Violent Triumphs (White Monarch Book 3)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “They’re files and records on every operation. Sometimes we have to act fast and on little intel, but we try to be as prepared and organized as possible.” He glanced around. “There’s a tunnel that connects to the house, but otherwise, this area is isolated for security purposes, and so we can work in peace. We don’t want to . . . disturb anyone.”

  “Disturb them how?”

  He cleared his throat, checked his phone, and replaced it in the pocket of his joggers. “I told you to stay upstairs. Haven’t you ever heard that expression, curiosity killed the cat?”

  Or, your curiosity is an affliction, as my father had said to me many times. This ran deeper than snooping, though.

  I had to tell Cristiano I knew. I knew what he was keeping down here. And that I was ready to get my answers, no matter how it would change my life. That was why I’d rushed down here.

  Now that I was on the verge, though, the cliff under my feet crumbled more with each step. And since I couldn’t see the bottom, I had to assume it was a far drop. In my experience, answers only bred more questions. Retaliation only incited more wars, more death, more revenge. And as Cristiano said—some things, I couldn’t unsee.

  I swallowed through my dry throat and walked over to a large control panel below a bank of computer screens. Beyond it, a glass window showed a room full of servers. “Is this the security system?”

  “One of them, but it’s much more than that. Intelligence on organized crime syndicates around the world, everything from narcotics, artillery, black market, prostitution, slavery, money laundering, etcetera.” He stepped away, under the dim lights. “We manage data big and small, analyze it for patterns and trends, hoping to tie pieces together, such as how people move, where they start and end up, which mobs are communicating, interactions that seem off. That’s just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what’s happening out there.”

  I couldn’t keep the awe from my voice. “I had no idea so much went into it.”

  “Takes a lot of power to reach dark corners. I . . . I don’t want to hide these things from you.” He pulled on his jaw, something warring in him. He didn’t want to keep me out. But he probably struggled with bringing me in, too. “But some of these subjects are closed. ¿Comprendes?”

  Yes, I understood. I recognized resolution in him now. And melancholy. I didn’t argue. Things that upset someone like him must scrape the bottom of humanity. I was likely better off not knowing.

  My eyes scanned over the shelved and alphabetized binders. Some had people’s names, others listed businesses, cartels, or just initials and dates. “Why isn’t all of this digitalized?”

  “Everything is encrypted, but sometimes, nothing is safer than paper. I assure you, the government has its own hackers, and many officials would like to put a stop to what we’re doing.”

  I frowned. “Helping people?”

  “We have all kinds of unlawful ventures, Natalia. They’re how we fund our more benevolent ones. Arms trafficking has been very good to me, and I need that income to continue.” He massaged the back of his neck. “We have a role. We’re the bad guys; the government is the good guy. They don’t like when we upset the balance. We’re not supposed to do their jobs for them.”

  “They don’t want the press finding out,” I inferred. “It would make them a laughing stock.”

  “The press or other world leaders. Wealthy people, too, who’d take out entire towns to keep the information we have sealed. Fortunately, we don’t do what we do for press or for anyone else. But arms trafficking, money laundering, narcotics, freighting—they act as a cover and keep our bank accounts full.”

  I faced him again. He stood still, hands in the pockets of his joggers, tracking me with his eyes. Cristiano had endless patience. I couldn’t imagine my father or Diego walking me through all of this so candidly. They preferred to shield me. To put me in a box. Not Cristiano. For him to tell me not to come down here, it must be bad. I owed him the same trust he’d put in me—I had to include him in my decision of whether or not I was ready to face what lie ahead.

  “Are the Valverdes here?”

  He glanced at my hands as I twisted my ring around my finger. “Sí.”

  “Where?” I asked. “What else is down here, Cristiano?”

  He worked his jaw side to side before answering, “Every kingpin needs a dungeon, Natalia. It’s just the way it is. You’ll be glad for it, once you’ve found out what they’ve done.”

  “I already know.”

  His eyes fell shut. “What do you know?”

  “I figured it out. They hired the sicario who killed my mother, didn’t they?”

  He made fists in his pockets and opened his eyes, darting them around the room until they landed on a desk. He strode to it, picked up a two-way radio, and paused. Glancing at the floor, he sighed, shook his head, and said into the speaker, “Make them scream.”

  My stomach dropped with his sinister command, but Cristiano didn’t stop there. He tossed the radio down, went to a closet door, and hoisted a blue bucket with both hands to carry it across the room.

  I was about to scold him for lifting things that could threaten his health when he dropped the bucket with a thud at my feet.

  It was full of sand.

  El Polvo. I touched my throat as it closed, as if I was about to learn firsthand his trademark method of delivering death.

  A cacophony of deep, guttural screams sounded from somewhere in the building.

  I spun, my pulse jumping as I tried to determine where it was coming from. “What is that?”

  “That is the part of this world you’re about to walk into. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  The yelling stopped, but it didn’t halt the shiver working its way up my spine. I’d known this would happen. I had to stay strong. “You’re trying to scare me away again, like you did back then,” I said. “It didn’t work when I was nine. What makes you think it will now?”

  “Because you know better.”

  I studied the man before me. Sometimes, dark things that terrified me became bearable when I shone a light on them—bearable, and maybe even welcome. That wouldn’t be the case here, but shadows weren’t shields. They wouldn’t keep the truth from creeping out, so why not face it head on, when I could control it? “I want answers, Cristiano. Don’t I deserve them?”

  “Yes, and you’ll get them. But tell me the truth—does any part of you, however small, still want the life you had in California?” he asked, nodding behind him. “Or do you want what’s behind door number two? You can’t have both.”

  “I don’t want that life anymore,” I said, and it was the truth. What I didn’t wonder aloud was whether I was ready for this. But I’d learned at a young age, from the man who stood before me—never hesitate, or bang! You’re dead.

  I tilted my head when something occurred to me. “You’re giving me a choice?” I asked. “I can leave this marriage?”

  He’d never lifted the threats that my family would lose his protection if he lost me. Technically, I was still his captive as much as his wife. Was he brave enough to let me choose for myself?

  His eyes darkened. “If that’s what you want, ask for it. See what my answer is.”

  His answer, I suspected, was no. But Cristiano had often said he knew me better than I thought he did, and now, that was beginning to hold true for me about him. If I asked for my freedom, Cristiano would say no. And he’d believe it. But I knew better. If I truly wanted to be let go, he’d release me.

  “I promise you’ll get your answers,” he said. “I promise your mother’s life will be avenged. But you don’t need to watch this part.”

  My heart faltered. So it was true. “They are responsible,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I expected grief to hit, but having guessed it on my own, the shock was dulled. Instead, my fingers twitched as fury burned a path through me. “I want to see them,” I demanded.

 
“You have every right to be angry, but that can cloud your judgment.”

  I pointed to my chest. “It’s my choice to make. Not yours. You taught me that.”

  He couldn’t argue that. He rubbed an eyebrow, debating. “If I can’t convince you to wait,” he said, and paused, “then you should know more before we go in there.”

  I nodded him on. “I’m listening.”

  “One of the first missions I embarked on was locating the sicario who killed your mother. When your father pardoned me, that should’ve been enough, but I knew while I still had questions, I couldn’t leave it at that.” He cracked his knuckles. “Though he may have pulled the trigger, any hitman would off the Virgin Mary for the right amount of money.”

  I saw things through Papá’s eyes now. He’d called Cristiano “ruthless” and “relentless” in his pursuit of the assassin, and I’d scoffed. But he’d been right. “The sicario admitted to being hired by a rival cartel—¿verdad?” I asked. “That’s what my father told me.”

  Cristiano nodded. “We learned the hit had been ordered by the Valverdes, but it was common knowledge that they’d been out of the game a while. Unlike other federations that crumbled and eroded over time, the Valverdes vanished practically overnight.”

  “And that was what tipped you off that there might be more to it.”

  He clicked his tongue. “If there was a puzzle there, I was going to solve it. Especially having you here as my wife and knowing you still thought I’d had a hand in her assault.”

  I walked forward. “I don’t think you killed her,” I said, stopping in front of him. “I told you that, and to stop pursuing it.”

  “You don’t think so, no. But you don’t know, either. And it’s been eating me alive.”

  “What has?”

  He frowned down at me. “That over time, my wife may learn to trust me, and maybe even love me—but always, a small piece of her would question that day and what she’d seen.” He looked away from me, but not before pain crossed his normally controlled features. “If I can’t answer that question for you once and for all, if I can’t give you closure, and the safety to give me your complete and unrelenting trust—then I don’t deserve it.”

  Oh. My heart broke for him. From the day I’d arrived, up until recently, I’d been desperately trying to uncover Cristiano’s motives for bringing me here. And he’d been showing me them all along. Starting in the church. His proposal, the lasso ceremony, the paperwork to legalize our union, my mother’s rosary, the flowers, and his vows—none if it had been a mockery. He’d gone about it the wrong way, but that didn’t make it less real.

  Love and devotion, that he could give and have returned, was the everything he sought. The only things he couldn’t take, buy, or command. And he didn’t think he’d ever truly get those from me until the chapter of my mother’s death had been closed. Until he closed it for me.

  I stepped into him, placing my hands on his chest. I wanted to take him in my arms and soothe that ache by finally giving myself to him. Later. Now, I could only apologize. “Lo siento, Cristiano.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He circled my wrists, keeping my hands against his pecs. “You’re smart not to trust words, mine or anyone else’s.” His voice dropped. “You do trust actions, though—so I acted.”

  My scalp prickled. “You brought them here.”

  “To confess everything. To rid your mind of any doubt about me. To assure you that where your mother’s death is involved, I’m innocent.”

  “I know you are. I don’t doubt you anymore.” I slid my palms higher, relishing the power beneath them. “You never said why they vanished.”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out.” He looked away. “You heard them scream, Natalia. You know what I’m about to do. I’ll get the information I want, and a confession for you, but it could be days until I do. Be satisfied until then. I’ll bring you back when the pigs are ready to squeal.”

  That was fair. I’d get to hear it from their mouths. But I’d begged for answers so many times. Patience had been forced on me. If I went upstairs, I’d just go back to waiting. And after all these years, I wanted to do something.

  “I want to act, too,” I said.

  Maybe I’d regret it, but my mind had been made up the moment I’d realized who the Valverdes were.

  With a short sigh of resignation, he nodded once. “Wait here.”

  He left me alone in the dark with the haunting echo of grown men’s screams. The idea that I thought I could exist on the surface of my internal darkness sounded so absurd now. That I could step on it, walk along it, and never trip and fall. That I could turn a blind eye to the way I’d grown up and to my father’s business—and that I expected Diego to do the same.

  California had been a bubble. My father had called it like it was—a life there with Diego would never have happened.

  It wouldn’t have been enough for either of us.

  Maybe diving in head first into darkness was equally foolish. But there didn’t seem to be any in-between, and I’d learned through Cristiano that ignorance only left me vulnerable.

  I went into the closet from which Cristiano had taken the sand bucket. On the shelves sat chains I’d seen used to tow trucks, with massive hooks at the ends. Braided rope as thick as my forearm. A chainsaw.

  With a noise, I turned. Cristiano stood in a doorway opposite me. “Ándale,” he said. “Come on.”

  I went to him. He nodded for me to pass through first. The door closed behind us with a resolute click. Walking through the hallway was like taking a tunnel to Hell. Gone were the steel walls and the comforting buzz of justice at work, replaced with the underbelly of the mountain, wood scaffolding, and masculine, muffled grunts.

  The air became dank. Musty. My sneakers chewed dirt on the concrete as we made a right, and then another, until Cristiano opened a door and gestured for me to enter.

  As my eyes adjusted, blood drained from my face.

  Weeks ago, the scene before me would’ve been enough to send me running, but not before I’d called Cristiano every horrible name in the book. Now, I understood better.

  There was more than one way to make the world a better place. Good didn’t always prevail.

  Sometimes, monsters had to take the reins.

  12

  Natalia

  Four shirtless men with duct-taped mouths stared back at me. Flanked by Alejandro and Eduardo, they’d been hooked to the low ceiling by their chained wrists, their toes barely grazing the dirt floor.

  Four men, when Cristiano had hoped for one at best.

  Four lives hanging in the balance.

  Three were around my father’s age or older, and the last even younger than I was, possibly still a teenager.

  Their bodies seemed mostly unharmed, but bruises darkened their faces. Multicolored confetti underneath them was evidence they’d been tasered.

  To my embarrassment, I was too shocked to even move. Knowing these things happened, even hearing them from the next room, was entirely different than witnessing them.

  As a rivulet of blood slid from the corner of one man’s mouth, the contents of my stomach churned.

  But I’d promised myself that I could do this. So when Cristiano said, “Fíjate bien”—look closer—I did.

  “Read their tattoos,” Cristiano instructed.

  “What tattoos?” I asked.

  Only a few decorated the older men, but they were simply faded sketches that meant nothing to me.

  Cristiano guided me forward, staying close enough that I felt his heat even through my hoodie. It wasn’t until I was standing within arm’s reach of the eldest man that I saw it. Faint, nearly erased ink in scrawling gothic lettering across his chest. The other two older men had the same word. “Valverde,” I read.

  “They tried to have them removed. Like cowards.”

  Two of the four men jerked, their chains and muffled cries echoing around us.

  “Silencio.” Eduardo smacked one in the back
with the butt of his AR-15, and they went quiet. The youngest and the eldest of the four both remained still.

  “Perhaps they should’ve cut their names off if they didn’t want to be found,” Cristiano said, walking toward the men, his back lengthening so he stood at his full height. “They’re going to confess their sins. Whatever it takes. I want you to hear it from their fucking mouths.”

  And if I told Cristiano that I believed, down to my very core, that he was innocent—would he still proceed with whatever he had planned?

  I met the pleading eyes of the youngest one. He couldn’t have been anything more than a toddler when this had happened.

  “What if they didn’t do it?” I asked Cristiano.

  “I didn’t hunt them down to ask if they did. I brought them here to find out why.”

  A sense of dread worked through me. For more than eleven years, I’d wished for answers. Now, they’d be granted by the last man on Earth I’d have expected them from. My husband showed me more every day that he made his own destiny, and that I could make mine.

  Cristiano paced, pausing in front of each man. “You know why you’re here. You ordered a hit on Bianca Cruz. This is her daughter. My wife.” He met eyes with one, and the ferocity in Cristiano’s gaze made even my stomach drop. He shrugged in that menacing way he’d perfected. “The more you cooperate, the faster this will end—but I’m a merciful man,” he said in a tone that was anything but compassionate. “I’ll let one of you go—the first to confess.”

  None of them reacted, not that they really could, but their silence got under my skin. The lives of everyone I cared about had been irrevocably changed for the worse because of the men in front of me.

  Maybe they needed to be forced to speak.

  The thought caught me off guard.

  And brought understanding of Cristiano and Diego in a new way. I’d fantasized about justice for my mother’s killer, but not in the direct, brutal way that was currently on offer. I’d thought a bullet in the sicario’s head was a way of evening the score, but that was nothing. It’d been over before I’d even known it was happening, before I’d had a moment to relish the payback.