Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  With my elbows on the counter, I put my head in my hands. I didn’t know what to think. “Who—”

  “Let me finish. Cristiano delivered the sicario, forced him to his knees, and made him beg me for his life. It took a lot of time and resources to find that man you saw up there. Shooting him in the head in front of everyone was probably the kindest way to kill him.”

  If Father believed that, I didn’t doubt a lack of mercy had been shown behind the curtains. It explained his battered hand this morning—and the man’s swollen face and blood-soaked clothing. “And you believe it?” I asked.

  “I heard it from the rat’s mouth.”

  “Of course the hitman would say anything Cristiano told him to if he thought it might save his life.” I nervously pinged the tab of my soda can. “Cristiano wants to clear his name and stop running.”

  “He doesn’t need to be protected from me. He’s built himself a cartel that surpasses my own. He has his own success, money, and status now. His network spans the world, and he could’ve built his business in Colombia, Russia, Bolivia—anywhere. But he returned.”

  He could’ve been anywhere, but he was here, turning my world upside down. I gritted my teeth, wishing he’d stayed lost. “Why?”

  “Because this is his home. There’s greater risk for Cristiano to return than to stay hidden. Dios mío, me duele la cabeza.” As he grumbled of a headache, he went to the fridge and removed leftover tostadas and a small talavera bowl of salsa. “If I hadn’t believed Cristiano about the sicario, I wouldn’t have hesitated to execute him on the spot. I almost did.”

  “Why even stop to let him explain?” I asked. “And what lies could he have possibly given to change your mind?”

  “Cristiano managed to track down some of your mother’s stolen jewelry. Each piece told its own story, and each ending eventually led him one place—to this sicario.”

  “It was jewelry Cristiano took,” I said, not bothering to keep my cynicism from my voice. “He didn’t need to look further than himself.”

  “If he’d taken the jewels, he would’ve sold them to survive, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “No question he did.”

  “And then tracked all of it down again?” Papá shook his head as he stuffed his face with chicken and refried beans. “They were one-of-a-kind pieces,” he said as he chewed and swallowed. “The diamonds, rubies, and other precious gems Cristiano returned to me have unique settings I designed for your mother myself. He wouldn’t have kept them when he had nothing and could sell them.” He wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “The hitman was hired, Natalia. Someone wanted my wife dead.”

  Hearing it in such certain terms, I touched the base of my neck. At the time, Costa Cruz had been a feared drug lord. It would’ve been no small thing to hire a hit on a family like ours. I only knew of one other cartel who’d tried that, and the de la Rosas no longer existed, considering the leaders were dead. There was something as sinister about that as there was Cristiano killing the woman who’d acted as a second mother to him. “Hired by who?”

  He massaged his temples with one hand. “A rival cartel, apparently.”

  “But why? Who? And how did the man get in? How would he have disabled the—”

  “Slow down, Tali.” He shut his eyes and took a breath. “Your old man can’t drink like he used to. I have a hell of a hangover.”

  I went to a junk drawer, found painkillers, and tossed him the bottle. “Which cartel?”

  “They’re no longer in existence.” He fiddled with the childproof cap until it popped open. “I’d deal with them if I could, but they’ve disbanded already.”

  “How convenient you can’t confirm Cristiano’s story.” I got him a water bottle from the fridge. “It could be an elaborate scheme.”

  “To what end?” He shook some pills into his palm and tossed them back. I placed the water in front of him, but he washed down the drugs with a gulp of coffee. “I know you were young and may have forgotten,” he said, “but your mother trusted Cristiano above anyone except me, and he cared for her. You too.”

  I hadn’t forgotten. Cristiano had been her protector, but that didn’t mean her instincts couldn’t have been wrong about him. “He knew how much you loved her, and he wanted revenge for what you did to his parents.”

  “It wasn’t revenge. Take my word for it.” He replaced the cap on the pill bottle and looked at it pensively, as if lost in a thought. “It was a confusing time. I fell prey to my rage,” he said finally. “I needed someone to blame, and Cristiano had fled, so it was easy to convince myself he’d run out of guilt. There was no other possibility, no evidence but what I had in front of me, and what you and Diego saw. But looking back, deep down, I questioned how it was possible he’d done what he’d been accused of. To assault Bianca and steal from us—it was out of character for him.”

  “But he did that for a living—he was a hitman.”

  “For us. Not against us. Never did he so much as raise his voice toward either me or her.”

  My throat thickened. Why couldn’t he recognize that his devotion to Cristiano might be misguided? I could admit there was a sliver of possibility another explanation existed for that day—but to blindly trust him after all this time? “I know what I saw. I know what felt. I see it in my nightmares, Papá—please.”

  “I’m sorry, mija.” He reached out for my hand and squeezed it. “It must be hard to see him again, and maybe I should’ve warned you, but I was trying to—”

  “Protect me, I know.” I took back my hand and covered my face. “He put a gun under my chin. He shot Diego. He left me in a tunnel.”

  “He knew I would find you,” Dad said. “He was desperate. He understood I would’ve had no choice but to kill him with the evidence I had at the time.”

  “I don’t know if I can believe any of it,” I said, my throat thick as I tried to control my emotions. “I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t have to. You just have to trust me.” He returned to the sink for the clay pot and refilled his drink. “I’m sorry for what you saw last night,” he said with his back to me. “If I’d known you were watching . . .”

  “You wouldn’t have done it?”

  He turned his head over his shoulder, giving me his profile. “I would’ve had you removed from the party.”

  I swallowed. He didn’t regret it.

  A question I’d been fighting since the night before struggled to surface. If I’d believed that was the man who’d brutally attacked and killed my mother, would I have been as horrified?

  If it’d been Cristiano up there with his hands tied and face beaten, would I have tried to stop it?

  Or would I have reveled in his murder?

  “You were there with Diego last night?” he asked.

  Papá had heard my questions—now I’d have to answer some of his. I’d implicated both Diego and myself. “Yes.”

  He dumped sugar into his coffee. “I’ll have to have a little chat with him then,” he muttered.

  “Have the chat with me,” I said. “I want to talk to you about Diego anyway.”

  “Don’t bother.” His spoon clinked the sides of the mug as he stirred. “My answer is no.”

  “Papi, por favor—escúchame. You can’t tell me what to do anymore. You have to listen.”

  “Bueno. Go ahead,” he said, with an inviting gesture. “But it will fall on deaf ears.”

  “I love him.” He froze, his mug halfway to his mouth. “Don’t look so surprised,” I said. “You know I do.”

  He lowered his drink, staring at me. “I know you think you do.”

  “Why do you doubt it?” I asked. “Diego has been there for me practically since I was born. He takes care of me. He treats this family and me with respect. He loves me.”

  “He is dangerous, Tali. Everyone here is. I wouldn’t let you date the fucking chief of police.”

  I looked out the window. Two sparrows played in the terra-cotta birdbath Mom had hand-
painted brown and green to look like a tree. Though the landscapers maintained it along with her garden, much of the paint had chipped off. “He’s not like the others,” I said, turning back. “Diego is sensitive. Sweet. Creative.”

  My dad seemed to think a moment before he burst into laughter. “My sweet girl. You’re smart like your mother. She could teach me about everything from Shakespeare to how to have patience. She’d philosophize on the nuances of morality and ethics, then help me devise the best plan of attack against those who’d wronged me. She’d explain expressionism versus impressionism in a way that made me care.”

  I had not fully gotten to know that side of my mother. By age nine, I was only beginning to learn the many facets of her personality. But I still understood her innate warmth and intelligence exceeded that of most people. “Do you still think of her every day?”

  “What a question, Tali. Of course I do. The day I don’t is the day I never think again. But her heart was too pure,” he continued. “She could never pull one over on me. When it comes to character, that’s where I’m smart.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, nesting my hands together in my lap. “You doubt Diego’s character?”

  “No—he has been a good addition to the cartel, and faithful to me. But I wouldn’t call him ‘sensitive’ or unlike the rest of us. He is very much an active part of this world.”

  “Then why would he want to leave it?” I asked.

  My father drew back, looking amused as he dipped crust from his toast into the salsa. “Does he?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I wrung my fingers. “Diego’s and my plans.”

  “Your plans.” He sighed, reclining a hip against one counter. “Which are . . . ?”

  I stilled my hands. This was why I was here. Asking my father to accept us might not be an easy conversation, but it was a necessary one. The thought of leaving here knowing Diego would follow gave me strength. I steeled myself with a breath. “I want you to let Diego leave the cartel so he can come to California and be with me,” I said. “I—we—want to start a new life there. Together.”

  He took the sip of coffee I’d kept him from and said simply, “It can’t be, Natalia.”

  Expecting he’d say that, frustration rose in me quickly. I set my jaw. “You’re not even listening. He’s only dangerous here. With you. Once he’s away from all of this, he’ll be free to start over. To reach his full potential.”

  “As what?” He set down his mug and rapped his knuckles on the counter as he intoned, “This is in his blood, Tali—it will follow him wherever he goes. He can run away from México, but not from this life.”

  “Then maybe it’s better to have him by my side,” I argued. “Diego is a natural protector. He confronted Cristiano when he could’ve run away. He knows how a criminal thinks and won’t let anything happen to me.”

  He chuckled. “I’m impressed with your efforts. That debate class has paid off. But my answer is no.”

  My head began to throb. I slid out my ponytail holder and scrubbed my hand through my hair. “I know Diego is an important part of your business, but he isn’t happy—”

  “Maybe that’s what he tells you, but it isn’t so,” Dad said, crossing his arms. “There’s no escaping this life for me or him. What would he do in California? Bag groceries? That’s all he’s qualified for.”

  I frowned, stung and perplexed that he was around Diego nearly daily and somehow didn’t see what I did. “He’s smart and resourceful,” I reasoned. “He can do anything.”

  “That means nothing to a man like him. We’re cut from the same cloth. Here, he’s respected—a businessman, a top advisor. In the U.S., he’ll be powerless. He will be nothing.”

  “He’ll be with me,” I said, rising from the stool. “That’s all we care about.”

  “Diego will never have a normal life. And I know him better than you—he doesn’t want one.”

  “He does,” I shot back. It earned me a look that made me lower my voice. “You’re wrong. He’s not made for this world. You’re the only thing keeping him here.”

  Again, he laughed, and it echoed flatly off the tile floors. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” my father said. “Diego’s in too deep. People’s fortunes, futures, and lives are in his hands. Once a man gets a taste of that kind of power, he can never walk away from it. Not even for a woman.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” He pressed his mouth into a firm line. “Your safety is my number one priority, and Diego can’t offer you that. A peaceful, simple life would be death for him.” He turned to dump the rest of his toast into the sink. “Go back to school,” he grumbled. “Meet someone who can offer you more. Someone worthy.”

  “He is.”

  He turned abruptly. “Diego has been an asset to me in many ways,” he said evenly. “He’s shrewd, and a better businessman than most—even without an education. He’s good, but for you, good isn’t enough. I want someone great.” He paused as he balled and flexed both hands. “These things are not to be taken lightly, Natalia. I loved your mother very much. There is no higher honor in my life than to be called her husband and your father.”

  “Then you’re taking that honor from Diego.”

  He finished off his coffee and placed it in the sink too. “You will thank me one day.”

  My face heated. Did he think he was God? That he could control love? That he had any right to decide who was great and who wasn’t? “I’m sorry you don’t see the truth about us,” I said, “but you can’t stop me from loving him. I’m going to marry him someday, with or without your blessing.”

  He leveled me with a glare. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Marriage is sacred. You will do it once, and only once,” he said, raising his voice. “You’re too young to know how you feel about him.”

  “You were twenty when you married Mami,” I accused. “She was even younger.”

  “What your mother and I had was one-of-a-kind. Special. By comparing it to you and Diego, you make a mockery of my marriage.”

  As he spoke, frustrated tears heated the backs of my eyes. I lowered my gaze to hide them from him. What else could I say to convince him Diego and I had something real? Papá was leaving me no option but to find a way to show him.

  “When you talk about building a life with someone,” he said, “it should only be with the person you’re going to die next to.”

  Shiny black and orange specks blurred on my arm. I fruitlessly tried to pick off the glitter. “Diego is that person.”

  “I don’t want you around him anymore. He’s already let things get too far with you. You’re on the verge of getting your heart broken, and if that happens, I’ll have to kill him. Do you want me to kill him?”

  I choked back a sob. It was an empty threat, I knew. But for him to react so vehemently was like a slap in the face. I had no misconceptions that he’d disapprove, but he didn’t actually think he could forbid me from Diego—did he? “He’s my best friend,” I said. “I don’t want to stay away.”

  Papá sighed, then came around the counter and pulled me into his arms. I fought him at first, but his comfort was exactly what I needed just then—even if he was the cause of my distress. “I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of my head. “But nobody risks their life for puppy love.”

  “Mami did. She cut off her family knowing the danger it would put them in to be associated with the cartel, and she traded small town security for—for you.”

  “And look what it got her, eh? Is that the fate you want?” He took my shoulders and peeled me off. “You have much to learn yet about manipulation, Talia. It won’t work on me. I’m your father.”

  “Please,” I begged as he stomped away in the direction of his study.

  He turned back. “Diego is this life no matter where he lays his head at night. You might think it’s romantic what your mother did for me, but let me tell you—the pain of losing her plagues me every day. You might think yo
u’d die for him, but I won’t permit it.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” I said. “At the end of the day, we’re adults. And you can’t keep us apart.”

  On his way out of the kitchen, he snorted. “Watch me.”

  My father’s blessing meant as much to me as his opinion. He was the rock in my life. The one who’d done everything in his power to protect me, and not just physically. After Mamá’s death, I could sense how badly he’d wanted to shut down, but he’d pushed through as a newly single parent—for me.

  But Diego had been there too. He’d proven his love through a lifetime outstanding by me. I had to believe with all of my heart our love was enough for him—even if my father didn’t.

  Natalia

  It was a good thing Diego had described his home to me in such detail—it made it easier to find and show up uninvited. A large concrete wall enclosed the property, but the custom look of the wood-and-steel gate and the natural stone driveway gave away Diego’s eye for detail.

  I rang the buzzer at the end of the drive. Diego had told me not to come, but if I didn’t take things into my own hands, I’d never get time alone with him. On top of his work obligations, now I couldn’t even spend time with him at home, where Papá might see.

  After a few moments, movement in the top right corner of the wall caught my attention. I waved into a security camera. With some yelling inside the house, I heard a door open on the other side of the gate.

  “Por Dios, Natalia Lourdes,” Diego called to me. The gate rumbled as it slid open. He stepped out with a scowl—slightly disheveled and totally sexy in a cream-colored Henley and camouflage cargos. He glanced both ways, pulled me inside, and typed a code on the keypad inside the wall. The gate stalled, then creaked as it reversed closed. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.