I spread my fingers, frowning at the rings. “I could care less about Cristiano’s wealth.” If anything distracted me about them, it was that he’d put actual thought into the design. It was such a kingpin move, matching my rings to a gun, but in its own way, it was sweet.
Sweet?
Cristiano?
Never before had the word been used to describe him, I was sure. He was rough around the edges, weather-beaten, a man who’d seen and done too much to have any sweetness remain intact. And yet with me, and only me, there was something there. He yielded. He showed vulnerability. He considered me where others hadn’t . . .
I pushed the thoughts away.
That was dangerous thinking about a man who I could never care for.
“I’m getting out of this marriage,” I said resolutely, as much to Pilar as to myself. “Without Diego, and without my father.”
“What about Barto?” she asked.
“Nope. He’s under Papá’s control. I’ve got to do it on my own.”
She leaned in, speaking softly. “How can you? You might be crafty enough to get by the guards, but it’s not as simple as that.”
“No, it isn’t. Running away isn’t an option.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Cristiano can hurt me the most without even touching me.”
“So how do you escape a man who has the means to find you wherever you go? You need help.”
“Nobody can help me,” I said. “I’m on my own, and I have a plan. The more I know about Cristiano and the Calavera cartel, the more power I have.”
Admittedly, the plan didn’t sound like much of one. Getting to know Cristiano had proved to be a wild ride. It seemed like every time he opened his mouth, something I didn’t expect came out. And his actions were even more unpredictable.
But it all formed a bigger picture, and I had to believe once that revealed itself, I would understand what was best for me. That was my goal now—taking charge of my life as much as I could.
“I’ve learned so much already,” I murmured. Not just about him, but about this world. And maybe even myself.
“Like what?” she asked.
“The Calaveras are nothing like they seem.” I scratched my chin on my shoulder and glanced at my mariposa. “To be honest, this isn’t the worst tattoo I could have. Calavera represents the opposite of what you’d think. The wings are almost symbolic.”
Pilar’s forehead creased—she looked like she was going to blow a gasket—and I realized how backward all of this sounded. I opened my mouth to clarify, but that would mean I was defending Cristiano. Explaining his actions. And the way Pilar looked at me, I felt like a sucker.
“Cristiano, unlike anyone I’ve known around here, evens the score,” I said carefully. “He does good things as well as bad.”
“The arms trafficking?” she asked.
“No, that’s legit, but the profits he earns from that—and they’re considerable—he puts toward other . . . endeavors.”
“The sex trade,” she almost whispered. “I’ve been hearing that for years about this place.”
I nodded. “Did you see anything when you drove in?”
She shook her head. “I had to wear a blindfold, but Alejandro was nice about it. He sort of gave me the option without really giving me an option, you know?”
I smiled a little. “I do, all too well.” I paused, trying to think of how to word what I wanted to say. Since Cristiano had left the morning after we’d slept at La Madrina, I’d been asking myself what I believed and what I didn’t. His story added up. But my feelings about it didn’t. “I can’t really say too much. But whatever you’ve heard about the Calavera cartel, there’s another side of the story. A good side.”
“Good?” She looked over her shoulder. “Not a single thing I’ve heard could be described that way.”
I shielded my eyes against the sun reflecting on the water. “Just trust me.”
“I do, Tali, but . . . that’s the complete opposite of what everyone says.” She blinked a few times. “I mean, how could some of it not to be true?”
“I’m not saying they’re angels, believe me.” I rubbed the inside corners of my eyes, knowing how it sounded—like I was excusing Cristiano’s behavior. “Cristiano is still . . . he’s . . .” I couldn’t find the words, because I didn’t know myself. I knew what I wanted to believe about him, but what I actually believed? Not the best but not the worst, either.
“He’s scarier than any monster,” I said quietly.
I’d let that soothe me as a child, but it wasn’t until my mother’s death that the words had taken on a negative meaning. On some level, as a young girl, I must’ve known something good in Cristiano.
And now . . . I wanted Cristiano on my side. He was the law in a lawless land, a dark hero for those who needed one. A protector.
Things I might’ve called him to his face, if only he’d been that for me.
And now, thanks to my guidance, he was out there searching for something that would only make him more powerful. That was all a man like Cristiano wanted. No matter what he’d divulged about his mission, it was the only thing he would pursue to the point of madness.
Power.
That was the everything he’d claimed was within grasp.
The everything he’d confront danger to get.
And that could either hurt or benefit me, depending on which Cristiano I was dealing with.
When he returned, it would most likely be as an even more powerful husband . . . or a more formidable captor.
20
Natalia
Cristiano’s bed was irritatingly comfortable and welcoming—nothing like what I’d expected riding to the Badlands with him.
I stared up at the ceiling, thankful Pilar was under the same roof as me and away from Manu. We’d actually managed to have a good time lunching by the pool, followed by popcorn and a movie, but I could tell she was anxious over Cristiano’s return.
I was the one who should be anxious—yet my mind was occupied by my earlier conversation with Pilar. She was skeptical of his business, but I’d tried to defend it. Could I believe and respect him while despising what he’d done to me?
I reached over to the nightstand and took the cell phone he’d left me from the drawer. He’d told me to call, and there were things I wanted to discuss with him.
“I have to talk to you about Pilar,” I said when the line clicked.
“Good evening to you, too,” came Cristiano’s familiar, rumbling voice over a din of background chatter that sounded like a restaurant.
I flopped back onto my pillow and twirled my hair around my finger. “Good evening.”
“I’ve already spoken with Alejandro,” he said tersely.
“And?” I asked.
His voice went distant as he excused himself from wherever her was; he didn’t speak again until the background quieted. “Tell me what you’d like me to do with him, Natalia. The fiancé.”
Chills covered my skin. I’d never been asked to determine anyone’s fate before, and if I knew Cristiano, he wasn’t asking if I thought we should write Manu a threatening e-mail. “I don’t know,” I said.
“Yes, you do. Don’t get shy on me. Don’t you want justice for your friend?”
“Yes . . .” I counted the number of antlers in the chandelier to avoid asking myself what kind of justice seemed fair for a pig like Manu. Someone who’d beat on a woman half his size should feel that same wrath turned on him. And with my husband hanging on the line, I had the means to make that happen. “She’s afraid of you. You beat up her cousin,” I said. “She saw the whole thing.”
“I remember. He was a thief. I should’ve killed him.”
“For stealing?” I asked.
“No. For sexually abusing Pilar’s half-sister.”
My mouth fell open as the chandelier’s faint, warm glow blurred. Pilar had mentioned supporting Nessa through that. “That’s why you did it?”
“Costa didn’t give me permission to
kill him, even though I disagreed and told him so,” Cristiano said. “Instead, I left him lacking in the one place that matters.”
I shuddered. “You mean you . . .”
“No, but I’d be surprised if the thing between his legs could even twitch on its own.”
“Oh my God.”
“So about the ex-fiancé,” he said almost cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he’d probably just scarred me with that mental image.
“Ex?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “She won’t leave him.”
“Then he’ll have to leave her.”
I fell silent. I had some idea of what that meant, but I was afraid to ask for clarification. I wasn’t sure it mattered what Cristiano intended to do to Manu, only that it would be bad enough to keep him away.
“It seems we don’t even have to be in the same room for me to scare you,” Cristiano said.
Manu deserved whatever was coming to him. All I had to do was order the punishment, and my husband would enforce it. Cristiano could deliver justice when everyone else Pilar cared about had failed her—but to feel pride over that posed a question I wasn’t sure how to answer.
Did I belong in this world as Cristiano kept suggesting? Had I ever really left? Just because I’d been deaf, dumb, and blind to my father’s business while in California didn’t mean I could erase the years I’d been raised in the middle of it. It didn’t mean I wasn’t my father—or my mother’s—daughter. Papá served justice, as Mamá had.
“I’m not afraid. But why would you do all that for Pilar?”
“She needs someone stronger than him in her corner. Now she has an army of us. But that’s not what you’re asking.” With a shuffling on the line, it got even quieter. “You’re wondering why I should help her when you feel I’ve done the opposite for you.”
My stomach rose with a deep inhale. Who was in my corner? Who was stronger than Cristiano? Perhaps I could be. I was learning the ropes from the master himself, after all. “You can see why I’d think that.”
He didn’t respond right away, and when he did, I had to listen hard to catch his words. “I’ve asked myself the same.” He cleared his throat. “All I can tell you is that I’d help Pilar regardless of your association with her, but the fact that she’s your friend makes it all the more personal. I will handle this, Natalia. And I will take her under my protection if that’s what she wants.”
I shook my head, gratitude for his help and contempt for my situation warring inside me. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. In any case, Alejo will be happy to handle this while I’m away. He seems overly concerned for a girl he hardly knows. Perhaps he’s got a thing for her.”
“It might be mutual,” I said, allowing a small smile. “Although . . . she did speak about him the same way she did Barto.”
“Barto?” Cristiano sounded annoyed. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
“He helped her, too, after the wedding.” I reached up and played with one of the bed’s gauzy, white curtains. “I can’t really blame her. They’re both handsome men, Barto and Alejandro.”
Cristiano growled. “You’d call them handsome, but your own husband, you treat like Quasimodo.”
I laughed. Cristiano was the last man on Earth I’d think of as insecure, and perhaps the last man who had reason to be. He was beautiful in a way normal men could never touch. His own brother was strikingly handsome with clear green eyes, high cheekbones, and hair that begged to be touched. But there was still no comparison. Paired with a face and body right from Mount Olympus, Cristiano’s darkness devastated.
And I’d die before I admitted that to him, I thought willfully.
“Speaking of Alejandro, you need to let him spar with me.”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“He could hurt you.”
“So let me get hurt, Cristiano. You let me fight with Solomon. Is it because Alejandro’s good-looking?”
“You’re not helping your case.”
I sighed. “If I don’t practice what I’m learning, I’ll be useless in a real fight.”
“You’re my wife, and I don’t want him putting his hands on you.” His anger fizzled with his words. Cristiano didn’t truly believe Alejo would try anything. “Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll talk to him before tomorrow’s lesson—but when I get back, you’d better be advanced enough to take me on.”
“Thank you,” I said, biting my lip as I tried not to entertain all the ways I could take him on. Silence settled over the line. “You should get back to your thing.”
“What thing?” he asked. “I’m talking to my wife. That’s my thing.”
I stretched my legs under the covers, pointing my toes. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
“Eager for me to come home, eh? Or perhaps the opposite, in which case you’ll be glad to learn I’ve had a setback.”
“How?” I asked.
“The trail has turned cold. I wasted two days.”
“Are you still in the country?”
“Yes.”
“Have you asked my father for help?” I asked. “You have a stronger worldwide network, but within México, Papá is well-connected.”
“This is a matter I have to handle on my own,” he said. “I don’t want to tell Costa until I have every confidence that it’s true.”
“That what’s true?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “Does it involve him?”
“Yes.”
With a flurry of jitters, I spread my hand over my stomach. “How?”
“I would tell you, Natalia—I promised to answer your questions. But like with your father, I don’t want to until I know more. Because it involves you, too.”
I curled my hand into the sheets, intrigue rising in me and clashing with wariness. In this new world of mine, anything could happen. Nothing was off-limits. I’d been lucky in my situation so far, but that could change. “I don’t know how many more surprises I can handle, Cristiano.”
“You can handle a lot. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t think so. You prove it to yourself more every day.”
I wasn’t sure where his confidence in me came from, but he had a point. Almost two weeks at Cristiano’s, and I was physically, emotionally, and mentally stronger than I’d been when I’d arrived.
“What if you don’t find what you’re after?”
“Then I suppose it will be some time before I return. I’ll be tempted to come home for the same reason I have to press on, but I won’t return empty-handed unless I have to.”
A reason that involved me. Something that tempted him to come home—and also drove him. I tapped my chin, trying to piece it together but coming up short. “You are the most cryptic man I’ve ever met.”
“I choose to find the compliment in that. I’m grateful to have graduated from asshole, monster, and devil to ‘cryptic.’”
I bit my cheek to hide my smile. “Wishful thinking. But if you do this for Pilar, then I promise to cross one of those off the list.”
“Then I will do this for Pilar. And I will do it for you.”
He still hadn’t said why in any way I could fully comprehend. Why he’d handle everyone from Manu to the Belmonte-Ruiz cartel, and all the dangers in between, if it meant helping women. There was only one explanation for that.
It had to be personal.
And personal was exactly what I needed if I had any chance at even beginning to understand him. And to understand if escaping him was still the best thing for me.
“Have there been women you couldn’t help?” I asked.
He went silent for so long, I wondered if he was still on the line. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed.
With a firm, sudden knock, I vaulted upright in the bed. “Someone’s at the bedroom door.”
“It’ll be Jaz with my dry cleaning,” he said.
“Dry cleaning?” I wondered aloud, picturing Cristiano in one of his pressed suits. Despite the nature of his bu
siness, he was almost always clean-shaven or neatly trimmed, sporting fine Italian loafers and Swiss watches, and his black, inky hair was never too short or too long. “What’s the point?”
“Not every interaction I have ends with bloodshed,” he said. “Are you decent?”
I glanced down at the silky red camisole and shorts that had one day appeared in my dresser drawer. “My mother instilled in me the importance of dressing as well for bed as I would for church,” I told him. “Even when I’m alone.”
“Mmm.” I heard his contentment over the line. “Send Jaz away and tell me every last thing you’re not wearing.”
“Cristiano.”
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you for a while—I never promised you wouldn’t touch yourself.”
While he listened? God, how obscene. And tempting. It was turning out that I loved the utter filth that spilled out of him when he got excited. With that thought, I shifted the phone from my mouth and called, “Come in, Jaz.”
“Use my imagination, I guess,” Cristiano grumbled to himself.
The door flew open and Jazmín breezed in with armfuls of suits and shirts sheathed in plastic. “Excuse me. I’ll be quick.”
“No rush,” I said as she passed into the closet without even a glance in my direction. I moved back against the headboard and lowered my voice. “She hates me.”
“Give her time.”
Hangers scraped in the closet as Cristiano’s line remained quiet. I checked the clock. It was almost nine. I wanted to ask where he was, and not just because it could be a clue as to why he was gone. I was curious about what he did outside these walls. About his life. About whether he was with anyone. Where he was, what he was doing.
About him.
Every layer I’d unpeeled had revealed something I hadn’t expected. And with his promise to help Pilar, I felt myself opening to the idea that he could possibly be not just a hero to others, but to me—even if he wasn’t one for me.
Did that mean I cared? Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my trepidation and hatred of him had been waning. Would other feelings rise in their absence? They had to. The only thing more improbable than falling in love with Cristiano would be indifference toward him.
Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2) Page 27