Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  He paused as if caught off guard, and it took him a moment to answer. “I like to think she and your father were both great judges of character.”

  “I like to think that, too, which is why their regard for you is so confusing.”

  His mouth parted with surprise before he breathed a laugh. “Bianca took me in. I owed her my loyalty, and she knew she had it.”

  “What kind of man turns his back on his own family to fight for their enemy?” I asked.

  “Listen . . . I don’t pretend to be moral in any way. Much of what I’ve done is inexcusable. But some things are so vile, they can’t be forgiven.”

  “I agree,” I said, raising my chin. If he had stopped his parents’ descent into human trafficking, how could he excuse himself for the same crimes?

  “She trusted me,” he continued after a moment.

  “But why?”

  “It’s not hard to gain someone’s trust; it’s just too easy to lose it. I tried to be there when she needed me. I never lied. I was forthcoming. When she and your father disagreed, I didn’t automatically side with him. I told them what I thought was right. I always did with Costa, even if I knew he wouldn’t like the answer.”

  I glanced toward the kitchen as Fisker brought Cristiano a plate. He dug in before the chef had even turned his back. “What did you and Papá disagree on?”

  “Not a whole lot, but I remember once,” Cristiano said, gulping down a mouthful of fowl with wine, “he wanted us to light up a location. He thought it housed two gang members responsible for a drive-by that took out some of our men. He was trusting his gut, but I was trusting mine, too. Despite his order, I wouldn’t move until I had proof.”

  Though Cristiano was as calculating as Diego, it was in a different way, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. Most men around here shot first and aimed later. “Why not?”

  “Costa was right—the men were in there. But I was right, too. There were also women and children in the house who would’ve paid the price if we’d attacked.”

  Maybe that was it. Diego looked out for himself, and Cristiano looked out for others. Which was nice and all, except that nobody seemed to be looking out for me. Diego had acted in his own best interest by offering me up, and Cristiano in his by taking me.

  “Weren’t you so noble, then?” I asked, sitting back. “And I suppose you feel that Diego and I forced you into a life you’d once looked down on.”

  “Only as much as I have forced this life on you.”

  So what did that mean—we were even? Hardly. Even if he’d been wrongly accused and forced out of the cartel, at least he’d had his freedom. “Do you still think you’re the voice of reason?” I asked, my temper rising. “Did you think if you cornered me, you could then convince yourself that you had saved me?” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe you hoped I’d see it that way, too.”

  A server I didn’t recognize cleared our plates as we stared each other down.

  “Did you roll your eyes at me?” It was a warning more than a question. Cristiano grabbed a toothpick from a tin and stuck it in his mouth. “You’re certainly brave for someone who thinks I’m capable of murder on a whim.”

  That image of him didn’t match the man sitting in front of me, who’d restrained himself many times over in the weeks since he’d returned. Who was he? How long until he showed me? I was rolling my eyes and sniping at him because I was frustrated. “I think you still need me, so you’re playing nice,” I said. “I just don’t know why, or for how long.”

  “I never needed you.”

  The cutting words snipped at my already short wick. “Then why am I here?” I retorted.

  “Because I wanted you.”

  My heart thumped beneath his suddenly darkened gaze. All playfulness evaporated from between us and in its place was whatever inexplicable charge had existed the night of our costumed dance. Of the morning he’d bandaged my feet. Or of any time since I’d arrived when I’d been under his spell.

  “I told you that merging our families through marriage wasn’t my idea. I have no need for you and your family. Only desire.” He relaxed into his seat again and chewed on his toothpick. “I took you, yes. The idea of having you as my bride appealed to me for several reasons. But now, I can’t imagine things any other way.”

  11

  Natalia

  As Cristiano paced by the pool on a call, I rationed what remained of my wine. I picked up the glass. Backlit by the turquoise pool, it glowed ethereal blue. It was tempting to drown myself in the wide, generous wineglass after the day I’d had, but I had to be smart.

  I’d wasted too much time being gullible. I’d hated Cristiano for orchestrating an elaborate plan to get me to the Badlands, but it was Diego who’d orchestrated everything. Forty-eight hours earlier, I would’ve sworn on my mother’s grave it wasn’t possible.

  But I knew it was the truth.

  As I tilted my glass, watching the white liquid pool to one side, I recalled something Diego had told me before we’d slept together.

  I’d have to be willing to promise him anything to get him on our side. Even if I don’t mean to keep those promises.

  Now, thanks to Cristiano, I was thinking like Diego. If he were here now, he’d spin the tale in his favor. He’d tell me he’d promised Cristiano the world to get him to agree to help us, but that he’d planned all along to free me once the coast was clear.

  I righted the wineglass. Two more sips, I decided, but then I’d stop. I doubted I’d get tipsy after the snails, duck, mixed salad, and cheese, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Reading a man like Cristiano required my full, unadulterated attention.

  Especially when I had his.

  I drizzled honeycomb over blue cheese, impressed by the meal we’d just eaten. Recreating world-class fare my mother had made might’ve been a way for Cristiano to distract me from the truth of my situation—but the walk down memory lane was welcome nonetheless. It was as close to time spent with her as I’d get.

  Cristiano made his way back to the table, tucking his phone into his shirt pocket. “I have to leave town for the next couple days, so we’re going to go over some things.”

  And of all people, I had brash, taciturn Cristiano to thank for my night with Mamá. Not that I would.

  I swiped my index finger through the remnants of honey on my plate. “Rules?”

  “If that’s what you want to call them.”

  “You already told me the first one—don’t die.”

  He slid his chair from the table and sat. “Be kind and courteous to the staff. It’s not their fault you’re here, and they just want to make you comfortable—that includes Jaz.”

  “I have no problem with Jaz.” I drew a sad face on my plate, then sucked honey off my finger. “She has a problem with me.”

  “She’s . . . protective.”

  I didn’t miss the way he stared at my mouth or momentarily lost his words. This was what Diego had meant by redirecting Cristiano’s attention where I wanted it to go. “Protective of . . .?” I asked softly.

  He inhaled and looked away—which made it hard to mesmerize him into spilling his secrets. “Of me. And herself. She wants to be here, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Gratitude.” He dipped his head, his eyes darkening. “And, of course, reparations.”

  A sense of unease worked its way through me. Was Jaz indebted to him somehow? Or he to her?

  “Courteousness should be obvious,” he said, “as should this—you’re to stay on the property.”

  “Are these just the rules while you’re gone?” I asked.

  “They’re the rules until I say they’re not.”

  “So I’m confined to this house for my foreseeable future?”

  “Correct. There’s plenty to keep you occupied here.”

  “Such as?” I asked.

  “There’s a game room, movie theater, gym. Just let one of the staff know what you want to eat. If we don’t ha
ve it, they’ll procure it.”

  Hanging out with a staff who was paid to be here didn’t appeal to me. I missed my friends. It felt strange to wonder about companionship when the day before, I wasn’t even sure I’d have a proper bed or a warm meal.

  He leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. “Anything a girl could ask for, and I suspect it’s still not enough. We also grow fruit, vegetables, and flowers out back if that interests you.”

  “My mother liked to garden,” I said, but of course, he’d know that. I’d never tended my own, but I’d helped as a kid, and it’d been a long time since I’d sunk my hands in fresh soil. “That’s something, I guess.”

  “Landscapers maintain it, but you can help as long as you stay between there and the house.”

  “Who will I talk to?”

  He winked. “You can always call me.”

  “I don’t even want to talk to you when you’re here.”

  “No?” He gestured away from the table. “You’re free to go up to our room.”

  Our room. He was mocking me. I stood, and he eyed me as if he knew my next move before I did. Perhaps he did. He’d called my bluff. Cristiano’s company wasn’t ideal, but it was preferable to being alone. The more time we spent together, the more likely he was to open up. Learning as much as I could about him and this place could only be valuable. Somewhere, somehow, I was going to figure out how to pull the pin that would implode this cartel like a grenade—or at least its leader.

  Cristiano had spent an entire day with me when he surely had better things to do, and I couldn’t fathom that would happen very often, so I had to seize what time I had.

  I sat back down. “Arguing with you is more stimulating than staring at a wall,” I reasoned. “Barely.”

  “Every day, you’ll continue learning self-defense,” he said, resuming our conversation. “That should keep you busy.” He ran his tongue along his front teeth and added, “But I suppose I could also arrange to have one of your professors brought here if you’d like.”

  My jaw dropped. I could never forget for a moment the all-powerful reach of a kingpin in this world. “Oh my God. You can’t just keep . . . taking people,” I said, blinking rapidly. “Especially not an American professor. It’s not right—it’s unfathomable.”

  He set his elbow on the table and massaged his jaw. “I—”

  “People have lives and families and—and dreams and goals.” A fleeting vision crossed through my mind—palm trees in the wind, coolers of beer on the California beach with my friends, even all-nighters at the library before finals. And that all had amounted to what? The same life I’d had as a child. Occupying myself in a big house while keeping one eye over my shoulder. Losing all that was bad enough. Now, I was putting others at risk? “That professor could be a mother or father. Do you have any idea the uproar—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Natalia.” He sighed heavily, dropping his face into his hands. “I didn’t mean I’d kidnap him. I’d make him an offer to come and teach you.” He glanced up. “I’d pay him. A far superior salary to what he currently makes. At least double—whatever it took.”

  I scoffed to hide my laugh at how wistful I’d become over his suggestion. “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he echoed. “Not everything has to be done with brute force.”

  “And I’m sure a professor would feel perfectly comfortable turning away someone like you from his doorstep.”

  He rested his hands on the leg crossed in front of him as his mouth turned down. “What does that mean, ‘someone like me’?”

  “You’re twice the size of some men. Anyone would be right to feel intimidated by you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Not really, though,” he said. “Is it because you grew up around me?”

  I gaped at him only a moment, then shut my mouth. I wasn’t going to indulge him in a conversation about how scared or not scared of him I was. That was just another way for him to exert power. Since I didn’t care for the direction of the conversation, I changed it. “How do you know Barto won’t break in again?”

  His knuckles whitened around his shin. “Max and I are taking care of it.”

  “You know how he got in?”

  “We have video.”

  “So you know?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “We’re still reviewing it.”

  That was a no, and I could see it bothered him. I sipped my wine, using the glass to hide my smile. “Are there cameras outside the house?”

  “Of course, and after Barto’s little show, we’ll be installing more as soon as possible. Inside and out.”

  “So you and your men can watch me at all times of the day. I’ll never have any privacy.” My jaw tingled. “Perverts.”

  “We’re not per—it’s for your own safety.” He inhaled through his nose and flexed his hand a couple times. “No man will ever lay eyes on your naked body again.”

  “What if I strip down right here in the middle of the patio? You’re telling me there aren’t cameras here?”

  “You wouldn’t, but my team knows when to look away anyway. You have my word.”

  “Your word doesn’t exactly mean much,” I pointed out.

  “Then consider that shielding you from them isn’t for your peace of mind. It’s for mine. If Max ever looked at you, he knows I’d remove his other eye.”

  “Why?” Now that my basic needs had been met, I could focus all my attention on the man in front of me. Who he was, what drove him, what held him back. That would only help me navigate whatever was coming my way. “You’ve told me I’m only yours, and you haven’t even touched me. Why do you care what happens to my body?”

  “Because I’m selfish and possessive over what’s mine.”

  “This home is yours, and you share it with others. You invited half the town here last night.”

  “And you think I should invite half the town to your body?”

  He’d never. I pushed the unbidden thought away, irritated I’d assume there was any horrific thing Cristiano wasn’t capable of. Maybe he’d been possessive, and even protective, since he’d returned to town—but that didn’t mean I was safe with him. “I thought when I came here, I’d be treated like your other women.”

  “What women? I don’t own anyone else,” he said, wetting his lips with a hint of a smile before it vanished. “How are women around here treated?”

  “Worked, passed around, sold.”

  The flash of irritation over his face told me more than words could—I’d poked at something he didn’t like. His brows lowered. “We don’t treat anyone that way, no matter their age or sex.”

  “Just me then. How many women have you sold?” I asked. “Is that why you go to Russia?”

  His eyes shuttered. “I’ll answer your questions in time, I promise. But not when you’re on a mission to malign me.”

  “I’m not,” I said, relaxing into my chair as I ran a fingertip along the rim of my wineglass. I still had a sip left before I’d cut myself off. “I’m genuinely curious.”

  “This isn’t a two-sided conversation.” He tracked my hand with his eyes. “You won’t listen to reason now.”

  I sighed and told the truth, hoping sincerity would gain me something. “If you’re hurting women, or anyone, I won’t be a part of it. Not even as a bystander. And children?” I asked. “Do you take them, too?”

  He slid his drink away its stem, wine sloshing against the glass. “I don’t take anyone.”

  “You took me,” I challenged.

  “That’s not true.”

  “I wasn’t willing, and we both know it.” I picked up on the irritation in his voice, but I had a feeling getting to the bottom of it would teach me something important about Cristiano, especially if he didn’t want me to know. “If you’d take one person, you’d take others, and how is that different from smuggling people like weapons or narcotics?”

  He inhaled audibly. “Marrying you is not
equivalent to human trafficking.”

  “Why not?” The cracks in his composure sent a thrill through me, spurring me on. “It’s playing with a human life.”

  “That’s enough,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “What right do you have to question me when—”

  “True, prisoners don’t generally have many rights.”

  He rose to his feet and his palm slapped the table. “You don’t know the first thing about my business, and you haven’t made any honest effort to learn. You see what you want to see and believe rumors without substantiating them. I won’t indulge that behavior.”

  Despite the menacing way he towered over me, triumph surged through me. Finally, an honest reaction. One that gave me more insight into this man. The fact that this was a sore spot for him confirmed what Diego had said.

  Cristiano was just twisted enough to believe he was different from his father. He considered himself the hero of his story.

  “Another rule that may need reiterating,” he started.

  “I already know what you’re going to say.” Don’t question me. Don’t snoop. Mind your own business.

  I’d heard it in one form or another as long as I could remember, but this situation was different. My life and my future might depend on my ability to learn my surroundings—and the man standing in front of me—inside out.

  He arched an eyebrow, regaining his composure. “Please—enlighten me.”

  “All the regular cartel stuff. Don’t touch anything of yours, don’t explore the house or eavesdrop or talk to the staff.”

  “You can do all of that,” he said.

  “Really?” Let’s see if he felt that way when I tried each of them while he was away.

  “You’re free to roam and to talk to whomever you want,” he said, “as long as the person is comfortable with it—which Jaz was not the night you got here.”

  I continued my list, ticking off items on my fingers. “Don’t challenge you—”

  “I invite you to.”

  “—or drink your two-thousand-dollar-a-bottle liquor—”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Costa’s rule no doubt.”