“Then what is it?”
How did I tell my brother, the man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, about the constant vortex of colors? About the streaks of white, red, and black that spun in a violent hailstorm until there was nothing left. About the conflicting emotions that had been churning in my stomach all day.
Happiness and grief.
Laughter and tears.
Joy and pain.
Life and death.
How did I tell him the “too perfect bubble” I’d just told his wife about had already started to collapse? How did I tell him every piece of my soul knew his actions today would leave a stain on our family we’d never erase?
“Val?” I asked, the words hedging on the tip of my tongue. However, the moment he turned toward me, I knew the answer to all those questions was...I couldn’t. Retrieving my bouquet from the dresser, I tucked my shaking hands behind it and forced a smile. “Got any last-minute advice?”
Furrowing his brow, he considered my request as seriously as he would any strategic business decision. “Treat every day as if it’s your last.”
“That’s all?”
His eyes flashed, the scowl from earlier planting itself across his face. “And always lock the fucking door.”
Despite everything, I laughed. “Well, I guess that’s it.” Tucking my arm in his, I let out an unsteady breath. “Let’s go, big brother. I have to see a man about a ring.”
Chapter Eleven
Valentin
Tradition had its place. A small place tucked away within the confines of my inner circle, but a place, nonetheless. It involved blood oaths, a hierarchy of respect, and for one tense hour, the holy baptism of my children.
Weddings, however, were not included.
Weddings were an unnecessary risk. All the extravagance and forced joy were just a careless distraction, affording a man’s enemies the opportunity of a lifetime—free and clear access to his greatest weakness.
His family.
I married Eden in an untraditional private ceremony at the estate encircled by a fleet of AK-47s. Besides Mateo, the only witness to our union was my trusted secretary from Houston—my single concession to my Cereza.
Yet, as I kissed Adriana’s cheek at the altar and passed her hand to Brody, the air crackled with an ominous spark. The heavy hand of judgment weighed on my shoulders. My sister had been robbed of many “traditional” things in life: her name, her family, her health, and until recently, love. Four months ago, a traditional wedding with all its traditional customs felt owed to her.
An official gesture—Carrera to Carrera.
In the last forty-eight hours, my opinion had changed.
I’d turned my sister’s wedding into an exposed powder keg, and a lit match sat directly across the aisle wearing sunglasses and an arctic expression. A man who minutes ago had become an unlikely ally of the worst kind.
A thin truce, that when severed, would be felt around the world.
As Adriana and Brody held hands and gazed into each other's oblivious eyes, I settled in my designated seat at the end of the front row, my hand tucked under my tuxedo jacket.
On guard and ready.
I watched with the eyes of a falcon as Santiago directed his shaded gaze at my sister. For now, he sat leisurely in his chair with his elbows draped across the back, like he owned the goddamn place.
Fuck rivalry. Now I wanted to shoot him on principle.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” A thick curtain of long red hair fell over my left shoulder as Ava leaned in close beside me.
“Wonder what?”
She gave the slightest tilt of her chin across the aisle. “How a man like him keeps a woman like that.”
I followed her gaze to where the same petite woman we’d seen exiting the chopper with him was sitting elegantly beside my most unwelcome guest. “I heard he abducted her at gunpoint.” I cocked my chin, a diabolical smirk spreading across my face. “You tell me, Ava. How’d that work out for you?”
As anticipated, Ava’s eyes narrowed to paper-thin slits. “I suggest you calm your stone throwing, Carrera. It might just shatter that big glass house you live in.”
My self-indulgent smirk faded into a provoked scowl. I didn’t abduct Eden. I subdued her forcefully in order to secure her in a safe location she wasn’t allowed to leave.
Jesus, fuck, fine. I abducted her.
“That being said,” she continued, smiling dutifully at the altar as Brody spoke his vows. “Men of your caliber don’t so much conform to the rules of society as write their own. And I have to admit, while most women would find that abhorrent, there are those of us who find it...endearing.”
“Endearing,” I repeated, rolling my eyes with a huff. The move, although slight, caught Eden’s heated stare from the altar as she stood by my sister’s side. Fuck. My wife was too observant for her own damn good. Steeling my expression, I added, “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“You haven’t made one.”
“Eve Santiago has this sweet veneer of innocence about her, but I’m betting the truth is far more complex. She likes to give off the impression that she’s one of those women who’d chase down a waiter because he forgot to charge her for her virgin strawberry daiquiri—the kind who got perfect grades and was voted ‘Most Likely To Marry an Investment Banker’ in high school—”
“I’m still waiting for the point, Ava.”
Letting out a low chuckle, she slid those cat eyes my way. “Men like you and Dante Santiago take what’s left of that innocence and you twist it to your advantage. Your wives must learn to adapt or get consumed by your fire. I know Eden did. But, Eve Santiago…” Her voice trailed off as she cast another discerning glance at the brunette sitting quietly beside my reluctant ally. “How could any woman adapt to that?”
She had a point. From the outside, Dante’s wife appeared to be the picture-perfect trophy, but I’d learned even the most angelic appearances could be deceiving. No woman could lay with the devil and then rise free of sin.
The sweetest smiles always hid the sharpest fangs.
Which was a good thing. She’d need them as soon as my sister saw another woman wearing a white dress at her wedding.
As if the whispered name of his wife were a gunshot, Dante’s casual form stiffened, his chin slowly turning until his eye caught mine out of the corner of his dark sunglasses. His jaw clenched so hard I swore I heard his molars crack from across the aisle. Instead of casting an intimidating black cloud over Adriana and Brody’s first kiss as husband and wife, it shed a light he never intended.
I was right. Weddings were an unnecessary risk. They afforded a man’s temporary ally the opportunity of a lifetime.
Free and clear access to his greatest weakness.
His family.
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt made their grand reentrance into the courtyard to thunderous applause and a chorus of well-wishes as a string quartet set their every move to music. Behind them, the best man and matron of honor walked a steady yet cautious gait, the rose pinned to his lapel and her flowing crimson gown shredding the remaining pieces of my patience.
There’s that fucking color again.
The moment Eden’s gaze wandered off to the left, she stumbled, causing Mateo to grasp her a little too tightly for my liking. When his dark head bent to whisper something in her ear, she gazed up at him with an assuring nod, her tactful serenity masking the troubled smile on her face.
Mateo’s eyes found mine; then they shifted left as well
I didn’t have to turn around to know what they saw; yet I did.
Santiago and his entourage hovered around the west quadrant like lawn snipers, eyes shaded, drinks in hand, and masks in place. It seemed every member was charged with a sector of my property to watch and dissect, which pissed me the fuck off. Adriana’s wedding wasn’t a battleground to defend and claim.
Señor Santiag
o and his band of smug bitches were one infraction away from being shown the fucking door.
“I believe you owe me an explanation.”
I tensed, a deluge of mixed emotion rushing through my boiling veins. There was only one voice in the world that could both soothe the beast and make him bare his fangs at the same time. Slowly turning on my heel, I took in the woman I’d burn every path from Mexico to Colombia to the ground to protect. “Cereza…”
“Don’t,” she warned, closing the distance between us. “Don’t you dare try and talk your way around this now. We’re not in your office, Val. You can’t just bend me over a desk and shut me up with a quick fuck.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Quick?”
Eden tossed me her signature deadpan “fuck-you” glare. “Are you trying to be an asshole, or does it just come naturally to you?”
As much as I enjoyed sparring with my wife, I needed to defuse the potential bomb her anger posed. One not only to her health, but to the brigade of Colombian watchdogs overly invested in our conversation. “What explanation is it you think I owe you, Eden? I already told you I’d extended Santiago an invitation.”
“Yes,” she hissed, dragging her steely blue eyes over my shoulder. “Dante Santiago… not Dante Santiago and fifteen of his boldest and coldest. I know you lied to me. Before the wedding, I...” With her last word, her lips contorted, all the color draining from her face.
“Eden?” I grabbed her arm as she leaned forward only to have her bat my hand away. I called her name two, three more times and all I got in return were clenched fists and closed eyes. That’s it. Fuck this. “I’m sending for Dr. Vidal,” I announced, scanning for Mateo.
Her eyes popped open, and I let out a curse as she sank her nails into my arm. “Val, no! I’m fine. It’s just a little false labor. Nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about, my ass. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Cereza. You’re seeing the doctor, and that’s final.”
“Danger!” Cradling her belly, she held tight to my arm, pulling me back. “I don’t want the damn doctor; I want the truth!”
I’d give this woman anything her heart desired. I’d steal the moon and stars from the sky, gift wrap them in gold, and lay them at her feet. But I hated the one thing she asked, I couldn’t deliver.
“And you’ll have it. Just not tonight.”
Watching me silently for a moment, she gave a curt nod. “Fine.” Gathering her long red dress in her hand, she spun around, taking one step before I caught her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going”
“To introduce myself to our Miami guests,” she deadpanned over her shoulder while pulling away. “There are a few trade caveats I’ve been dying to discuss with Ava Chernova.”
Caveats.
Fuck, she knew. I had no idea how, but it didn’t surprise me. However, having her compare notes with Ava was the last thing I needed. The pakhan queen knew how to keep her mouth shut, but Eden had a way of loosening even the tightest of lips.
The woman was the damn truth whisperer.
“Eden, wait!” I called after her. “Eden, goddamn it!”
A dark shadow circled us, appearing in front of Eden and blocking her path as if he were a towering inferno.
Fucking Santiago.
“Eden Carrera, I presume?” Her name slid off his tongue like a goddamn snake. “I was beginning to wonder if you existed, or if you were a part of Mexico’s folklore.”
This motherfucker wants to die tonight.
In half a heartbeat I was by her side, ready to pull my gun and turn this wedding into a funeral. However, instead of being intimidated, which I assumed was his goal, Eden folded her arms over her chest and tossed a disinterested gaze up at him. “I could say the same about you. You’re quite the recluse these days, Señor Santiago. Is business slow?”
I laughed...loudly.
Dante’s face remained stoic. “On the contrary, I’ve built a reputation that affords me the luxury of pulling strings, not tying them.” Catching my gaze, he shot me a chilling smile. “You’ll understand one day, Carrera.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. His insults meant nothing to me, but Eden wasn’t so generous. She curved those supple red lips into a venomous smile, her Texan drawl coated with arsenic laced molasses. “How sweet. And what do you do with all your free time? Basketweave bamboo lampshades on the beach until your lovely wife whistles for you?”
Santiago’s expression froze. “Carrera, control your wife before I do.”
The harder he stared at Eden, the hotter my blood boiled.
Nobody—no fucking body—glared at my wife like that, much less threatened her. Not in this lifetime, not in any lifetime. Fuck the trafficking ring. Fuck the port. Fuck the alliance. And fuck the truce.
Santiago’s invitation had expired.
“Cereza, I believe the bride needs your assistance.”
She spun around, her mouth gaping. “Val, I’m not just going to stand here and let this asshole—”
“Eden, I always allow you free reign to fight your own battles, but not today. Not this battle.” My dark gaze found Santiago’s again. “Not with him. Now go!” Seeing her flinch, I softened my tone and added, “Please.”
Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard before reopening. “This isn’t over, Danger,” she whispered in a low tone. “You have secrets? Well, guess what? So do I.” Her gaze shifted toward Ava. “And once I verify them, you and I are going to have a very long talk.”
We both followed her disappearing form as she stormed off.
“Let’s get one thing very fucking clear,” I said with a growl, closing the distance between us, my palms clenching into tight fists by my side. “This is my house. I give orders; I don’t follow them. More importantly, if you ever threaten my wife like that again I will decorate my lawn with the inside of your fucking head.”
Lifting his drink to his mouth, a look of dark amusement crystallized on his face. “Then make damn sure the first shot hits, Carrera. Because you won’t get a second.”
* * *
There was too much red.
It stained the wine in my glass. It spilled out of the middle of a perfectly white iced cake. It covered the shoulders of a newly married bride. It wrapped around the rustic canopies and lay draped atop scattered tables. It set me on edge, and I didn’t like it.
I was at my own home, tense as hell, and there was too much damn red.
Red was a complicated color. Ask most people what it represented, and their eyes usually glazed over stars as they went on and on about passion and love.
That was their world. It was full of hearts and flowers and goddamn rainbows. It was a world where everyone followed the rules, worked honest jobs, loved thy neighbor, and fucked missionary style every night of their miserable lives.
Then there was my world. One where red symbolized anger and hatred and ruled kingdoms. One where every shade signified punishment, consequence, and blood.
Red was the sound of war and the smell of death.
It thrived in a world those cabrónes pretended didn’t exist. The one that broke the rules and created its own. The one that owned all the jobs and their neighbors. And the one that had no problem bending his woman over a wedding reception table and fucking her raw.
Their world gave. My world took.
Over the years, I’d coated myself in many shades and layers. I’d built an empire on all three, long ago accepting the permanent stain into my life.
Until today.
Today, we said the vows, made the promises, and pretended to be part of their world. The hearts and flowers and passion and love world.
Today was meant to be white.
But it wasn’t.
It was stained with red and the black cloud of Dante fucking Santiago’s presence.
I ignored Eden and Ava’s mosh pit of red hair as they huddled together and made my way over to the bar, avoiding the attendant’s plastic smile as I grabbed
a bottle of red wine and a glass. Try me, bitch. She quickly backed up, and no one said shit as I walked away. My gaze shifted across the estate grounds to where my sister stood on a raised platform, commanding everyone’s attention with her back to a herd of incessantly loud women.
I rolled my eyes. Thank God, I didn’t miss the fucking bouquet toss.
Adriana glanced over her shoulder with a wide smirk. “Ready?” Lifting her arm, she dangled her bridal bouquet like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of hungry wolves.
It worked. The pack let out a collective howl and bared their fangs, ready to rip each other to shreds over some fucking roses.
Red roses.
I clenched my hand around my wineglass, my gaze trained on that damn bouquet. Thirty-two years of instinct sharpened my eyes as I watched Adriana count down from three and then toss the bouquet over her head. I stared as the pack of wolves leaped forward, claws ripping everything in their path.
And in the end, I saw destruction.
I sensed anger and hatred. I heard war. I smelled death.
Adriana’s bridal bouquet laid in tatters, petals scattered across the grass.
Like spilled drops of blood.
Red never lied.
Chapter Twelve
Valentin
Act Two had begun.
The curtain had risen, and the key players unknowingly crowded the stage in what would prove to be one hell of a plot twist. Only this particular production was an improvisational puppet show and the strings looped around my fingers.
My conversation with Mateo earlier today sifted through my mind as I tipped my wineglass back, grimacing as the nauseatingly sweet cherry tannin hit my tongue.
“This is supposed to be the start of an alliance, Val. A roomful of Santiago’s men, our men, the Russians, and the Sinners—what you’re proposing could make a statement, or—”
“Or what?” I challenged.
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