“Cristiano would always be a threat to me. I needed him to believe I was dead.”
The road turned bumpy, and I steadied myself on the van’s side panel, suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. “Why?” I asked.
“So Cristiano would drop his guard while Belmonte-Ruiz and I formed a plan to get you out.”
So this was the work of Belmonte-Ruiz. “What about their truce with—” I stopped before I could say us. I needed to use language to my advantage, too, and separate my interests from Cristiano’s. “With Cristiano and his cartel?”
“A ploy to buy us time while we got things in place.”
“What things?” I asked.
Diego pushed up the sleeves of his black Henley. I’d told him on many occasions how strong and sexy he looked in the ribbed, long-sleeved shirt. Had he worn to remind me of that, the same way he carefully chose his words?
“It’s complicated,” he said, “and not anything you need to worry about. Just cooperate, and you’ll be fine.”
Don’t worry. Diego’s mantra when it came to me. Diego asked for my trust in him, which meant he believed I was still foolish enough to give it. And why shouldn’t he? He couldn’t know the woman I was now. How I’d grown. The depth of love I possessed for my husband, and the lengths I’d go to to get home to him.
Was he safe?
The road had smoothed, but my nausea returned.
Had they ambushed him, too? God. Let him be safe.
I put my face between my knees as I had the urge to vomit.
“Is it morning sickness?” Diego asked.
My heart plummeted to my feet. Blood drained from my face as I stared at the muddy floor of the van. My red toenail polish, too happy for the moment, burned my irises. There was no possible way he could know I was pregnant. I hadn’t even known until this morning, and my stomach was nothing but abs after the workouts Cristiano had put me through.
I raised my head. “What?”
“I saw the sonogram in your purse.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, princesa. To think of Cristiano’s hands on you . . . it kills me. The things you must’ve endured with him.”
As he spoke, a red film covered my eyes. If Diego knew I was pregnant, he could—would—use that against me. Against Cristiano.
Fucking bastard.
Diego thought I endured Cristiano’s sexual advances instead of welcomed them. He assumed the pregnancy was against my will when it was the happiest news of my life.
It wasn’t the truth that mattered, though, but what Diego believed.
I suddenly understood all too well the position Cristiano had been in since our wedding day. Those who knew your weakness could exploit it. That was why, early on, he’d let the world think our marriage was only for show.
It was why I couldn’t let Diego know I’d do anything possible to save my baby.
I resisted the urge to pull my knees to my chest and sat up instead. “I didn’t ask for it,” I said simply. “The baby. The world doesn’t need more of someone like Cristiano.”
Diego tilted his head at me. “You don’t want it?”
A pit formed in my stomach. On Our Lady of Guadalupe, I wouldn’t wish away my child. I couldn’t. But as Cristiano had taught me, it could be the best way to protect it.
I glanced at the ground, shaking my head. “No.”
“No?” he prompted. “No what?”
“I . . . I don’t want the baby.”
Diego quieted. My stomach churned even more for the lie as it settled between us. I felt sick. How could I say it?
After a few moments, he replied, “You’re lying.”
My eyes fell shut. He was calling me a liar? “It’s the truth,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing even to my own ears.
He shook his head slowly. “You forget how well I can read you. You want the baby. I have to assume you want Cristiano, too, then—which is a problem for us.”
I gripped the edge of the seat.
I didn’t want to cooperate or comply. Or malign or dismiss the most important man in my life. To pretend as if Diego hadn’t betrayed me in the worst possible ways.
I bit my bottom lip until it smarted. I had to hold my tongue. Information was power, and I needed to withhold it as much as I needed to get it. I couldn’t reveal that I knew his crimes, his scheming, the mask he hid behind, the fact that he’d . . . he’d . . . unlocked the tunnel and as a result, my mother had—fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him.
“I can see you’re upset, Tali. Tell me what’s running through your mind—the truth, though. No more lying.”
“Yes, I want the baby,” I admitted. “I thought you’d think I was a traitor if I admitted it. It doesn’t mean I care about Cristiano—”
“Another lie.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit here and pretend he hadn’t done this, or that I would betray Cristiano. I’d been innocent and naïve with Diego my whole life, and where had it gotten me? Here. For months, I’d lamented that I’d never gotten to hear Diego confess. I’d been given a second chance to face the man who was, in my eyes, my mother’s true murderer.
I lifted my head. The words tumbled out, leaving a metallic taste in their wake. “I know what you did.”
His expression eased. After a few moments of strained silence, he asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Exactly what you think,” I said.
Once I revealed what I knew, there was no turning back. It would permanently put us on opposite sides. But I had to do it. For myself. For her.
“I heard it directly from Vicente Valverde,” I said, my jaw tingling with disgust and contempt. “I know what you did. You let them in the house, and then ran them out of town. You’re responsible for my mother’s death.”
23
Natalia
At the mention of the Valverdes—a name Diego had probably never expected to hear from my mouth—he went completely still. He didn’t blink.
The shift was palpable, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d just sealed my fate. I was no longer the damsel in distress he wanted me to be.
But I’d been holding it in for months with no guilty party to accuse face to face. Now, I’d redeemed some small part of what Diego had stolen from me, from my mother and father, and from Cristiano. He now knew that in my eyes, he’d never be the hero again.
And that there’d never be a greater villain to me than him.
“Why’d you do it?” I asked. I knew why, but he should have to say it.
He looked across the aisle of the van at the two Belmonte-Ruiz men. Their expressions hadn’t changed. I doubted they gave one fuck about this conversation.
“Costa owed me two lives for taking my parents,” he said. “When the Valverdes came to me, I saw my opportunity. I took it. Bianca paid the price for what Costa did,” Diego said slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. “I’m sorry it hurt you, and I’m even sorry she had to die.”
“How can you say that when you were the cause of my hurt and her death?”
His forehead wrinkled with concern as he looked at his hands. “I cared for Bianca—as I care for you. Falling in love with you happened both slowly and overnight. It hit me hard. I still love you.” He splayed his hand to remind me of the tattoos between his fingers—the roses with his family name on one, and on his ring finger, our initials. “I always wanted us to do this together.”
I clenched my teeth. Screw you.
I wanted to spit at him, headbutt him, kick him in the balls. But I didn’t bat an eyelash. “Do what together? What do you want me for?”
“Costa would’ve lost the Cruz cartel if not for me, Talia. After your grandfather passed, and before I stepped into an advisory role, Costa could barely control what he had—that’s why the Valverdes tried to take it.” He sighed, propping his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face. “But under my helm? It flourished. It was mine to take over one day—it only made sense that you and I would run it.”
“What about my father?”
I asked.
“Once you and I were married, he’d have understood it was time to step down.”
“And if he hadn’t?”
“He would’ve.” A threat. “If Cristiano hadn’t reentered the picture, that’s what would’ve happened,” Diego said. “We took a little detour, but we’ll end up in the same place.”
As Cristiano had said, Diego would’ve taken over by any means, and the course he’d have chosen was using my love for him against Papá.
And if Diego still saw me in that role but knew I wouldn’t cooperate—what were his plans then?
“Where?” I asked through a swallow. “Where will we end up?”
“At the head of the de la Rosa and Cruz cartels.” Diego linked his hands between his knees and glanced over at me. “And now, you’ll help me get Calavera, too. Costa still owes me a second life, but I’ll take the next best thing—his cartel. His daughter. Cristiano’s wife. If you can get past all this, we can do it as a team again—”
“You lied to me. You kept me in the dark.” The van jostled as we hit more unpaved road. “That’s not a team.”
Diego kept his eyes down as he flexed his hands and massaged one palm. “The secrets surrounding Bianca’s death always weighed on me. I know my involvement hurts you, but you’ll move past it. And when you do, we’ll get everything we always wanted. The fortune, the business . . .” He glanced up at me. “Over time, once you forgive me, maybe we’ll even get more of the romantic nights like our first.”
My stomach roiled. How dare he call that night anything but it was—a violation. It made me sick. God willing, I’d never think of that night again and how stupid I’d been to fall for his empty words. “You stole my virginity.”
“You gave it to me.” He reached out to touch my face, but I flinched back, and he dropped his arm. “You’re right to be upset. I just couldn’t bear the thought of watching you marry him without having any piece of you to myself. It meant everything to me, Tali.”
Bile rose up my throat, and this time, it had nothing to do with the road. It means less than nothing to me, I wanted to tell him. Cristiano fucks me so much better.
I would’ve said it if I was only responsible for myself, but I couldn’t risk provoking him.
Diego sighed. “We should arrive soon.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“We have some things to figure out.”
Some things. I had an idea of what he meant. “Cristiano won’t cooperate,” I said bluntly.
Diego’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t respond at first, as if deciding whether I actually knew anything.
I might, if his plan was the one Cristiano, Max, and I had pieced together months ago. Belmonte-Ruiz hadn’t killed any of us when they’d had the chance—that was no coincidence. We’d concluded that Diego had intended to use me as leverage to force Cristiano into helping Belmonte-Ruiz expand their human trafficking ring.
But that would never happen.
Cristiano knew my wishes. I would not allow him to put his soul and others’ lives at risk for me. Diego was delusional enough to think he could pull this off, but I’d come to learn that Diego’s delusions were extremely dangerous—and for Mamá, they’d been fatal.
“My brother has pissed off a lot of people; I’m not the only one who wants to see him dead,” Diego said finally. “If anything, my plan is the only thing keeping him alive—at least, for as long as I need him.”
The vehicle hit soft ground and slowed to a stop. Diego patted my knee, put on his jacket, and passed me the burlap sack. “Put it on.”
He helped me from the van. The sun never hit my face, and the temperature had dropped, but the sack let in enough light that I could tell it was still daytime. We walked up a small hill, and I struggled for breath, as if something sat heavy on my chest. My dress brushed the ground as dense dirt gave under the spikes of my heels.
Once my shoes hit firmer ground, and the fresh air turned stale, Diego said, “You can remove it.”
I pulled off the sack. We stood in a sprawling, one-story concrete and brick warehouse, surrounded by wood pallets and a forklift, steel shelving with plastic bins, gas cans, and crates. I searched for any potential weapons. Petrol and wood to burn the place down. Scissors at a workstation near a conveyor belt. If he didn’t tie me up, I could sprint for the fire extinguisher against one wall. Incapacitating him with that would require little mobility and even less creativity—but what about the other men?
Diego took me to a windowed office in one corner of the warehouse. He handed me the keys and said, “Unlock it.”
He didn’t want to turn his back to me. With the truth about my mother out there, I’d lost at least some of the trust he might’ve kept. I took the single key. I could jam it in his eye. Slipped it in the lock. But that’s not strategic.
He definitely had a gun on him—he’d be stupid not to. It was most likely somewhere around his middle.
I held my breath as I opened the door.
Diego took the key and the sack from me and gestured for me to pass through, then at a metal folding chair against the back wall, under a domed floor lamp. “Sit.”
He walked to a desk of computers across from the seat. Above it was a bank of monitors—security footage of the inside and perimeter of the warehouse.
“What is this?” I asked, trying to distract him as I noted my surroundings. Empty buckets in one corner. A stack of bricks in another. A file cabinet. Even the lamp and chair could act as defense weapons. Anything that wasn’t bolted down. My purse was nowhere in sight.
“We’re just going to let my brother know you’re safe.”
“Why?” I asked as I walked to the chair.
“Hands behind your back.”
I held them together in front of me, hoping he wouldn’t think anything of it. Easier to escape that way.
Diego eyed me up and down. “I said behind you.”
“Does it matter?” I said but obeyed, mentally preparing myself for the most difficult restraints. However he bound me, I could get out of it. I’d practiced countless times. But some scenarios were worse than others. For handcuffs, I could try to find a prop on the desk in front of me, but I’d need time alone. All my sneakers at home had Kevlar laces that could cut through zip ties or rope, and some even had universal handcuff keys strung on the laces for this purpose—but of course, I was in heels today.
I’d have to find another way.
When I heard the screech of duct tape, my fraught nerves settled slightly. Of everything he could’ve chosen, that was on the easier side to escape. I might even be able to do it with him in the room.
I made two fists to give myself more wiggle room as he taped my wrists good and tight.
But not tight enough.
“I’m sorry if that hurts,” he said, his green eyes meeting mine as he frowned. “It’s partly for show, and partly because I’m not sure I can trust you right now.”
A genuine apology. In his voice, I heard the boy I’d once loved. I tried to see Diego the way I had before—as a creative, smart, level-headed man I’d aspired to spend the rest of my life with. He’d said he’d loved me, and I still believed he’d thought he had. Perhaps selfish love was the most he was capable of, but Cristiano’s selflessness and had taught me love’s true meaning.
His words came back to me now.
Love is, “I’d die for you.”
Not, “Would you die for me?”
A lump formed in my throat. Not for myself, but for what Cristiano must be going through. For me to disappear from right under his nose, he’d blame himself. He’d suffer. I had to survive this, fight back, and go home to him.
If I could manage to tap into better times during a situation like this, then Diego could, too. “How’d you do it?” I asked as he ripped off the tape and patted it into place.
“Do what?” He came around to stand in front of me, surveying his work. He held up the tape. “I won’t bother with your mouth, but don’t scream. The o
nly people who’d hear you would enjoy it and might come sniffing around. I’m only one man to defend you.”
I refrained from shuddering. Again, his words were intentionally chosen to rattle me. I wouldn’t let them. “How’d you look me in the eye every day?” I asked. “You watched us bury her.”
He set the roll of tape on the desk and took the small white envelope with my sonogram from his jacket pocket.
“It’s in the past, Tali. No point in reliving it. Just know, I’m sorry it happened the way it did.” Diego sighed, as if truly regretful. “And for Cristiano to be accused of violating a woman who’d acted as a mother to him? A man like him, a known rapist? It must’ve torn him apart. I can’t imagine.”
My breath caught in my throat. He could imagine, and it pleased him. Maybe Diego had known his older brother had tried to shield him during his youth from their parents’ business. Yet, somehow, he saw that as betrayal. “How can you say that so cavalierly?” I asked. “She was abused because you let the sicario in.”
“There’s no way I could’ve known it would happen that way.” Diego stared at me. “Bianca didn’t deserve it, but your father did. And he deserves what’s coming even more.”
My throat dried. Diego could easily rip out the hearts of the two men who’d killed his parents—because he had me. “What’s coming to him?” I asked so softly, I wasn’t sure he’d heard.
He came and squatted in front of me. The fact that he had the nerve to look me in the eye told me that he’d convinced himself he was the hero of this story.
“My problem is only with Cristiano and Costa,” he said.
“Then it’s with me, too. They’re mi familia.”
“They can’t walk away from killing my parents and destroying my family’s business,” Diego said. “I’m going after what rightfully belongs to me. Can’t you understand that?”
I tried with everything I had. If I could not only understand but love Cristiano after years of loathing him, it shouldn’t have been difficult to see the point of view of the boy I’d worshipped. My father had made both of them witness their parents’ murders as a warning—loyalty would be rewarded, dissention would cost them their lives.
Violent Triumphs (White Monarch Book 3) Page 22