Using my free hand, I twist the knob, relieved to find that it’s not locked. The door opens easily. When I peer into a hallway, Tomàs appears to have already been approaching the door.
When he sees me, his eyebrows converge as he hurries over. “You’re not supposed to be on your feet yet.” He takes hold of my free arm, urging me back into the room.
“I don’t want to go back to the bed,” I protest, but physically, I’m in no shape to be resisting as he escorts me back to the bed.
I carefully sit down and ignore the throbbing in my shoulder. “I want to talk to Nikolas,” I say with a hint of frustration in my tone.
He gives me a stern look. “You need to eat. While I go tell Mavis you’re ready for breakfast, you’re not to move from this bed. Understood?”
“I’m not a child, Tomàs.”
“Your stitches need to heal. If you tear them, you won’t enjoy having them re-stitched,” he warns.
I sigh with resignation and carefully draw my legs up so that I am comfortable on the bed. Tomàs adjusts the sheets so that they’re covering my bare legs and rest around my hips. His eyes focus on the bottle of pills on the nightstand, and he frowns. “I will make certain Mavis brings you water for the pills. You’re due for a dose.”
“Thank you,” I say, recalling my manners.
He nods and exits the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
I’m alone once more and look around unhappily. Nikolas is already controlling as it is, put me under his roof… I wonder if there’s any way to talk my way out of this. Maybe he has a guest house? Or I can go back to the hotel? The security there is much better than the apartment. Now that we know just how far my father will go to save himself, proper precautions can be taken. I don’t think even Nikolas had thought that my father would try to kill me. At least not this early into his game, otherwise, he would have had more security assigned to me.
I’m not certain how much time has passed when a quiet knock sounds on the door before it’s carefully eased open. A woman, probably in her late sixties, bustles into the room with a tray in her hands. She’s a robust woman with gray hair pulled up into a bun, and glasses perched on her nose. Her smile is warm, and her blue eyes sparkle as she approaches the bed.
“You must be Catalina. I hope you like French Toast,” she says kindly.
My stomach rumbles at the thought. I hadn’t realized I was hungry until just now. “It sounds wonderful,” I tell her.
She carefully sets the tray on my lap. A metal warmer covers a large plate, and there’s a side of sliced fruit along with a delicately, small glass pitcher filled with syrup. Silverware rest on a napkin, and there are two glasses—one filled with water and the other with orange juice.
“If you need anything else, dear, don’t hesitate. When you’re feeling up to it, let me know what you prefer for meals so I can get them added to the menus.”
I look at her gratefully, my earlier mood easing upon seeing such a friendly face. “Thank you. I’m sure everything you make is delicious.”
“Must be, or else I’d be fired by now,” she says with a wink.
Her humor brings a smile to my face. I think I’m going to like her.
“I’m Mavis, so just ask for me whenever you’re hungry between meals. Eat up,” she says before she turns and bustles out of the room.
I carefully lift the cover on the plate, thankful that it was my left shoulder that took the bullet and not my right. Otherwise, doing everything left-handed would be awkward.
The sight of three, fluffy slices of French toast brightens my mood, and for a short time, I’m content simply eating. All too soon, reality creeps back up on me, and my mind feels restless while my body wants to sleep.
Thankfully, I don’t have long to wait before Tomàs returns. When he sees the tray pushed aside on the bed, the plate and bowl empty, he looks pleased. “Did you take two of the pills?” he inquires.
“I did about ten minutes ago.”
He reaches for the tray, evidently prepared to leave with it.
“Tomàs, wait. I’d like to talk.”
He straightens and some kind of emotion appears in his gaze. “I apologize for not being able to protect you to the best of my ability,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, taken aback that he would place the blame on himself. “I froze. That’s not your fault,” I say lightly.
He nods, his expression unreadable. “Regardless, I will be doing everything within my power to make certain there isn’t another incident like last night.”
I hesitate and then ask, “That bullet was meant for me, wasn’t it?”
Something softens in his gaze as he remains silent.
“I thought so,” I say softly.
“Miss Herrera—”
“Catalina,” I quickly interject. “You used it last night,” I remind.
“You were injured.”
“So I have to get shot for you to use my first name?” I ask dryly.
“Let’s keep things professional.”
I sigh inwardly. Tomàs is set in his ways, and I’m not in the mood to argue over something so trivial. “I don’t think it’s wise if I stay here. This is Nikolas’s place, right?” I ask, switching the topic.
“It is,” he confirms.
“What about a hotel?” I suggest.
Tomàs is already shaking his head before the entire question leaves my mouth. “This is the best option at this point,” he says in a firm tone.
I’d like to debate the issue, but Tomàs doesn’t have a say in where I stay. Nikolas is the one currently holding all the cards. “Is he around?”
“He’s not currently on the estate.”
“Will you please tell him that I’d like to speak with him?” I ask with feigned patience.
“I will. Today you’re to take it easy and stay in bed. Doctor’s orders,” he says simply. “So get some rest.”
“I don’t want to stay in bed all day,” I protest.
He gives me a look. “You don’t have a choice. Those pills should be kicking in soon, and they’re going to make you drowsy.”
Lovely.
* * *
The following morning, I’m anxious to speak with Nikolas since he hadn’t dropped by my room yesterday. I’m also tired of staring at the same four walls, so I manage to talk Tomàs into taking me to the kitchen so I can visit with Mavis while I eat.
To to my surprise, he was more than willing and had even given me a small tour on the way. The rest of the estate is similar to the guest room. Large, extravagant while simplistically masculine.
I’d expected the kitchen to resemble the other rooms, but instead, the walls are beige and the atmosphere is light and airy. The kitchen is immaculate with exquisite wooden cupboards and large, square porcelain tiles. There’s an island counter in the center of the room with a granite countertop boasting a gorgeous flower arrangement. The kitchen is clearly Mavis’s domain.
Mavis is thrilled to see me up and about on my feet but also quickly ushers me to the nearest stool beside the island. When Tomàs sees that I’m in capable hands, he strolls out of the room to give us some privacy.
“What would you like in your omelet, dear?” she asks.
“Surprise me. I’m not picky.”
Mavis moves to the large, double door refrigerator and begins pulling items from the shelves.
I shift on the stool so I’m more comfortable, careful not to jostle my sling. “So how long have you worked for Nikolas?” I ask curiously.
She retrieves a cutting board and places it on the counter next to the items she’d taken from the refrigerator. “Twelve years,” she replies.
“What do you think of him?”
She briefly glances at me with a twinkle in her eye as she begins expertly slicing a green pepper. “He’s a nice, young man. Very good to his employees. Perhaps a little lonely at times,” she casually adds.
I give her a look. “Don’t even think of it.”
; “Think of what?” she asks innocently over her shoulder.
“My being here is temporary. And he’s definitely not relationship material,” I say firmly.
Her eyes move back to mine with amusement as she reaches for a mushroom. “What gave you that impression?”
“That he’s not relationship material?”
“Yes.”
“He told me himself. That man is all business.”
“And yet you’re here,” she points out.
“Because I’m business,” I say dryly.
She studies me but says nothing more on the subject. “How’s your shoulder?”
“How much do you know about what’s going on?” I ask cautiously.
“Not much,” she says truthfully. “Mr. Del Toro likes to keep his business dealings quite private. I am only here to cook.”
“You speak of him with affection,” I comment as I watch her crack open three eggs in a bowl.
She smiles and begins to whisk the eggs. “Yes, I enjoy his company from time to time.” Her voice sounds wistful, almost sad.
“Do you have any family of your own?” I ask lightly.
“I had a son, long ago. He’s passed on now.”
“I am so sorry, Mavis,” I say sincerely.
“I will see him again someday.” She glances at my shoulder. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I hesitate, not sure how much to share.
“I know you were shot. Sometimes I overhear things. You will heal?” she asks.
“I will, yes.”
She places a griddle on the stove and turns to look at me. “Mr. Del Toro is protecting you.”
“Yes.”
She looks pleased. “You are in good hands.”
I might be safe, but that’s about as far as it goes. Nikolas is dangerous in many other ways.
I spend almost an hour chatting with Mavis until I wander off so that she can work without my hovering.
Tomàs re-appears within thirty seconds of my exiting the kitchen, and when I mention I’d like some fresh air, he shows me to the outdoor patio and pool. The landscaping surrounding the patio is unspoiled by architecture and is peaceful and welcoming.
After settling in at a table on the patio, I appreciate the view. We’re in the hills with an incredible view of Los Angeles. The weather is perfect this morning, and I could easily stay out here for hours simply enjoying the sounds of nature and the soft breeze on my face.
I’m still sitting there an hour later, sipping lemonade, when Nikolas approaches. He looks handsome as always and is wearing his usual business attire—a long-sleeved, button-up shirt and black pants. As my eyes take him in, a stirring anger smolders inside me as I recall the stunt he’d pulled at the strip club. Unfortunately, it’s not just anger that’s simmering deep within. I hate that I’m so attracted to him.
Without being invited, he takes a seat in the chair across from me. “I didn’t expect to see you up on your feet this soon,” he comments.
“My legs are still functioning, so there’s no point in being bedbound.”
He inspects me with those strikingly blue eyes of his. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll get there.” I use my free hand to pick up my lemonade and take a sip. Once I set it down again, I say, “The bullet was meant for me.”
His expression turns grim. “Tomàs told me.”
I look at him steadily. “Maybe it’s time to stop playing with him.”
“I will when I’m good and ready,” he says levelly, a hint of warning lurking in his gaze.
“This is more than just eliminating a rival. What has my father done to you?”
His expression completely shuts down as his posture remains calm and relaxed. “You’re here to give me information, not to be asking questions.”
Irritation washes over me. “Well, too bad. I’m not going to meekly sit around while you drag this out over some revenge fantasy of yours.”
He stares hard at me. “You don’t have a choice, Gatita.”
“We agreed that I would not be treated as a prisoner.”
“You were shot last night,” he deliberately reminds. “I would think you’d feel safer here than anywhere else in the city.”
“I’m sure that you can handle assigning a few more men to me while I stay at the hotel. My father won’t pull anything there,” I point out.
Nikolas is already shaking his head. “You’re staying until further notice.”
I sit forward, ignoring the pain the action brings to my wounds, and I level him with a look. “You don’t make my decisions for me.”
His eyes sharpen around the edges, the only visible sign that I’m getting to him. “We will discuss this further after you’ve healed from your injury. Until then, this conversation is irrelevant. During your stay, you may have full access to the first floor of the estate, but the second and third floors are off-limits,” he says, his voice flat and businesslike.
I’m about to argue over the supposed irrelevance of the conversation but then I find myself further offended by his restrictions of the estate. “You don’t trust me?”
He gives me a look. “I trust those that have earned it. So no, I don’t trust you.”
I look at him incredulously. “I’ve been giving you information to bury my father. Obviously, I’m not going to do anything to sabotage that.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks bluntly.
I frown. Okay, so he has a point. I might trust him with my life, but that’s as far as my faith in him extends.
“We’ll talk in a few days,” he says as he rises to his feet.
There isn’t much else that I can do but nod, so I remain polite and watch him go back inside. There’s no way I’m going to last even a week in this place.
Fifteen
Nikolas
As usual, I’m on my way to a business meeting, and since it’s cartel business, Santos is riding with me. I used to enjoy these meetings and the power I hold over the men I meet with, but lately, it’s becoming more tedious than enjoyable. Years ago, I was hungry for power and would seek it no matter the cost.
Now, after years of being on the top of the hierarchy here in L.A., I’ve grown accustomed to all that it has brought. My vengeance for Manny has driven me through the years, and now that it’s at the tip of my fingers, I’m beginning to wonder what will happen after. I’ll have accomplished everything I’d ever wanted, but when I try to look into the future, I see emptiness without fulfillment. My future will contain meeting after meeting, social functions that I’m expected to attend to keep relationships flourishing, and round the clock phone calls due to problems that need taking care, because running a cartel always brings snags.
“You are troubled,” Santos says, his voice cutting into my ruminations.
I glance at him. “I’m preparing for the meeting. I want this turf war with the dealers handled immediately. They work for us; their squabbling should be dealt with in a manner that keeps everyone alive and functioning. We can’t get product out if they’re too busy fighting amongst themselves,” I say dryly.
His hazel eyes hold mine much longer than anyone would dare. “That how you want to play it?”
Fuck.
That’s the problem with Santos. We’ve known each other since our teen years, and the asshole can read me like a damned book. Sometimes, I avoid the bastard when I begin feeling restless where the cartel is concerned, because these thoughts about the future—or lack of, have been haunting me since the minute Catalina showed up. My reasoning for being who I am today is about to come full circle. I hadn’t thought about after because I had no reason to.
Now, I do.
“She needs to be moved,” Santos says abruptly.
I frown at him, no doubt that the ‘she’ he’s referring to is Catalina. “It’s been two days, Santos. It’s going to take some time for her to recover, and I want her where I can keep an eye on her.”
“I don’t care what she says, she’s a Herrera. Su
bterfuge is in her blood. The closer you bring her in, the more likely she is to find something and use it against you when the time comes,” he says flatly.
I understand his suspicion. It’s not like I fully trust her—even with her obvious hatred for her father. But I also know that she wants nothing else from me but the protection she’d requested. Had there been ulterior motives, she would have been more willing to get to know me. I can read women pretty easily, and there is no faking the kind of dislike that Catalina has for me.
I’m actually amused by it. I’ve never been in a situation quite like this before when it comes to a woman. I like the unpredictability of it.
“Do I look like the type that can be manipulated?” I ask with amusement.
Santos gives me a look.
“Exactly. You’re worrying needlessly.”
“I don’t worry,” he growls.
“Then what’s the point of this conversation?” I ask, trying to maintain a lightness to the conversation so that I don’t have to deal with a falling out between us.
His expression remains set. “Put her in a safe house somewhere. She doesn’t need to be living on the estate.”
“Santos,” I say levelly, “I know what I’m doing.”
His eyes narrow, and he gets a look in his gaze that warns me he’s gearing up for a brutal confrontation. “You think I didn’t notice the way you watched the doc tend to her last night?” he asks rigidly in Spanish, a telltale sign that he’s dead serious about getting her off the estate.
My teeth grind as I struggle with my growing aggravation towards him. I don’t know what the hell he thinks he saw, but I’m damned sick of discussing Catalina with him.
“Don’t push, Santos,” I warn, continuing to speak in English. I don’t do well when others question my authority. Santos is the only one allowed to push back, but even then, there comes a point when I shut him down.
“You feel sorry for her,” he spats.
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