Violent Triumphs (White Monarch Book 3)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Hands turned me by my shoulders, and arms surrounded me, pulling me to a strong, sturdy chest. The deep, controlled bass of Cristiano’s voice hummed in my ear. “You’re okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

  Instantly, my body loosened, my tears subsiding. I’d felt this sense of security before, breathed in this same masculine mix of sweat and dirt. Unlikely as it’d been, Cristiano’s solid body had acted as comfort in the tunnel. I’d clutched his neck, silently begging him not to let go, not to leave me behind.

  But that hadn’t been the only time I’d been soothed this way.

  Days later, Diego had held me in the safety of his arms as we’d lowered Mamá into the ground.

  All the while, he’d been responsible. His comfort had been a lie. Maybe Cristiano’s had been back then, too—maybe it was now.

  Cristiano guided me up the staircase to the top floor. In our bedroom, he released me to shut the door behind himself. “Natalia—”

  “Every Día de los Muertos, Diego lit a candle for her,” I said. I looked around the foreign room, its quiet fireplace, white gauze curtains, the empty space where the mirror had been, a bar cart where Cristiano sometimes fixed a drink in the evenings. How had I gotten here? I’d been moved into this bedroom like a pawn. “He brought her favorite dessert to the house, and flowers to her as una ofrenda.” The remoteness of my voice matched my sagging posture, my curled fists. “He listened to me talk about her for hours. He held me as I cried.”

  “He manipulated you.”

  Jarred from the memories, I turned to look at Cristiano. “What he did to me weeks ago, he did out of desperation.” Even if I found it vile, at least I could understand why he’d lied to get me to the church—his life had been on the line. “To trade me for his own safety—that is an act of a desperate man.” I turned my body to Cristiano as my voice rose. “But to allow a woman who’d treated him like a son to get raped and murdered in her own bedroom?” I yelled. “That’s not desperation. It’s devoid of humanity. Did you know about this?”

  Cristiano took my anger without flinching. “I had suspicions—”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “They were baseless,” he said. “All I had to go on was the fact that the door had been unlocked. And when I had him alone at La Madrina, I could see firsthand how angry he was with Costa—”

  “For?”

  “For killing our parents.”

  The answer went down easily, because I’d been over this scenario a million times in my head. Only, it was never kindhearted, gentle Diego who’d been nursing a grudge. It’d been his menacing, ruthless brother.

  My body shook so violently, tears almost fell. I bit them back. Vengeance against my father for killing the de la Rosas. I’d been right all along—but I’d never been so wrong.

  My limbs weakened with the churn of my stomach. I reached out to steady myself on something, worried I might vomit.

  “Come, let me hold you,” Cristiano said, stepping forward as he reached for me.

  Instinctively, I moved back, my eyes on the ground between us.

  I’d once thought him incapable of experiencing pain, but I didn’t have to see his face to know I’d hurt him.

  He dropped his arm to his side, walked to the bar cart, and poured himself a drink.

  Why was I shutting him out? Cristiano was not to blame for this. He was a victim of Diego’s machinations, too. I urged myself to go to him. His body, words, and tenderness held comfort.

  But so had Diego’s. I’d found a home in him more times than I could count, and each time, I was more the fool. Diego was the reason my mother was dead; that made every single touch of his, every word from his mouth, a lie.

  My judgment couldn’t be trusted.

  I’d been emotionally vulnerable when Diego had helped me pick up the pieces of my shattered life following her death. He’d advised my father in his darkest hour and molded me into the girl he’d wanted me to be. Who was to say Cristiano hadn’t done the same, purposely severing my relationship with Diego so he could be the one to fill the void it’d left? So he could turn me into his queen, as he often said?

  My past had been a lie.

  The foundation I’d built my life on had been nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

  And it was crumbling under my feet.

  My mind replayed one of the few conversations I’d had with Diego about his parents. Maybe the only honest conversation we’d ever had.

  “Did you ever think of taking vengeance for their death?”

  Diego didn’t answer right away. As seconds ticked by, I grew uneasy. There was only one person he would take revenge on. My father.

  “In my darkest moments, yes,” he admitted.

  Diego had played me.

  Cristiano was suddenly in front of me, holding out a tumbler with a few swigs of neat, amber liquor. “You’re in shock. Drink this. It will help.”

  I took it from him. Sniffed it. Sipped it, holding it in my mouth. Brandy. I swallowed and handed it back. It would ease the pain for a while, but I didn’t want that. I had to feel the mistakes I’d made.

  “I know you’re hurting. And if it’s the last thing I do . . .” He slugged back the liquor and gripped the glass as he said, “Diego will pay for that.”

  “He said he loved me.” The words tumbled smoothly over my brandy tongue. “I loved him back.”

  “If that’s all it takes, I will love you too. More than he ever did. More than he ever could.”

  My heart reached for him. It was incomprehensible how much I wanted that after hating Cristiano for so long. And that after all the ways I’d pushed him away, he was still standing here. “How?” I nearly choked out. How had he not run for the hills yet? “You manipulated me, too. You forced me into this marriage, locked me up in this house, and made me fall for you.”

  “Natalia. My darling.” He took my jaw in his free hand and pulled my face to his. “I fell for you first.”

  “Then why did you almost die on me?” I gripped his t-shirt to push him away but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d lost too much already—but with Cristiano, why did it feel as if I had more to lose than ever? I pulled him closer as my chin wobbled. “I hate him. Help me forget. You promised you’d make me forget his name.”

  Cristiano’s expression hardened as he set his jaw and looked away. “And I told you never to come to me again if he was the reason. I will not fuck you to make you forget his name.”

  “Then fuck me so I know only yours. I am willing. And I need this, Cristiano.”

  His chest heaved with an inhale. What was he waiting for? He had his permission. Not that he or anyone needed it. If I could be tricked into sleeping with the man who’d deceived my family in the worst way, and if my mother could be forced by a stranger, then really—what the fuck did any of this matter? What was so special about it?

  I took his empty glass, set it on the nightstand, and slipped my hand between us to touch him. My body thrilled when he stirred against my palm. Nothing could soothe me now except this. Except to be taken so hard, I could think of nothing else. “This is what you wanted,” I whispered to him. “It’s what I want.”

  “I can’t,” he said, his voice strangled but determined. “Not like this. You’re in pain, and you’re angry.”

  “But I’m willing.” I fluttered my lashes up at him. “I’m giving you this gift—”

  “I won’t do it.”

  Frustration zapped through me. “Then leave me alone!” I screamed as I shoved him. “Get out. ¡Vete ya!”

  I turned away, fury eating me up inside. How could he turn me away when I needed him?

  Did he feel differently now that he realized how badly I’d been played?

  I was a traitor to my mother.

  But so what? Cristiano had me where he wanted me. Why not take what he’d often proclaimed belonged to him?

  When he spoke again, his voice was even calmer against my rage echoing through the room. “You sa
id Diego loved you, but you’re wrong, Natalia. Love is I’d die for you, not would you die for me?” With his pause, his beautiful, unsettling words hung in the air. “Diego had a certain fondness for you, yes, but it wasn’t enough. He took your virginity from you after manipulating you into offering it, but I’m going to walk away from you now to show you the difference between his love and mine. To show you that true love means putting you first. Always.”

  His words struck me at my core. Cristiano would do what Diego couldn’t—he’d give up what he wanted, what he’d fought for, what would make him more powerful. For me.

  “Is that what you need?” I heard the hesitation in his voice. It wasn’t easy for him to do nothing when his whole life had been about action. “Space?”

  Shamefully, I kept my back to him. I couldn’t look at his handsome, pained face and remember that I’d chosen the wrong brother back then—or I’d fall so deep into a black hole of regret, I wasn’t sure how I’d get out. “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right downstairs if you need me.”

  After a moment, the door closed with a soft click.

  If you need me. Deafening silence remained in his wake.

  Nineteen years ago, Cristiano had come to my dad for help. That had ended in a bullet in his parents’ heads as he and Diego had watched. What had happened in the eight years since? How had that changed them? Who would I have become if Diego hadn’t been there?

  I’d let him soothe and kiss and touch, when he’d been the villain all along. And Cristiano had been the hero, showing me respect, even when I’d been a pawn.

  I trusted him. But I could trust myself with him?

  I’d accused him of his brother’s crimes time and time again. And even now, he’d taken every hit I’d had to give and come back for more. He hadn’t struck back or left me to fend for myself.

  Pressure in my chest eased as everything I knew about Cristiano finally became clear. From a young age, he’d defended those who couldn’t defend themselves. He’d betrayed his family—an even greater sin in our world than bartering with human lives—and joined ours out of a sense of duty. And he’d been punished for it. Accused of a crime he hadn’t committed, driven away, and hunted by the true perpetrator.

  Cristiano’s truth had fallen on deaf ears. And yet he trusted me to heal him.

  I couldn’t believe in myself just then, but Cristiano understood that. It was the reason he’d walked away. And that was why I could believe in him.

  I spun, raced through the door, and down the hall to find Cristiano descending the staircase. “Wait,” I said.

  He turned back instantly, concern etched in the lines of his face. “What is it?”

  I stared at him and saw someone else. I saw him. My protector as a child, and my protector now—against enemies who made themselves known and the far more dangerous kind. Those who didn’t.

  Cristiano was my ally. He was aggrieved.

  And he was my husband.

  “I . . . I don’t need you to walk away to prove your love. I need—”

  He strode back up the stairs. When he reached the landing, he opened his mouth to speak, but I was done talking. I gripped his cheeks, pulled down his face, and kissed him with everything I had. He yanked me against his body, one arm strong around my waist, and anchored me as he took a handful of my hair at the back of my head. How could I have ever thought him cold? He was everything warm now as his eager mouth, spicy with brandy, lured me in, our tongues lashing. Then he stopped. Drew back. Slowed the kiss with short pecks from his full lips. His fist in my hair eased, massaging my scalp, then cradling my head.

  “Shh,” he said, brushing his mouth over my cheek, which was wet with silent tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.

  I pulled back to look into his eyes. The pain in them, the sheer relief, hurt me. Diego had broken both of our hearts, and too many times, Cristiano and I had hurt each other. It was enough. My voice faltered as my tears fell faster. “I—I need you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

  In a moment, I was in his arms as he carried me back to the room, laid me on the bed, and removed my sneakers and socks.

  I grabbed his hand as he stood. “Don’t go.”

  He leaned forward and cleared hair from my cheek. “I meant what I said. I’m not leaving your side.”

  He climbed over me, slipped beneath the covers, and hugged me to his chest. The past hour, the only thing I’d been able to control were my sobs. Knowing Cristiano had me, I released them, breaking down into my pillow as he whispered soothingly into my ear, his hold around me never loosening.

  “I let her down,” I said through my cries. “I chose the enemy.”

  “Shh,” he said, nuzzling my ear. “Take comfort in the fact that Bianca loved you more than anything in the world. And that now we’ll all get the closure we deserve.”

  Closure. This was what Cristiano had risked his life for. To give me answers, knowing they’d hurt me, when nobody else would.

  The boy who’d played with my heart was no match for the man who, I was fairly certain, had loved me for a while.

  Tears soaked my pillow, but not all of them came from pain as a thought formed. An utter and painstaking betrayal had given me the greatest gift I hadn’t even known possible—the permission to fall in love with my husband.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He squeezed me to him. To anyone else, he was a boss, a leader, a killer. To me, he was just Cristiano. Up until very recently, I hadn’t let him be that.

  My puffy eyes ached. I closed them, suddenly exhausted. He’d known better than I had what I’d wanted and what I’d needed. Finally, they were the same thing. For years, I’d tried to escape the truth, but I was beginning to see . . .

  This was my destiny.

  I belonged by Cristiano’s side.

  He was the man I wanted, and now I knew—he was the one I needed.

  14

  Natalia

  The emotional wreckage of the day before felt physical. It was all around me—and Cristiano and I were a unit in the middle of it. Sometime in the night, I’d shed my clothing and fallen asleep naked in his arms. His body curled around mine so tightly that we were practically one. His muscular legs trapped my thighs, intertwined with my calves. His arms secured my back to his chest, and our linked fingers unbreakable.

  Dawn had broken on a new day, and the room around me wasn’t the same.

  The blues were richer, whites brighter, and the golds glimmered as if they’d just been polished. A breeze fluttered the curtains and cooled my exposed skin as Cristiano’s body heated the rest of me.

  Cristiano was not the same.

  He’d suffered for me and because of me. He would never be innocent, but he wasn’t guilty of the one crime that had kept me from trusting him. From falling into him.

  Everything had changed.

  There were consequences to be dealt, concessions to be made, and wrongs to right—starting here in a bed I had come to know as my own.

  I knew what lay ahead. I knew what I had to do.

  I wasn’t the same.

  My decisions were made before I’d even opened my eyes.

  I’d fallen asleep in Cristiano’s cocoon and had awoken transformed.

  “You’re up,” Cristiano said.

  I would’ve never thought the sound and feel of his voice against my ear could bring such a complete sense of calm and safety. “Stay,” I said. “I couldn’t say it before, on the phone, but I’m saying it now. Don’t leave me. And . . .”

  “And what?”

  I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. I do.”

  That was true, but I’d never expected to hear an apology from his mouth. I shifted under the sheets, and he loosened his grip on me so I could turn and face him. The near-black of his eyes didn’t fool me anymore. I saw depth where I’d once seen bleakness. Love where I’d assumed there was hate. And a strength that had alw
ays been there. “Why?”

  His arms pulled me so close, we barely had to whisper. “I shouldn’t have gloated the way I did after I kissed you on our wedding day. I let Diego get to me.”

  Of all the things he had to be sorry for, that had never even crossed my mind. “You paid the price for it,” I reminded him.

  “I deserved the slap. The kiss was as real as anything else between us. It should’ve been our moment, but I let him steal it. I regretted my mistake immediately.” He moved a strand of my hair from my cheek. “And the wedding dress. I didn’t know it was Bianca’s when I ripped it.”

  “You had it fixed,” I said.

  “But it will never be the same.” Somehow, his gaze darkened even more. “That’s all I’m sorry for, though, no matter what kind of monster it makes me. I can’t apologize for anything that’s led me here. I took you off the course of a life that might’ve been right for you and brought you down a treacherous road. My dirt road with all its bumps and potholes.” He spoke with the satisfaction of a child who’d been caught stealing dessert after he’d filled his belly. “I’m not sorry for the things I should regret—the tattoo was fucked up, but every time I see it, I swell with pride to see that you’re mine. De la Rosa men are scum, but I have broken you free of one only to chain you to another.”

  “And you’re not sorry,” I clarified with some amusement.

  “To say so would be a lie—I’d do it all over again.”

  “I have a regret,” I said. “Well, I have a few, I think.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Throw them away,” he said against my skin. “They aren’t worth voicing.”

  “I have to say one, then I’ll throw it out.” Cristiano had demanded one thing of Diego and me before the wedding, and I hadn’t given him that. It had to have been important to him. I blinked up at him. “I wish my first time hadn’t been with Diego. I thought I wanted it . . . I thought he was worthy.”

  “I don’t give a fuck that he had you first,” Cristiano said, shocking me into silence. “It means nothing. He means nothing.” He ran his tongue along his top row of teeth. “It will be the thing I think of when I finally put a bullet in him, but still, it means nothing.”