to me. The gate rumbled as it slid open. He stepped out with a scowl—slightly disheveled and totally sexy in a cream-colored Henley and camouflage cargos. He glanced both ways, pulled me inside, and typed a code on the keypad inside the wall. The gate stalled, then creaked as it reversed closed. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.
His exasperation was nothing after what I’d endured with my father the day before. I crossed my arms. “We have to talk, Diego.”
Where our compound was a more traditional Spanish-style hacienda, Diego’s was sleek and modern. The single-story house was a third the size of Papá’s—not even counting our hundreds of hectares of land—but still a mansion for these parts with stacked stone columns, a flawlessly smooth, white exterior, and manicured bushes around the yard. He led me up the walkway to the front door. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcased a cloud-like, puffy leather couch, flat-screen TV, and brass-and-mirrored coffee table atop a neutral geometric-patterned rug—plus the armed men who guarded all of it.
“You can’t just show up, mi amor,” Diego said, opening the door. “That’s one way to get a bullet in your head.”
“I tried texting, calling, e-mailing—everything,” I said. “I miss you, and I’m tired of sitting around watching the clock tick down.”
“I know. I had to get rid of my last burner.” He shut the door behind us and dismissed a guard from the entryway. “I’ve been trying to make it to the house to see you. Because obviously, I miss you too—but it’s no excuse for putting yourself in danger.”
He was right. I was being stupid for love like my mother. Knowing I’d anger my father wasn’t enough to keep me away, though. He wanted to separate us, but that didn’t mean he got to. Nobody was immune to love or resistant to the blindness it could cause. I shrugged helplessly. “I’m in love’s grip.”
Finally, he opened his arms, and I walked into his embrace. “I’m in your grip,” he said, smoothing his hands down my backside. “I like this summery dress. Where are you supposed to be?”
“Shopping with Pilar.”
“And how did you get here?”
“A cab. Security will be looking for me.”
“Ay, Tali. If you don’t get me killed, you’ll give me a heart attack. I know Pilar is your best friend, but she’s weak. She will give you up.”
“She won’t,” I said. “She’s easily spooked, but loyal as they come.”
I needed to let her know I’d made it safely. We’d spent the morning in town, browsing the shops before an early lunch. We’d attended a service at the church—a gothic-style structure modeled after Spanish cathedrals with Oaxacan cantera verde stone and a domed bell tower. Saints looked over the altar from panels of floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows, centered by a Virgin Mary. It was one of the only places that reminded me of my mother without inflicting pain.
There were some things I missed about Mexico. Grand parades and festivals that shut down the town. Unbreakable loyalty that put family above all else. Goods made by hand with love and attention to detail I could never seem to find in the States.
And Diego, of course.
I craned my neck to look around the place where Diego both lived and conducted business. I hadn’t been anywhere the cartel operated aside from home and had only seen photographs and heard descriptions of safe houses, warehouses, and labs. “Can I have a tour?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Someone could tell Costa.”
“So send them away. You’re the boss, aren’t you?”
He shook his head slowly. “I can’t. There’s too much work to be done.”
I played with the placket of buttons at his collar. The ribbed style of shirt only seemed to highlight his tanned neck and muscular pecs. “I’ve been worried.”
“I know, but this is different than sneaking around your own property in a flimsy costume.”
My mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t flimsy. Tepic didn’t even recognize me.”
He reproached me with a frown not unlike the one Papá had worn at breakfast the day before. “Ditching your security detail leaves you defenseless against anyone who might be looking for vulnerabilities in the Cruz family.”
I blinked up at him. “You said we no longer have enemies. Most of our rivals were incarcerated, overthrown, or died, and we never made new ones because we’re no longer competitors.”
“Don’t question that the Maldonados—or other cartels we do business with—know who you are. Our enemies won’t come looking for weak spots or collateral after a fuck-up—they already know who and where to strike to deliver the most pain.” He glanced through the entryway windows. “We especially have to be careful now that my brother’s back in town.”
“What happened when you and Cristiano met with my father during the party?”
Diego inhaled deeply. “How about that tour?” he teased.
I smiled. Because I was also curious about the house, I let him change the subject—for now. He walked me through the living area to a state-of-the-art kitchen with glossy, handleless cabinets and a black-quartz island square under a rack of hanging copper pots and pans.
He pulsed his eyebrows at me. “Want to see the bedroom?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We linked hands, and he led me down a long hall to the master, a large but mostly bare room with a dresser under a TV, a walk-in closet, and two bedside tables. Dove-gray sheets rumpled his king bed. “Well, now I know—you sleep on the left side,” I said and grinned. “I sleep on the right.”
“Match made in heaven,” he said. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve made the bed. Nobody ever comes in here but the maid, and I gave her two weeks off for Easter.”
“I don’t care,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him as I walked farther into the room. “I like tidying. I’ll make the bed when we live together.”
“Whe
n we live together, there’ll be no point in ever making the bed.”
My cheeks heated at the fantasy of waking up next to Diego each morning, lounging, laughing, and making love until we were forced to get up. “I can’t wait,” I murmured, stopping at the nightstand on the left side. It had only a phone charger, two business textbooks, and a picture frame. I picked up a photo of Diego and me smiling at my parents’ pool. “I remember this day,” I said. “It was the first time I’d ever worn a bikini.”
“I remember it too, believe me. The bikini best of all.”
I half-gaped at my white bathing suit, grateful it at least wasn’t sheer. Diego hadn’t yet grown into his broad shoulders, and his chest was smooth, not muscular like now. “How old were we here?”
“You were fourteen,” he said.
“Which would’ve made you . . . a cradle robber.”
He laughed. “You know it wasn’t like that. You were like a younger sister to me. I remember that bikini because I almost punched my friend in the face for staring at you in it.”
I glanced back. “You never told me that.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “And I never told you that when you came home from school two years later, every puto within a kilometer radius was talking about the beauty you’d become.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I wish I were. I’d hear them talking about you. ‘Qué linda, Natalia Cruz,’” he mimicked. “That was when I knew.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Knew what?”
“I felt more than just protective,” he said. “I was jealous.”
At times it felt as if Diego and I had talked about everything under the sun. That didn’t mean I didn’t love hearing all of his thoughts when it came to him and me. “But no other boys ever even looked at me,” I said.
“I made sure of it.”
A pleasant warmth crept over me. With his golden-brown hair in disarray and amusement dancing in his gemstone-green eyes, it was sometimes hard to reconcile the boy he’d been with the man he was now. He’d always been older to me—I’d turned sixteen only four years ago, when he was twenty-three. But he seemed much more comfortable in his skin now at twenty-seven.
Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1) Page 9