Dante
The bruised sky divided and then conquered as the jet began its final descent. The second flash of lightning illuminated the gray metal wing as we dropped sharply, the landing gear kicking into action beneath our feet.
No one had spoken since we stole Carrera’s car and left Mexico City. No one dared. Not even the rolling peal of thunder could drown out the silent snarl of my retribution. Val Carrera was a dead man walking, and as soon as I delivered Eve safely home to our children, I’d be setting plans into motion to direct that bastard straight to the nearest unmarked grave.
I couldn’t give a shit if he’d blown up his own estate to hurt me or not. He could have hurt Eve and that was more than a Black Hand in my world. It was a bullet aimed straight at my heart.
I could sense Eve watching me like she would an unexploded bomb—wary, fearful, and a lot apprehensive. Even Rick was keeping his mouth shut for once, choosing to flip and fold a black pack of gold-tipped cigarettes between his fingers instead. Roman had taken a separate flight back to New York City to spare himself the epic fireworks, while Joseph was loading me up with bourbon after bourbon to keep my fuse damp and useless until after we landed.
We lost five tonight.
Five good men who deserved their vengeance as much as I did.
A violent landing unleashed another wave of anger. The tempest was settling in, both inside the cabin and out. It was too much of a burden to consider all the what ifs and the near misses of the night. I’d put my best men, my wife, in harm’s way. For the first time in my life, I’d gone against my instincts and it had damn near been the ruin of me.
“Take them straight to base,” I ordered, unclipping my seat belt while jerking my head at the two men bound to the seats at the back of the jet. “They’re bleeding all over my fucking leather.”
Joseph nodded and gestured to a couple of my other men to help him.
“Dante…” Eve placed a tentative hand on my arm, but I was too far gone to feel her light.
“Go straight to the house,” I said, shrugging it off.
“You’d rather kill those men than kiss your children?”
It was her last-ditch attempt to appeal to a sliver of mercy that had been splayed and gutted on the front lawn of a Mexican estate a few hours ago. Only a bloodletting could fix it now. I wanted the truth, and I wanted to hear it from my prisoners’ mouths before I cut them brand new ones.
“I’ll kiss my children once I’ve purged this night from our lives.” My response was bitter and harsh. Even so, I pulled her into my arms the moment our feet touched my island. “I put you in grave danger, mi alma.” I murmured. “Forgive me, my angel.”
“Always,” she whispered.
The same sense of calm I always felt around her was attempting to wash over me, but I pushed back the tide like I was fucking Moses.
I didn’t want calm.
I wanted murder.
“Be merciful,” she begged.
“Be reasonable,” I said coldly. “These men were ordered to kill us. I’m only returning the favor.”
She sighed and broke free from my embrace. We’d played this game a hundred times before. I’d return to her later, soaked in crimson and demanding her light. She’d welcome me into her arms and hold me close until the worst of my storm had passed. Eve had accepted long ago that she loved a devil. She lived with her choice because even devils could be taught to repent when the worst of their devilry was done.
Her body was the only confessional I needed, but it would be a mighty long session to absolve all the sins I’d planned on committing tonight.
* * *
The Italian broke first.
Strung up by his hands, his naked torso streaked with gore and blood from the five missing teeth and his missing left ear lobe, his words were indistinguishable from his pleas and screams at first. It was only after I took a step closer to remove his right ear lobe—partly to appease a desire to send him straight to hell as a symmetrical bastard—that I caught the tail end of his own confession. I paused and made him repeat it, and then I sliced through his carotid in one, savage arc. His time in the back room of my ammunition warehouse was done.
So, the Italians had gotten the inside scoop that Don Ricci had been singing like a fucking canary to the Feds. As a result, they’d wanted to make the jump on us before we made the jump on them. More importantly, Val Carrera had been in on it from the start and given them full access to his estate. The wedding had all been a front.
Wiping my bloody knife on the stained blue jeans of the dead man, I turned to my enemy’s head of security, Rafael Suarez, and smiled at him grimly. “Care to confirm that asshole’s last words on this earth?”
“Fuck you, Santiago,” he spat back, twisting violently at his restraints. Joseph had strung him up by his hands too, but so far, he’d gotten off lightly in the torture stakes. All his teeth and fingers were still intact, but his chest hadn’t fared so well. The marks of my second’s fists had made some pretty marks on his skin, and his broken ribs must hurt like hell. “You’re perpetuating a war that neither you nor Señor Carrera wanted.”
“Maybe he should have considered that before he tried to blow me and my entourage all the way back to the Pacific.”
“The Italian was lying,” he gasped as Joseph’s fist connected with his jaw. “Someone is playing you both.”
“Dying men will say anything to delay the inevitable.” My voice was low and dangerous as I grabbed the back of his hair and jerked his head level with mine. “There’s no room for your loyalty or your bullshit justifications in this place, Suarez. Carrera will always be guilty of attempting to kill my wife, and you’ll always be the piece of shit who died with his lies on your lips.” At this, I drove my knife into his stomach and wrenched it upward, feeling the rush of hot liquid on my hand and his cold death rattle on my skin as his head fell forward onto my shoulder.
“Send Suarez’s head back to Mexico in a fucking box,” I said to Joseph as I stepped back to admire my handiwork. “Attach a thank you note to Carrera for his hospitality. Tell him I’ll be returning the favor very soon. And then send a message to every man we have on the ground in the US. By midnight tomorrow, I want New York back under my control. The Italians think we’re wounded and shaken. This is the time for the Santiago scorpion tail to sting hard.”
“And the Mexican trafficking links?”
The carrot that had tempted me all the way to Mexico in the first place.
“Tell Roman to find out what the fuck is going on from Chernova. I’m betting she’s just as pissed with Carrera as we are right now. If I didn’t want to kill the bastard so much, we could’ve employed her husband to do the dirty work for us.”
“And if the links do exist?”
“Then we hunt them down ourselves. No more shortcuts.” I backed away from the bodies and headed for the door. Eve was waiting for me. My daughters needed me. I’d eliminated another threat to their precious world, but more would come.
Carrera would seek out his own vengeance.
Others would try to tear my family apart.
And when they did, I’d be ready.
Chapter Seventeen
Valentin
I read a quote years ago that said love meant giving someone the power to destroy you but trusting them not to.
I trusted Eden Lachey.
And then she destroyed me.
But I didn’t feel the impact. Nothing twisted in my chest from the pain of betrayal. My heart didn’t ache because it was gone. There was nothing inside me but hate and rage and fury. Even as I stared through the thick glass window at the tiny human with bronze skin, hair the color of midnight, and eyes I knew in my soul would remain the palest of blue, I couldn’t bring myself to give another female that kind of power again.
I’d protect her.
I’d kill for her.
I’d die for her.
But I wasn’t sure I was capable of love anymore.
I watch
ed with a stoned expression as an older nurse bathed my daughter and checked her vitals again with a warm motherly smile. Seeing the affection in her eyes made me want to sink a blade into her chest. My child had a mother. She didn’t need some middle-aged bitch trying to take her place.
On instinct, I reached for my gun, only to have my arm restrained by the sling these pendejos insisted I wear. Cursing, I grabbed the fabric resting on my shoulder and gave it a sharp tug, ripping it in half.
I owned this fucking hospital and everyone in it—the doctors, the staff, and the board. The minute we landed, all of them flew around me like worker bees, insisting I allow them to treat my shoulder. After watching a team of surgeons and pediatric staff rush every shred of my morality away, I preferred shooting them all in the face and tending to myself with a rusty kitchen knife and a stapler than to have anyone touch me.
But then they informed me that until I was cleansed and properly sanitized, I would pose a threat to my daughter.
I was Valentin Carrera. I did whatever the hell I wanted. If I wanted to go anywhere in this hospital, I fucking went gun in hand and dared anyone to stop me. But even soulless monsters had limits. Mine was endangering the health of my children.
Still, it didn’t stop me from threatening to murder everyone and their mothers while they stitched me up.
Finished with her tasks, the nurse offered me a timid smile as she rolled the bassinet closer to the window. I didn’t look away, but I didn’t move either. My limbs felt encased in concrete, rooting me to this one spot where I’d stood for what seemed like an eternity.
I hadn’t held her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. Not yet. Not with all this rage thrumming through my fingers. Hands thirsting for blood would never touch my child.
Instead, I stared, and in doing so, I swore this innocent, newborn baby stared right back at me. Eyes too intense to be new dug a hole inside my chest and peered inside. An old soul, my mother would have called her. I didn’t buy into all that rebirth bullshit, but I couldn’t deny the instant connection that fused our gazes. I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to.
She was there.
I saw Eden in her delicate features. Those pursed heart-shaped lips, that wrinkled nose, and those damn piercing eyes. In looking at her, I couldn’t help but wonder what Eden had been like as a child. Before her mother left. Before her father turned down the dark path that ruined her family. Before she married too young to an asshole who didn’t appreciate the gift he had.
Had she once been timid? Unjaded? Untainted? Would our daughter be soft-spoken, or would she inherit the fiery Carrera genes Eden loved to hate.
As if this child understood my silent questions, she drew a tiny hand out of her swaddling blanket and reached toward me. Impossible. She didn’t know me. I was just a stranger staring through a window. My head knew that. But the heart I swore I no longer had seized in my chest.
Because suddenly, I was no longer looking at my daughter. I gazed into the eyes of my wife as time reversed, and the hospital walls around me faded into the loud walls of a Houston cantina.
* * *
Almost three years ago
Catching my eye, a wicked smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as she placed her forearms on the bar and leaned in close enough for me to catch the scent of citrus and vanilla. It was a bizarre combination that lit a heated trail straight from my nose to my dick.
“So, you got a name, Danger?”
“Danger?” I tried for a flat tone, but my voice raised an octave, betraying my interest.
Damn.
“Yeah, you know…as in, tall, dark, and dangerous?” She squinted her pale blue eyes and silenced an incoming text on her phone. “You look like you could get a girl in a lot of trouble.”
I wanted nothing more than to wipe that damn grin off her face. She looked so smug. So sure I wanted her.
Fuck, I wanted her.
“You have no idea.”
Moments passed between us as we stared at each other in silence. That shock of red hair grabbed my attention again, and I couldn’t help but wonder who, or what, happened in her life to cause it. Nobody just did shit like that on purpose. Candy-red colored hair didn’t just happen. It pissed me off that I even cared. I wasn’t a good guy. I wasn’t even a decent guy. I didn’t ask girls their names, much less their stories.
“So, that’s it?” she asked, chin tilted and one hand resting on a cocked hip.
Shit, had she been talking to me this whole time? “What’s it?” I asked, trying to seem bored.
“You really have no name?”
I shot her a pointed look, mentally slamming the door on her inquisition. “Danger works. I like it.”
I did. I liked it too damn much. And I hated nicknames. I thought they were childish and reserved for those annoying assholes who sat on the same side of the booth at restaurants.
“Of course, you do,” she snorted in an unladylike, but oddly sexy way.
The bar started to get crowded, as patrons shoved bills toward her and demanded drinks. I watched them curiously, wondering what she’d do. To my pleasure, she held up a finger to them and kept her eyes on me.
Those eyes were what did it. Those pale blue eyes that tried to hide exhaustion exposed by the dark circles under them and sadness well beyond her years. They sucked me in and broke one of my cardinal rules. “What about your name?”
“Hey, what about my drink? You think you could take a break from your date over there to do your job, honey?”
Her eyes flickered relief for a moment, then darkened, becoming void of emotion. “Duty calls. Glad I could meet your expectations, Danger.” She reached for the shot glass I held, and I grabbed her hand, my out-of-character reaction surprising both of us. Hesitating a moment, she lifted her eyes and met mine in a battle of wills.
I could tell we were both at war with what would happen next. I contemplated the consequences of fucking one of Emilio’s employees. He seemed fond of this one, and the moment it was over, I’d have no choice but to have her fired.
Shifting her weight, she made the decision for both of us when she released her hand from my grip and pointed toward the douchebag two seats down, now glaring at us. “Let me know if you want another.”
As she poured a gin and tonic for the asshole who cock blocked me, I pulled three, twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and placed them face down on the bar. The exorbitant tip wasn’t a handout, as I suspected she’d think after I left. I genuinely enjoyed her company. Which was exactly why I had to leave and never talk to her again.
She called me dangerous. If I was dangerous, she was fucking deadly.
* * *
Present day
“She looks just like Eden.”
I blinked away the memory, the powerful scent of her vanilla and citrus perfume still lingering in the air. I didn’t answer Mateo. It wasn’t a question. Even if it was, he already knew the answer.
“Adriana is all right,” he continued. “The doctor just wants to keep her overnight as a precaution to monitor her kidney function. Brody made it out of surgery. The bullet missed his spine by inches, and the idiota has a guardian angel because it also missed hitting his kidney by a fucking heartbeat. He has a long road ahead, but he’s going to be okay, thanks to Vergara.”
I clenched my jaw at the name.
Mateo sighed. “Val, we need to talk about…”
“The Russian?”
I saw him raise an eyebrow out of the corner of my eye. “Ava will be fine,” he said, stressing her name.
I knew her damn name. I also knew what he was doing, and I didn’t appreciate it. Personalizing them wouldn’t fix anything. Saying their names wouldn’t make things better or right.
Ava was an ally. I no longer had allies. She was just a Russian.
His gaze settled through the window. “Looks like they were gunning for the seats of power.”
“Casualties?”
“Rafael Suarez di
dn’t make it.” I almost winced. “I think,” he added.
“You think?”
His jaw shifted side to side, and I heard his teeth grinding. Mateo didn’t react with emotion. He was too calculating—too cautious. But I knew him too well. When the man wanted to take a swing at me, he corralled his anger by sawing his teeth. “Val, there were so many charred pieces of men strewn across your lawn, I wouldn’t know Suarez from Lopez. All I know is that he’s gone.”
Callous as fuck, but that was the cartel way. Death came swift and sometimes in a manner unbefitting a man as loyal as Rafael. I’d preferred to have buried him, but what was done was done. It was shitty to die so young, but he was probably better off than any of us.
At least his torture was over.
“The Italians ambushed him at the gate,” he said gravely. “A handful of Santiago’s men are dead as well as seven politicians and at least three other syndicate bosses.”
The Italians.
In the eight hours I’d stalked the halls of Hospital Médica Sur, I’d also kept eyes on Dante Santiago. I was furious enough after hearing he stole my car, but the killer in me roared upon learning the ambush on my estate had come from a third party.
One very invested in eradicating everyone in attendance.
“What’s the status?”
“Total annihilation,” he deadpanned without missing a beat. When I slid a narrowed gaze at him, he raised both eyebrows, his forehead creasing. “Don’t act like you’re shocked.”
“He works fast.”
“Ricci’s former ass kissers shot at his wife. New York’s lucky it’s still standing.”
“So, what now?”
Mateo’s gaze followed the nurse’s every move as she busied herself refolding already crisply laundered blankets. “Santiago took his shot and moved in. He’s got New York on lockdown. It’s his, Val. It’s over.”
Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 106