“How?”
He blew out a breath. “Well . . . since I’ve been looking into him, I’ve discovered that he goes to this nightclub a couple towns over on Thursday nights. If you show up, he’ll want to know why you’re there. Then, you get him talking.”
My heart pounded at just the thought of being alone in the dark with Cristiano again.
“I’d be there of course,” Diego said, lowering his voice as he put his forehead to mine. “Watching from afar. Keeping you safe. Believe me when I say—he doesn’t lay a finger on you.”
I nodded slowly. I was walking into the fire. Was it naïve to think I wouldn’t get burned? That I could possibly use the unidentifiable, twisted bond that had solidified Cristiano and me years ago to control a conversation with him now?
“Won’t he be suspicious if I show up at a place out of town?” I asked.
He twisted his lips. “No. Your father has a lot of eyeballs here who will report your whereabouts back to him, and Cristiano knows that. He’ll think you snuck out, because that’s what he wants to see.”
“What does that mean?”
“My brother is a born hunter. He’ll assume he caught you out in the wild. Let him hunt. Let him chase. If you make it easy, he’ll see right through you.” He squeezed my shoulders. “And be careful, Natalia. He’s a master manipulator. He’ll try to twist your memories or your perspective of him, but never forget what he’s capable of or what he did.”
If he did it. I pushed the unbidden thought from my head. How could I doubt what I’d seen with my own eyes? What I knew in my gut? Cristiano had spoken of justice all those years ago, but nobody had ever imposed it on him.
“I won’t forget,” I said.
“He’s hurt too many people, and he will continue if we don’t stop him. Let your fury burn.” Diego clasped my hands and brought them to his mouth. Pressing a kiss to my knuckles, and with fervor in his words, he added, “Let it drive you toward the answers we need to stop him.”
“I will,” I said.
It was a promise. It had to be. Because even if I harbored the slightest doubt about what Cristiano had done, there was no question of what he could do.
I feared I hadn’t even begun to imagine what he was capable of.
And that if he caught me trying to cross him, I would learn.
Natalia
In the States, there wasn’t much of a rush in trying to get past a bouncer who studied my tits harder than my fake ID. But here, at La Madrina, while the doorman inspected my license, I could only think about how I was putting my life on the line to get information from one kingpin to save another. And I hated that each time my heart palpitated with trepidation, a tremor of excitement followed.
The bouncer gave Pilar and me a once-over before he unhooked the velvet rope to let us pass. I entered the nightclub with nothing on me but a credit card stuck into the neckline of my black, strapless mini dress and oversized gold hoops that swung each time my platforms hit the ground.
The windowless club had three levels with VIP railed off and overlooking the dancefloor from three sides. A large, rotating disco ball had been hung for the 70s theme, and it reflected white light from a DJ booth against the wall opposite the entrance. The club was dark enough to hide in corners, but a girl could still be seen if she wanted. Somewhere up there, Diego waited in the wings, hidden from everyone, including me—watching, anticipating, guarding.
Pilar and I hit the bar first and the dancefloor next. Diego was convinced I didn’t need to do anything to capture Cristiano’s attention except show up and dance, so that’s what I did, dangling myself out in the open like a fresh piece of meat.
When a gut feeling spurred me to look up, I met a dark and burning gaze from the floor above. In a white dress shirt with rolled sleeves and an open collar, Cristiano leaned his elbows on the rail with a drink in hand. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He’d clearly been staring but didn’t flinch or pull away.
I sipped from my straw. Will you come?
He shifted against the rail, narrowing his eyes on me.
I turned slightly, holding his gaze as I moved my hair off my neck.
Oh, yes. He stubbed out his cigarette and turned away.
He didn’t come at first, but I felt eyes on my every move. Was it only Diego? Or both men? To have Cristiano’s interest was to put myself in the line of fire, and I was in his crosshairs now, wearing nothing more than a bandage for a dress.
Pilar had picked up a dance partner, and the man’s friend slid up behind me.
Before I could react, Pilar grabbed my arm and yanked me to her. “I-I think Cristiano de la Rosa is here.”
“He is,” I said. “I saw him.”
“Then that’s him coming over here? Why?” The cubes in her Long Island Iced Tea rattled against the glass. “What does he want?”
“Nothing with you,” I assured her.
“This is Cristiano we’re talking about, he—” She jumped when her dance partner touched her waist. Her drink fell and shattered at our feet. “Perdón,” she said, bending to pick up the glass. “I’m sorry. It slipped.”
“Don’t touch that.” I stopped her, urging her back up. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s a bastard, Talia.” Her eyes widened into saucers. “He nearly beat mi primo to death, remember? In my mom’s shop.”
“Your cousin was skimming off the top,” I told her. “And bragging about it.”
“I was there,” she whispered. “I ran into the stockroom to hide, but that was where Cristiano took him to do it. I saw the whole thing from behind some pineapple crates.”
“I know.” I rubbed my eyebrow. “But that was years ago—”
“And your mother?” she asked, raising her voice over the music. “Do you tell yourself it doesn’t matter because it was so long ago?”
The man Pilar had been dancing with closed in again as his friend slipped an arm around my waist. I swatted at him, and he backed off. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said to Pilar.
“That monster is ten times worse now—why did your father bring him here?” She took my arm, trying in vain to pull me away. “Please, we have to leave.”
“He won’t do anything, Pila. We’re in public.”
“Do you think that matters?”
I didn’t have to answer. Cristiano probably got off on taking a life in front of an audience. “Go get someone to clean this mess. I can handle Cristiano,” I said, even as a wave of doubt coursed through me.
“He has to be two meters tall. He could pick you up with one hand, Tali.” She shook her head. “You can’t be alone with him.”
“I’m not alone. Look at all these people.” My dance partner tried to slip between Pilar and me. “Déjame en paz,” I said, pushing him off, hoping Diego wouldn’t get jealous and blow his cover. “Go away.”
The man showed me his palms but continued dancing near us.
“But—” Pilar began.
I pulled her to me and whispered, “I’m fine. Diego’s here—no, don’t look for him. Is Cristiano still coming?”
“He’s walking onto the dancefloor—”
“Go to the bar,” I pleaded. “Now.”
She was trembling. “I shouldn’t leave you.”
Within moments, Cristiano’s unmistakable presence warmed my back. I inhaled slowly to calm myself, even as my palms sweat. I hadn’t knowingly been alone with him since the tunnel.
I wasn’t alone, though. Diego was here.
“Vete,” Cristiano ordered from behind me.
With the command to leave, the man circling me looked over my head and left the dancefloor.
“Go,” Cristiano said to Pilar next.
She nearly tripped over herself as she scurried to the bar.
After a moment, he spoke near my ear. “You’re more courageous than your friend.”
It went against my every instinct to keep my back to him. The hairs on my nape rose. The mix of my pounding heart and the drink I’d h
ad formed little stars in my vision. I tried to pass off my swaying as dancing rather than nerves. It would serve me right to fall on my face for toying with the devil. Could Diego even stop Cristiano from doing what he wanted? I’d never been scared of the dark while surrounded by this many people.
“More courageous?” I asked. “Or more foolish?”
He grunted. “Where are your guards?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Can you turn around and look at me, Natalia?”
A wild animal like him would sense my fear. I wasn’t sure if vulnerability would help or hurt me. I turned just my head over my shoulder but didn’t look at him. “Por favor. Go. I’m just here to have a girls’ night.”
“You’re a little far from home.”
“We didn’t want to run into anyone we might know. We’re not supposed to be out.”
“Ah. You’re unsupervised then.” He lowered his mouth to my ear. “I won’t ask twice. Turn . . . around. Look—at—me.”
It was no longer a request. I obeyed, facing broad, pulled back shoulders, somehow both severe and elegant. They squared off to the lean, muscular arms that had pinned me to his body as a girl, that had held me tight as we’d danced a week ago. His skull face paint had enhanced his bone structure then—or so I’d thought. Even without the mask, his angular jaw sharpened with high cheekbones and caved cheeks. A darker, more demanding beauty than his brother’s left me breathless. They had similar faces arranged like Greek gods, but where Diego’s features yielded to sun-kissed, smooth skin, Cristiano was harsher, weather-beaten with crow’s feet around his eyes. His neatly parted hair and clean-shaven face contrasted his stern expression.
I sipped my drink, hoping to calm my nerves. “Why bother asking for anything if you’re just going to demand it?”
He licked his lips as his eyes drifted over the short, tight dress Diego had picked out for me. Though Cristiano’s eyes were as black as a starless sky, they still glimmered behind his hooded gaze. “It’s the polite thing to do.”
Had I been brave enough, I would’ve snorted in his face. He’d just shooed off Pilar with no regard for her obvious anxiety. “Is it polite to make a woman tremble with just a word?”
“Very.” One hollowed dimple appeared as the corner of his mouth rose. “Sometime I’ll demonstrate on you.”
My face flushed. He wanted to make me scream and tremble. Despite what I’d heard about his brutality, my mind descended into a shameful vision of being trapped underneath his wide shoulders, begging for a different kind of mercy.
He took my Long Island Iced Tea from me and handed it to a random woman. She started to protest but then looked up and disappeared like the others. “Let me get you a real drink,” he said to me.
Diego was right about playing hard to get. It was working. “I have to check on my friend,” I said. I took a step, but he wrapped his hand all the way around my upper arm and pulled me back against his wall of a body. “Watch your step, mamacita,” he rumbled before he picked me up by my waist, turned, and set me down.
I lost my breath, disoriented by being repositioned like a doll. “What are you doing?”
“There’s glass all over.” Cristiano signaled across the bar, alerting them to the mess.
He kept one hand lightly at my hip. I shifted to see if he’d let me go. He flexed his long fingers against me, pressing the pad of his thumb into my hipbone. A few degrees south, and he would’ve found a pistol strapped to my upper thigh—if only Diego hadn’t made me leave it behind, rendering me defenseless.
Cristiano started to pull me closer, but I moved away. He dropped just his eyes to mine. If he wasn’t six-foot-five as Pilar had guessed, he was within centimeters of it. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You only dance with men in costume?”
“You looked friendlier then.”
He pursed his lips as if suppressing a smile. “I wasn’t.”
“Did you know it was me at the party?” I asked, even though I could guess his answer.
“It’s too loud down here. Come with me.” He nodded behind him. “Arms up.”
Reflexively, I raised them when he cupped the sides of my breasts and slid the deadly weapons he called hands down my waist and hips. “What? Where?”
“Upstairs.” He squatted to clasp one of my ankles.
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to free my leg.
“Security check.”
“My legs are bare.”
“Nevertheless.” One dark eyebrow quirked. “People are creative about where they hide their weapons.” He grazed both palms along my outer and inner calf, higher and higher, until his hands were under my skirt. Finally, something else overtook my nervousness—a pulse of heat between my legs as his fingers lingered there.
“Hold onto me if you feel weak,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.
Nobody around us even flinched, either unsurprised or keeping their heads down. I tried to push his hands out from under my skirt. “I don’t have anything on me, not even my phone.”
“Is that wise?” he asked.
“I had nowhere to put it.”
He paused but didn’t remove his hands.
“And I’m not going anywhere alone with you,” I added.
“We won’t be alone.” His lifted his eyes to look directly into mine. “My men are everywhere.”
A threat. Perhaps Diego had my back, but he was one man against who knew how many savages. I couldn’t go anywhere with Cristiano. Either I’d be leaving myself vulnerable or Diego would try to stop it and put himself in Calavera crosshairs.
Cristiano’s gentle touch didn’t distract me from the fact that it was still callused, or that his hands, as they moved to my other thigh, had taken many lives. His fingertips started high and then slid down to my ankle, which he squeezed almost tenderly before standing again.
Kicking some glass aside, he gestured toward an elevator I hadn’t noticed before. “After you.”
“I’m expected to trust that you aren’t armed?”
He opened his arms. “Frisk me.”
My heart skipped at the thought of touching him. The sprawling shoulders and flat pecs under a crisp white shirt. His wide, powerful torso. He was the weapon, big everywhere that I could see. What about where I couldn’t? My gaze started to drift down, but I stopped it and turned my reddening cheek to him.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” he said, lowering his arms back to his sides. “Not only am I armed, but one signal from me could light this place up with fireworks.”
I flashed back to the barrel of his gun under my chin. Diego couldn’t stop his brother then—how could he take on the devil now? I crossed my arms. “I’m not leaving the dancefloor.”
White light reflected off the disco ball and flashed over the hard angles of his face. “Then you’ll have to come closer so I don’t miss a word you say.”
That was better than the alternative, so I closed the gap between us with a step. We were nearly toe to toe, but he still had to lean down to speak in a normal tone. “Of course I knew who you were at the party. I wouldn’t whisper my wishes to just any butterfly.”
I tried to force my muscles to relax. We were out in the open, and he was willing to talk. “Why me?” I asked.
“Perhaps to see if you’d cower. To test whether I’d scared that little girl well enough. The fact that you’re standing here tells me I didn’t.”
“I do cower. You can’t expect me not to in front of my mother’s murderer.”
He started to jut his chin but stopped. “I’m only dangerous to those who cross me or have a right to be afraid,” he said. “Do you?”
My instinct was to look up for Diego, but I schooled it. “Did my mother?”
His jaw ticked. “No.”
I dropped my eyes. I couldn’t think of her now. Even as I questioned what I knew, it felt like a betrayal to even be in the same room as Cristiano without attempting to burn it down. This was for a greater cause, though. The sooner I had what I need
ed, the sooner I could be free of this place and of him.
I looked up again. “Why are you here?” I asked.
“It’s my nightclub.”
Words escaped me. If Diego had known that, he’d neglected to clue me in. “That’s not what I meant. Why are you back?”
“To dance.” Cristiano took my hips and pulled me flush against him. With a slow roll of his body, I felt every bump and ridge of what had to be a gun. If it wasn’t . . .
“I warned you I was armed,” he said.
A flush crept its way up my neck. He held me still and moved his hips to the smooth, sultry beat of Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby.” My body undulated on its own as my hands slid up his chest. He squeezed my backside, moving me against him faster, harder, until we were so synced, he could’ve picked up my leg and slipped right inside me.
I gasped at the thought and shoved his chest. “Stop.”
He didn’t budge, but loosened his grip on me, giving me space. “No need for violence, Lourdes. All you had to do was ask.”
I inhaled a sharp breath. My second name had been my mother’s first choice, but she’d deferred to Papá’s love of Natalia. “Nobody calls me that.”
“I call you what I want—Lourdes. Or maybe Natasha. How do you like that?”
“Years away, and you’ve forgotten me completely. It’s Natalia.”
“Forgotten you? No. Not after the way you helped me escape.” His eyes drifted to my mouth, then along my neck and chest. “Natasha is what you’d be called in Russia.” He moved his hand to my upper back and pushed gently. “Let’s go. Our drinks are ready.”
“What? Where?”
“Come with me.” He guided me through the dancefloor, which was emptier than it’d been before his arrival.
It was slightly quieter at the bar, where he handed me a tall, chilled shot glass of clear liquid. I put my nose to the rim, but it was odorless. “Vodka?”
“Straight from the heart of Siberia. I brought it myself. Have you eaten?”
“I had dinner. Why?”
“Good.” He took a second shot from the bar, raised it, and said something in what sounded like Russian, followed by, “Salud.”
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