I flinched at the question because I had no answer. That was what made me stay despite Val’s warning. It was why Mateo thought I’d lost my mind. Because anyone who valued his life would’ve been on a plane to Houston by now.
Brody Harcourt, the assistant district attorney, would have left immediately. But Brody Harcourt, the first lieutenant, wasn’t backing down.
Not even for Valentin Carrera.
“I don’t know,” I said, clenching my teeth.
“You don’t know what?”
Mateo and I both turned to see Val standing in the entryway to the kitchen, shirt half untucked, his dark hair standing straight up, deep lines etched around the corners of his eyes, and shoulders hunched.
Never, in the years I’d known Valentin Carrera, had I seen him appear anything less than formidable. He always stood tall and proud, his shoulders pushed back to terrorize and intimidate. Even when Manuel Muñoz kidnapped Eden, he still never lost his commanding presence.
But Santiago and Adriana were Val’s only family. They were his only tie to the humanity his mother instilled in him. It was at that moment I understood.
If he lost them, he lost the only thing keeping him from becoming the man he was groomed to be.
I stood. “Is Eden okay?”
Val continued into the kitchen, his movements robotic. “Her son is missing. What do you think?”
Mateo caught my eye, warning me to shut up with a slight shake of his head. But every minute I wasted worrying about my own ass was time wasted finding Adriana, so I turned my back to him.
“Val, you have to know Adriana didn’t do this. She wouldn’t hurt Santi.” I ignored the low exhale behind me and waited for the storm.
A storm that never came.
“Do you know what she asked me last night?” Val kept his back to me as he stared at the refrigerator.
I assumed it was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer.
“She told me she’d been to Santiago’s nursery. I knew, of course. I’d already gotten an earful from Eden. She walked in and found Adriana caressing Santi’s cheek. Said she heard her whisper something about familia. Eden lost her shit, but Adriana didn’t fight back.”
The image of Adriana with Santi fueled my need to do something—anything—but I said nothing and let him continue.
“But it was what Adriana said to me that keeps running through my head. She said, ‘Are you sure he’s safe in there?’” He spun around, a vertical line sinking deep between his eyes. “I asked her what she meant, and she said something about having staff and sicarios coming in and out of the house, and shouldn’t I have security measures in place. I told her Santi was fine, but there was this look in her eyes. It was, fuck, I don’t know. It was sadness and fear. She said she had something to tell me, but then Eden came in, and she said she’d tell me later.” He sucked in a tired breath, his eyes shifting back to the refrigerator. “But later never came.”
No one said a word. All eyes just settled on the picture of the smiling baby stuck to the middle of a refrigerator that cost more than most people’s cars. It was no doubt put there by Eden, but Val couldn’t tear his eyes away. He traced the infant’s face, his shoulders sinking even lower.
“Why did she ask all that? Was she planning? Scheming?”
Then everything hit at once. Like a song playing in reverse, then suddenly skipping to the end.
She told me too. I just didn’t listen.
“This isn’t your problem, Brody. I’m not letting you take the fall for my mistakes. Past, present, or future.”
Then my own sister’s words rang in my ears.
“Salvation comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s in the shape of your biggest regret.”
Adriana hated herself for the pain she’d inflicted on Val. Her salvation would be her redemption, but how would focusing on Santiago factor in with…
“Ignacio.” The word sounded as bitter as it tasted.
Val whipped back around. “What?”
“Ignacio has them. She didn’t take Santi. He took them both.”
Mateo’s chair scraped along the floor as he stood. “Do you have proof? She could’ve willingly taken Santi to him. She already admitted to him initially offering her a partnership.”
Val’s phone rang, and he straightened, his shoulders rising. He quietly listened, his face a mask of granite. “Sí. Muy bien. Estaremos esperando por usted.” Yes. Very good. We will be waiting for you. Disconnecting the call, his somber expression revived with what I knew to be the promise of blood. “No,” he said, his eyes flashing. “He doesn’t have proof. But I know someone who does.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Adriana
Tlajomulco de Zuñiga, Jalisco, Mexico
A familiar dank, musty smell hit me as soon as I opened my eyes. A metallic rust that only lingered with the stain of life. Only this time, there wasn’t just a stain.
Blood.
I smelled it. I tasted it. I felt its warmth pool under my cheek.
“Finally, the fly finds herself caught in the spider’s web.” Gravelly Spanish raked over my thin nerves like fresh sandpaper.
I rolled onto my back, forcing my native language from my raw throat. “Are you the fly or the spider?”
“I’m God.”
The two words hit me like a visceral blow to the chest. “Where is he? I demand you tell me what you did to him!”
“You’re not in a position to demand anything.”
“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
Shaking his head, Ignacio pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Fighting until the bitter end, just like your whore mother.” The last word was garbled as he bit off the tip and spat it at my feet, his gaze never leaving mine as he lit the end.
I let out a silent breath. “Where is he?”
The low laugh that followed nearly broke me. “You know they think you did it.” He exhaled, a cloud of smoke pluming around his face. “I couldn’t have scripted it any better. You had every privilege. Everything handed to you. You think you shined up that crown, but one apologetic text message, and you opened the door for the devil, didn’t you?”
My heart free fell into my stomach as he bent down on his haunches, his lips splitting into a sadistic snarl.
“I said you were the fly, but now that I think about it, you’re more of a black widow. Men have a nasty habit of dying around you, puta. You got the entire Muñoz family murdered, and now look at the web you’ve spun around the Carreras and your gringo boyfriend.” He grabbed my hair, rancid breath heating my face. “I won’t mention what you did to me.” Slamming my head back down, he shrugged. “I’m all for spilling enemy blood, but you’re out of control.”
Fire rushed through my veins. “Fuck you!”
With a demonic roar, he drew his arm back and swung, the back of his hand driving into the side of my face, but I didn’t cry out.
He wiped my blood off his hand onto his jeans, scowling with a vile hatred beyond anything I’d ever seen. Cold black eyes, soulless from both being denied and betrayed stared at me with contempt. “Shut up, Carrera whore.”
I glared back at him. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
The hot breath on my neck disappeared as he shuffled around me. “You’re not a Muñoz. You’re the enemy. You proved that when you defied me, again. Carrera blood runs through your veins, and now it stains your hands.”
“Then kill me and get it over with.”
“I’ve already told you. I want Alejandro Carrera’s son to kneel before me. I want him to beg for my mercy. Killing you doesn’t benefit me yet. I need my puppet to dance for me one last time, and this time she’ll perform for an audience of three.”
I saw the dark truth etched in his face and tattooed in his eyes, and panic erupted through my veins. He was going to use me to lure Val here.
To Santiago and to his death.
My frantic mind launched into overdrive, accusations spilling out one after the other. “You said
if I defied you and didn’t bring Santi back to Tlajomulco de Zuñiga in four days, you’d expose me to Val and Brody. Those were your words, Ignacio. You said you’d kill your own son, ruin me, and then come after all of us. You barely gave me forty-eight hours.”
The more hysterical I got, the more he seemed to enjoy it, the dim light highlighting the sinister curve of his lips. “I knew the minute you walked out of this warehouse you had no intention of doing as you were told. That’s what a true leader does, Adriana. He doesn’t wait for shit to happen. He makes it happen.”
I fought for air. “I won’t help you.”
“You already have.”
“You’re lying,” I hissed. “Brody doesn’t know this place exists, and unless you plan to stop hiding like a scared little bitch, no one is coming for me. This is it, Ignacio. This is the end of the line. Walk into the sun or fade into the background. I don’t give a shit.”
His cold eyes searched mine then hardened. “You really don’t know?”
I scowled through a rattled cough. “Enlighten me.”
“When I said you were nothing but a puppet, I meant it. When I said you were the rat who never failed to take the offered cheese and got her fucking neck snapped, I meant it. When I explained that you’ve done exactly what I thought you would do and run to exactly who I thought you’d run to for years, I fucking meant it.”
“For years…” My voice trailed off, the words flitting through my head. Ignacio saw the moment they clicked together, and his smile widened along with my eyes. Slowly lifting my hand, I covered my mouth, my shoulders heaving with exertion.
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. “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.
“I assume I’m here because of Mari.”
“Adriana,” I muttered. Not that anyone heard me. Those two were too busy playing a fucked up alpha 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.
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 Cristiano’s beaten face. “And why didn’t you let me at him first?”
Cristiano smirked. “Patience, Brenda.”
I glared at Val. “Screw being 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, 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 kept me in a dirty warehouse for days until I managed to overtake a couple of his stupider guards. I stole a car and was trying to find Mari when I was given an unwanted escort.”
Stopping his pace, Val swung around, his fists locked by his side. “So, you are 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 my mother 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 masks 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.
“It’s true, 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 beautiful 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.
Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 88