“Catalina?”
I blink, realizing that I’d completely spaced off on him. Standing on my tiptoes, I brush my lips against his. “Let’s go,” I say, pulling back.
“My place?” he asks, his eyes holding delicious promise.
I nod, and he slips his arm around me as he escorts me through the bar. When we step outside, we find that the clouds above have opened up and unleashed a heavy downpour.
Zac frowns as we stand just beneath the overhang of the bar. “I’ll bring the car around.”
I tug on his arm, dragging him out into the rain. “A little rain isn’t going to hurt us,” I tease.
We’re both promptly drenched, and Zac playfully tickles my sides as we run through the rain to the parking lot just around the building where we’d left his car earlier. I’m shrieking and dash a few paces ahead when two dark shadows emerge from out of nowhere.
Our laughter is abruptly cut off as a I’m caught up in someone’s arms, a hard chest pressing against my back as a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my startled scream.
Alarm flashes across Zac’s face, but he only has a moment to process the situation, because he’s dodging the fist coming his way.
I fight against the steel arms holding me immobile as I try to bite the hand that’s stifling my screams for help. I’m no match for my captor, and I watch with unfolding terror.
Zac is holding his own until I see the flash of metal in the dim light. He doubles over as his assailant sinks a knife repeatedly into his gut while I scream with anguish and beg him to stop.
Zac struggles until his knees begin to buckle. His assailant shoves him to the pavement before bending over him, taking his wallet and pocketing it. When he stands, I see blood dripping from the knife.
All the fight has left me as I stand unmoving in my captor’s arms—eyes locked on Zac.
No…
Hands run over my body, searching for money. Then, I’m abruptly released as the shadows run off, disappearing into the cover of darkness as if they were never here.
“Zac!” I shriek, dropping to my knees beside him. In the faint glow coming from the light post in the parking lot, I can see his lips opening and closing as blood bubbles in the corners of his mouth. He’s struggling to breathe, and I pull his head onto my lap, my hands cradling his face. “No, no, no,” I cry.
His frantic eyes meet mine, and I can see that he’s unable to draw in the breath he so desperately needs. His lips try to form words, and I press my forehead to his, shielding him from the pouring rain as I hold him close. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I sob, over and over, knowing that he’s slipping away and I can’t do anything to stop it.
“Zac!” I sit upright in bed, eyes flying open as his name leaves my lips. My cheeks are wet, but not from rain.
Shudders wrack my body as I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as silent tears trickle down my cheeks. It’s always the same nightmare, and each time, I wake with a gaping hole inside my chest where my heart used to be.
Zac was the only good thing in my life, and now he’s gone. He’s the only one I could be myself with, and I’d foolishly believed that our love could conquer anything. If only I had known who my father really was… Had I known, I would have sacrificed our love to ensure that Zac kept breathing, even if that meant watching him move on with someone else. At least he would still be alive.
I was a naive.
Growing up, I’d believed that I was just like the other rich kids that were sent to boarding schools by parents who didn’t want to make time for them. Instead, my father had used this scheme to hide my true identity. I was to be hidden from the world until I could become useful. Turns out, I was nothing more than a pawn with a working uterus.
Hatred burns deep within me.
Everything had been lies.
My mother hadn’t really died from an illness when I was three. The truth is she’d killed herself, because she couldn’t handle my father’s lifestyle. That left just me and my father, because I was the only child God saw fit for him to have. Now he’s shooting blanks, and he’s using me to secure a legitimate heir—one that’s male. I’d call it karma, but that karma is also ruining my life.
I’m no longer Catalina Ramos, the woman that I thought I was becoming. I’d thought it strange that my father always took care of all the paperwork when it came to my schooling and college forms, but I hadn’t questioned it. I was too busy living life and trying to chase down happiness.
Now, here I am.
My real name is Catalina Herrera, the only daughter of a brutal cartel leader. I don’t know who I am anymore, but I’m slowly learning. Zac’s death has changed me, and the only thing keeping me from splintering into a million pieces from heartbreak is my determination to make my father pay for his sins.
Two
Nikolas
There’s a lethal storm brewing inside me. As I lean back in my chair, I gaze moodily at the laptop sitting on my desk. It’s open, the screen glowing almost mockingly, and I down another swallow of bourbon before calmly setting the glass aside.
How the fuck did Rodrigo Flores get so far into the organization without raising flags? And how is it that no one caught it until Catalina Herrera, of all people, brought it to attention?
I think back to earlier this evening, when I’d been told that a woman claiming to be Catalina Herrera was at the club and requesting to see me. I hadn’t believed it but was curious to see the woman who was bold enough to make such a claim. The moment I’d seen her walking towards me, there was no doubt in my mind that she was exactly who she claimed to be.
My temples begin to pound as I shift my weight in the chair and drum my fingers against my thigh. Trying to sort this mess that’s unfolding in my territory is giving me a headache. No one even knew Herrera’s daughter existed until four months ago. That’s when rumors began surfacing that he was merging his organization with Francisco Navarez, a man that heads his own organization and has claimed Philadelphia and the surrounding area as his. It was all being arranged through the marriage of Francisco’s youngest son, Miguel, and Herrera’s secret daughter. The merger, as old-fashioned as it seems, strangely makes sense.
Both men are power hungry and have been allies for many years. Herrera’s had control of New York for decades and is probably after an heir since he can’t seem to spawn any of his own, and through Navarez, he can claim a grandchild as heir. If both cartels merge, they’ll have the means to take over other territories, possibly claiming the entire Eastern United States. No man wants to part with singular power, but it appears that Navarez and Herrera have come to some sort of accord. Navarez is no fool, and that kind of domination is strongly compelling.
The news of the merger was a complete blindside, and I loathe being caught off guard. I’m certain I’m on the top of their elimination list. When I’d clawed my way up from the bottom to get to where I am today, I’d known that I’d eventually become a target to many.
It’s ironic that Herrera’s daughter showed up on my doorstep of all places. I’ve been contemplating using her to prevent the merger from happening, and I’m certain I’m not the only one that sees her as the key to stalling such a dangerous coalition. It won’t prevent the merger from happening entirely, but eliminating the daughter from the equation would provide a lengthy distraction.
With older organizations, rules are written in blood—hence the marriage. The two cartels would become family by union. The older generations certainly like to honor the old ways. Back in the day, thanks to Herrera, I learned quickly that something needs to change and flooding the streets with blood must come to an end. There are better ways to conduct business—and the old ways need an update.
I’ve been patiently waiting for the day that I can begin to slowly and methodically ruin Herrera, but I never thought the key to his destruction would willingly enter my territory.
Which brings me back to Catalina Herrera. I think back to earlier, when she’d wal
ked towards me at the club. Somehow, Herrera had produced a truly stunning daughter. Dark mahogany hair had cascaded down her back, and she had eyes fringed with long lashes that held a combination of green and brown. She had stared back at me, unfalteringly steady. Her features were delicate, but the curve of those lips had an edge to them that warned she is not to be taken lightly. The body that belonged to those alluring features was just as pleasurable to look at. The short but simple, black club dress she’d worn hadn’t deliberately displayed her curves, but it hadn’t hidden them either. She’s an enticing package.
I was instantly intrigued but also brainstorming how I could take advantage of her presence here in Los Angeles. I don’t want her dead, that would be too easy. Besides, when I do kill, it’s not without reason. For now, she’s an innocent.
A scowl forms across my face.
I’d underestimated her. And damned if she wasn’t right. I have questions that I want answered, and right now, she seems to have the advantage. As a man that enjoys controlling every situation, the position I’m unexpectedly finding myself in burns my ego. How she’d come into this information is also a question that keeps turning over in my head.
Rodrigo Flores was on her father’s payroll, and I know damned well he would have never given up such a valuable informant. That means she went behind his back. This is likely all in protest of her upcoming nuptials to Miguel Navarez—not that I blame her. Miguel is known to be a playboy with twisted fetishes.
But why come to me?
How did she get her hands on Rodrigo’s account numbers and all the transactions between him and Herrera? It makes me wonder what other information she might have. More importantly, how do I get the information out of her?
I straighten in the chair and lean forward, picking up the phone on my desk to call Santos.
He picks up almost immediately. “Yes?” he says curtly but also a little out of breath. A feminine protest can be heard in the background.
I should have known what he’d be up to at this hour and sigh inwardly. “My office. Soon,” I add instead of clipping out the ‘now’ that I typically demand. I end the call and lean back in the chair once more.
Catalina was followed to the presidential suite at one of the local hotels here in Los Angeles. I’m certain I could send my men in to retrieve her, but I didn’t get to this point in my life by taking chances in public.
She wants to talk, so kidnapping won’t be necessary.
At least not yet.
Three
Catalina
As expected, it doesn’t take long for Del Toro to contact me. By mid-morning, the front desk had transferred up a phone call from one of his men requesting a meeting this afternoon at one. I’d switched it to one-thirty simply because I could. If I enter into negotiations in an agreeable manner, I won’t have any hope of gaining his respect.
I am very much aware that I’m playing with fire. However, my entire life has been controlled since the moment I was born, and I’m done being anyone’s puppet.
There was mention of a private meeting here in the suite, but I’d nixed the idea and suggested the cocktail bar near the lobby instead. No conversations will be held behind closed doors until negotiations have been finalized.
There’s no reason to insult him further by making him wait, so two minutes before our scheduled meeting, I bypass the restaurant and enter the cocktail lounge. The atmosphere is classy with gleaming, ebony furniture and gold-toned accents. A bar runs the length of the room, and on the back wall behind it are shelves with high-end liquor. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling strategically so that the lighting in the room is soft and intimate. There are chairs in front of the bar, and tables scattered about with small lamps in the center of each one. Just as I’d suspected, the lounge is mostly empty. There are a few patrons present, but they’re sitting at the bar instead of the tables.
Del Toro’s already present, and he’s waiting for me at a table in the far corner of the lounge. Ensuring privacy, he has also seated one of his men at each of the tables placed on either side of the one he’s occupied.
As I walk towards him, I note that his demeanor is different today. His expression is shrewd and alert as he watches me cross the room. The hint of amused indulgence that he’d shown me last night is long gone. Today, he’s dressed in a dark business suit that looks like it’d been tailor-made for him. It fits him in all the right places and gives him the appearance of a calculated businessman.
Feeling confident in my appearance and the upcoming negotiations, I approach him as he politely rises to his feet. Today, I’m wearing high-waisted palazzo pants, the color of sangria, that accentuate my small waist. A sleek blazer of the same color almost hides the simple, black camisole that is tucked into the pants. Tall stilettos finish the look, giving me the appearance of much needed height.
“Afternoon, Mr. Del Toro,” I smoothly greet, hiding my reaction to those intense blue eyes. They’re very striking, especially when he’s wearing dark clothing.
He gives a nod, and once I’m seated, he reclaims his seat across the table. Before we begin, a waitress comes over. I order a water while he requests scotch. Once we have our drinks, we focus on each other.
He regards me silently and lifts his glass to his lips, taking a drink. This is a power ploy. It’s apparent that he wants me to squirm and break the silence first.
That’s fine. I’ll break it, but he won’t enjoy it. “You want to know how I found out about Rodrigo Flores,” I state, ready to get down to business.
He sets the glass on the table and watches me through calculating eyes, remaining unwaveringly silent.
“What makes you think I’m going to lay all my cards out on the table?” I ask.
He gives me a knowing look. “You need me or you wouldn’t be in my territory.”
“If you’re going to prevent the merging of the cartels, you need me as well,” I remind.
Once more, he remains silent. It’s a tactic to get me to continue talking, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s working.
“We both want the same thing,” I say coolly, determined to hold onto my composure.
He lifts a sardonic brow. “I doubt that. You’re a Herrera.”
“I’m a Herrera by default,” I correct. “I didn’t choose this life.” My eyes stay in direct line of his. “If someone doesn’t stop my father and Navarez, they’ll become too powerful to stop. The merger is a problem, one that you’ve probably been trying to figure out how to prevent.”
Something predatory lurks in the depths of his gaze. “I already know how to stall it. I’m looking at her.”
That, right there, is the problem. All my father’s enemies see me as the answer to ending the possibility of two cartels uniting. I’ll never have the kind of life I want if death is always nipping at my heels. “Killing or removing me from the situation is only a temporary fix,” I reason. “You’re right, I am the key, but not to stall the inevitable. I’m the key to dismantling and burying Mario Herrera.”
He takes another leisurely sip of his drink as he peers at me over the rim. After setting the glass down, his expression turns measured. “Before this goes any further, prove to me that I should believe anything that you say.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Rodrigo Flores wasn’t enough?”
“No.”
Damn. It’s imperative that I avoid giving him more information than necessary when nothing has been settled.
He leans back in his chair, blue eyes glinting. “If you want to play with the big dogs, you’d better be prepared to play ball.”
His arrogance grates on my nerves, and I’d like nothing more than to walk away from this meeting, but I need him. And he knows it. “I have no intention of marrying Miguel Navarez,” I inform him. That should be reason enough for me to turn on my father.
Evidently not, because he merely gazes back at me. He wants more.
“You’re not the only cartel that would benefit from what I have to offer,” I r
emind. There are plenty of other organizations I could have gone to with the information I have.
“Yet I was the first you approached. Tell me what you have to offer, and if it’s valuable enough, we’ll continue this conversation.” He deliberately glances at his watch. “I’m about two minutes away from leaving, Miss Herrera.”
I lean back in my chair, not in the least bit perturbed by his threat. I let the silence drag out as I reach for my water and take a sip. It’s important to take back control of this conversation. “I have every piece of information related to my father’s cartel. Bank accounts, names, meeting locations, lists of businesses laundering the money, shipment times and location, information on his allies.” I give him a cunning smile “I have everything one would need to dismantle my father’s cartel,” I say with conviction.
I’d expected some sort of a reaction, but he isn’t giving one. His expression remains unreadable. “I find it difficult to believe that you were able to extract all that information without his knowledge.”
“Because I’m a woman?” I muse. “Have you ever heard the term ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?’ Men have been underestimating women for centuries.” Including you, I silently add.
“But here you sit, negotiating with the enemy because you can’t bring him down yourself.” He’s still not giving me a damned thing to work with.
My smile turns slightly savage. “Likewise, Mr. Del Toro. If you could prevent the merger, you would have already laid the ground work when the engagement was announced. From where I sit, you aren’t looking as accomplished as you claim.”
A storm is brewing in his gaze. Apparently, I’d hit a nerve.
“I have everything you need to end Mario Herrera,” I say levelly.
His eyes sharpen. “Prove it.”
Here we go. Finally. “No more freebies. If you want what I have, you’ll have to give something in return.”
“I’m listening.”
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