by AJ Adams
"Persia," soft kisses and gentle hands brushing my skin. "Preciosa. Te adoro."
I came floating back to consciousness, revelling in the solid weight on top of me, aware of the moisture running down our bodies, our gasps punching out in happy harmony.
He reached out and loosened the ropes around my wrists. Too shattered to move, I kissed the arms that came cinching around me.
He buried his face in my hair, snuggling luxuriously. "You're beautiful." More nuzzling. "Delicious, exciting, the best."
"It wasn't bad, was it?"
The classic understatement earned me a chuckle and another kiss. "Tease."
"Hmm." I didn't want to move, ever. It came to me that I'd never felt like this. We were as one, souls aligned, bodies intertwined. This was it: love.
The truth once acknowledged was impossible to hide from. Love. I loved Jorge Santos.
He levered himself up, pulling out carefully, kissing my shoulders as he did so. A few efficient twists of rope and I was free. "Corazón, you okay?" He was rubbing my limbs, flexing them carefully as he rolled me into a comfortable curl.
"Yes." I embraced him, hiding my face from him so he'd not see. I couldn't love him. It was crazy. Worse than crazy, more like lethal. Jorge Santos was the leader of the Zetas, the world's most lethal cartel.
He wrapped himself around me, warm, friendly strength surrounding me. "Never leave me," he sighed.
Chapter Nineteen
Jorge
I held her in my arms, hugging the sweet lean body. Tenderness, gentleness and a fierce desire to protect possessed me.
All my senses were heightened. I was aware of the whisper of silk as I kissed her hair, of the sensual shiver as I stroked her damp skin. And in the vastness of my awareness, a centre of complete and perfect peace.
The knowledge hit me like a thunderbolt: I was in love with Persia. I'd heard Papa and his friends talk about the magic of it but I'd always thought they were exaggerating. Now I knew it was true.
I buried my face in her hair, drowning in her scent, feeling as if I'd come home. "Preciosa. Te adoro"
She kissed my shoulder, murmuring, "I'm your precious and you adore me?"
"Yup."
Her happy answering chuckle cast a sparkle over us. There was no need for words. We were complete. I pulled the covers over us, wrapped myself around her, and fell into sweet oblivion.
That feeling of serene union had me smiling in the morning, through coffee, dropping Persia off for her talk with James and the overnight security reports. Hiring Amit had been a worthwhile investment; sleeping well at night made all the difference.
But reading the headlines cast a damper. My setting the mansion on fire had hit the news, big-time. Fireball Mansion, was one headline. Gang Terror, another. When Drones Attack, a third. The newspapers were going all out.
They'd unearthed Kowalczyk's links to the Polish mafia and had gone to town speculating on how he'd built his fortune. They talked of his fake Pollock painting and Greek statue and they plastered his famous friends all over their pages. Knowing he'd rage made me smile.
They mentioned Persia as an ex-Angel and glamour lingerie model who'd left him for me. There was also a quick recap of the fight at Ascot, and a strong hint she was to blame for Kowalczyk's rage.
They'd detailed my business interests and pristine record before mentioning that Papa had been cartel and that I was cousin to Arturo Vazquez, the head of the Zeta cartel. The rest detailed some of our more spectacular moments such as the time we took down the Mexican navy's Black Hawk helicopters with our rocket launchers.
Reading it, I felt a surge of satisfaction. Taking on the military takes balls. When it comes to holding our own, we Zetas are the best, no doubt about it. I was proud to be part of it.
But the coverage would screw up my connection with Lord Grandville and that meant a setback for my seaport. I was steaming but there was little I could do. As Persia had pointed out, I couldn't take out the entire British press, at least, not with my budget and manpower. I couldn't even sue them as they'd been careful to avoid saying that I was a member of the cartel.
It was a bitch, but it was my own fault. I had taken my revenge Zeta style. It would have been ace in Nuevo Laredo but in London, I should have been more circumspect. I checked my email. Nothing yet. But I knew I'd hear from head office soon enough.
Checking the eyes on Kowalczyk, I saw he'd holed up in the Renaissance Hotel. He registered at eight and we'd bribed his chambermaid, bugged his room and tapped his landline by quarter past. Kowalczyk wouldn't be able to take a dump without our knowledge.
But it was still trouble.
As I examined the plan for taking over the next slice of territory, my Skype rang. Quique, dialling in from Nuevo Laredo. Instantly, my gut lurched. I'd expected a reprimand by email. Calls meant bad news, "Quique, hello."
"We're fine," he assured me quickly. "Your mama and sister are at the jefe's. Solitaire has invited them to a garden party."
I breathed again. "And Texas?"
"A week or two and we'll have it licked."
That meant he was calling in because of the news coverage.
"Jorge, what's going on? We've seen the papers. The jefe is concerned. Your brief was to stay low-key."
Told you. "A message had to be sent." I told him about Bender and Screwy. "I couldn't let him get away with it."
"Pinche capullo," Quique swore. "What the fuck's he thinking, killing kids? He deserves to die, the fucker. But Jorge, did you act from temper or with judgement?"
My respect for him wouldn't allow me to dodge. "At the time I thought it was judgement. But with hindsight -"
"Mira wey, I get it," Quique sighed. "But temper is for losers."
If he'd punched me, it would have bothered me less. But he was right. "It won't happen again."
"Good." Mercifully, Quique moved on. "Now, how will you manage the publicity? The jefe will want details."
We talked for a while and after I'd updated him, Quique looked a little happier. "Well, the jefe won't like it," he cautioned. "You're supposed to stay under the radar. But as we've still got a way to go in Texas, you've time to fix it." He grinned, "Results wipe the slate clean."
He'd forgive me for fucking up and putting us in the public eye but going against his authority was a different matter. For a second I considered telling Quique about Persia but the words wouldn't come. Shame and the knowledge I was screwing the job up royally kept me silent.
Quique felt my emotion. "Try not to worry," he counselled. "Remember when I was in London? I was way out of my depth and for a while I wanted to shoot myself. But I got through it, and so will you."
He was a good man. Solid gold. "Thanks, Quique."
"Enjoy the learning curve."
Talking to him had been helpful, I knew what I'd do to muzzle the press, but it would not be easy. It had been my fault, my damn temper again. I gave myself a boot up the ass and then turned to fixing it.
Approaching Lord Grandville directly would be disastrous. Having seen the news, his staff would have instructions to keep me at arm's length. So, I called Ferdy.
"Jorge, good morning!" He was loud and happy. "Gosh, you've hit the headlines, haven't you?"
"Yeah, Kowalczyk is still pissed that Persia's with me."
"I guess so," Ferdy agreed cautiously. "But his house burned down, right? A drone attack they say."
"I can't imagine it, not in London," I lied. "The moron probably got drunk, set fire to his place and blamed me. It's totally loco. As for all that cartel crap, it sells papers."
Good story, don't you think?
"Is your cousin really a cartel boss?" Ferdy asked.
"He's majored in Economics at Princeton, and he makes more in one day trading shares than I do in five years." All true. "But if you're Mexican, you can't be successful without someone smearing you." A whopper of a lie. "Arturo is Mexico's answer to Warren Buffett."
"He sounds spectacular," Ferdy brayed nervo
usly. "Are you suing?"
It hadn't actually occurred to me. We blow our enemies away; we don't take them to court. So, I stalled. "Surely people won't believe that nonsense?"
"Oh, definitely not," Ferdy lied. "Listen, we must meet for drinks."
Just what I'd been about to suggest. Being seen with a scion of the establishment, even party animal Ferdy Firth, would get me up close and personal with Lord Grandville. "We're off to races at Epsom on Saturday. Why don't you join us?"
"I'd love to but I'm in Paris for a few days," Ferdy replied quickly. "I'll call you when I'm back."
Joder! He was distancing himself. I didn't let on that it worried me. "Sure thing. Enjoy Paris!"
"Enjoy Epsom and give my best to glorious Persia."
My next call was to Ben Cartwright, the secretary of the seaport approval committee. As I was certain he'd try to weasel out of talking to me, I called his mobile from a phone registered to one of our corporations, United Associates Finance. The government dealt with so many companies, that I reasoned Cartwright would pick up without thinking. He did too. On the second ring.
"Good morning, Jorge Santos here."
I could hear him swallow a curse but he rallied manfully and pretended casual unconcern. "Mr Santos, how are you?"
"Furious, actually. Have you seen the newspapers?"
"Uhm, yes, that is, I caught a headline or two."
"I have instructed my lawyers to sue," I lied. "But I need an honest opinion, and therefore I've come to you."
More tense silence. "Oh?"
"You have the ears of the City," I flattered him. "Please advise me, how do I fight this awful smear campaign?"
"I'm not a publicist, I don't know if my opinion holds any value," he stammered. "Maybe it will all blow over?"
"It's killing me!" I confided. "Just because I'm Mexican doesn't mean I'm a crook!" I ranted away. "My record is spotless. As for my cousin, he's a Princeton graduate and one of my country's most successful businessmen. How on earth could anyone mistake us for criminals?"
Cartwright commiserated, offered platitudes and swore it would have no effect on my application. "The Home Office doesn't take its line from the gutter press."
I pretended to believe him and we ended on empty promises of lunch soon. Hanging up, I knew that Cartwright would curse a blue streak. It didn't matter because I had achieved my object. He'd talk to his colleagues and word would filter through to Lord Grandville that I'd protested my innocence. It was crucial to get that on record because I would rebuild my rep on that outrage.
More calls to the horse trainer, the billionaire, and some well-placed bankers I was on nodding terms with, made certain that London had my side of the story. For good measure, I consulted Caruthers & Salem, the country's top defamation lawyers. They told me up front to forget it, that it couldn't be challenged as the press had boxed clever, but news I was talking legal would add to my story I was a blameless victim.
So, when Paco and Lencho arrived, I was ready for business. "Kowalczyk is in his hotel room, spinning his wheels. With the coverage, he'll expect us to lie low." I could see my lieutenants grin with anticipation. "We take another slice, and we do it today."
"Awesome," Lencho smiled.
"Fenomenal," Paco agreed.
For once, pure acceptance. It surprised me, but I acted cool. "As we're short of manpower, we'll source extra guns from our core territory. It means our street bosses there will be low on cover but as they're surrounded by Zeta turf, it's unlikely Kowalczyk can reach through to strike at them."
I handed them my updated plan of attack and we went over it, noting the moves on the map. As it was just a block, and Kowalczyk's people had been decimated, it wasn't a massive risk to expand into it.
"He's disorganised," I pointed out. "By the time he knows what we're up to, it'll be too late." And, because revenge is an excellent lever, "I'm putting Tommy Q in charge of the dealers in the new slice."
"I like it," Paco said thoughtfully.
"Yeah, he's dying for vengeance," Lencho agreed.
I thought he might have. "The promotion will cheer him up and cement his commitment to us. He also knows the area, so he'll be a perfect fit. It's win-win."
"Not for Kowalczyk," Lencho laughed. "He will be screaming."
"All the way to hell," I agreed.
"We're making our mark," Paco sighed. "Respect, boss."
"Yeah, burning down his house made them all sit up," Lencho agreed. "And the drones were just iconic, boss. Beautiful."
They meant it. It stunned me, honestly it did. They had seen the press coverage, and they knew all our plans but they'd not put it together and drawn the right conclusions.
I wasn't going to tell them. I just didn't want to confess my mistake, but I told myself it would destroy their confidence in me. And as we had a lot of work to do, I didn't complicate matters. "Let's go do this."
It worked great. We roared into action, kicked down a few doors, knocked together a few heads and that was it.
"That was easy." Paco looked into a bag of grass. "This is shitty product."
"Good. Our blockade is working." I was delivering and feeling good again. "Put our people in as we discussed. Tell Lencho."
"Will do, boss."
It wasn't until I drove into Zeta Towers, in a nice discreet Honda that belonged to our car rental company, that I realised the distance was still between us but it was bothering me less. I didn't like it, but it did make leading easier.
Ducking next door to collect Persia, I found her sitting in the living room, looking drop dead beautiful in jeans and an emerald top that made her eyes shine catlike green. She smiled at me and gave a mini wave as she chatted on her phone. "Isa, it's sweet of you but like I said, Kowalczyk has gone bonkers and he's got it in for me and Jorge. He has no brakes. He's the type that will go for you just because he sees you with us."
I could hear Isa's clear tones protesting she wasn't afraid. Without ado, I took the phone from Persia. "Isa, guapíssima, Jorge here. Listen, I love that you want to help but Persia's right."
"It's awful," Isa fumed. "You've been a wonderful friend to us, Jorge, and I won't stand by idly. I'm not afraid of that Polish pillock."
Sweet Isa. "Please, if anything happened to you or the other socios, I could never forgive myself." I meant every word. I wasn't risking her. "Give me a few days to fix it, okay? And then we go partying. Promise."
"Well, okay," Isa agreed. "But I will tell everyone that the papers are talking tosh."
"Thank you, guapa."
Persia took her phone back and gave me a kiss. She smelled of vanilla and spice, sweet and exciting. "Thanks, love." Shooting a glance at the closed bedroom door, she lowered her voice. "The doctor's here. A frosty type with grey eyes."
I sat next to Persia. "That means I get to hang with you."
"Sweet," Persia grinned. She took my hand, murmuring, "That press coverage is bad news. Is it buggering up your plans for Lord Grandville?"
She understood but I couldn't have her involved. "Fresa, mind your own business."
"Don't want to share, huh?" Persia was unperturbed. "Well, tomorrow it'll be my turn."
"What?"
"I told you, they're saving me up." She didn't seem upset. "They love sex, so they'll spread me over two pages. They'll go wild with me in some sexy lingerie shoot and they'll add pixilated stills from the most perverted deepfakes."
"I'll fucking kill them!"
Persia gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, love. You're the best." But then she set me straight. "Love the rage but there's nothing you can do. The way they see it, I'm a player. And that means they talk me up one day and tear me down the next. It's what they do."
It astonished me, it really did. "Guapa, how can you be so calm about this?"
"Modelling is a hard gig," Persia shrugged. "You work out like an Olympic athlete to get a lean body but you're sold like a piece of meat. The one makes you physically strong and the other either r
educes you to a screaming wreck or a fuck-proof bitch."
This small, slender wisp of a girl was stronger than steel. But there was a darkness in her eyes that told me there was a touch of bravado there. Persia took whatever life threw at her and chucked it straight back. But she could be hurt by the people she loved.
"Tazanna mentioned a bad boyfriend," I began carefully.
Persia stiffened. "Did she?"
"That old video. Did he make that?"
"Yes." She moved away from me abruptly. "Funny how the blokes I meet do that."
My turn to wince. "Corazón, I'm sorry. I -"
"No, I'm sorry." She put a hand on my arm. "You destroyed it, nobody saw it. Also, you've already apologised for that. Over and over."
"Que pendejo soy!"
Persia giggled. "You're a prick? Well, yeah. But I shot you, remember? So we're quits."
I hugged her. "Anytime you want to shoot me again, just say so. I deserve it."
"You're a nut," Persia smiled. "But I'd rather you took me dancing. Who's playing at Bubbles tonight?"
She was deliberately changing the conversation. Pushing it wasn't an option. I'd hurt her enough. And, a tiny whisper in the back of my mind suggested, maybe she didn't entirely trust me.
That was the silent fear that killed me. She was steel under silk, honest and brave, loving and true. Persia was my perfect girl, I wanted her in my life forever, but my temper had screwed my chances. There was no way she'd take me on. She couldn't. I'd proven myself unworthy. The truth of my situation paralysed me with regret and longing.
Her phone pinged, and she glanced down, mouth twisting. "Bloody Colin again," she mumbled.
I should've blown him away, the fucker. "Is he bothering you?"
Her hazel eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare," she breathed. "I can deal with him."
She knew me so well. And that, the little voice whispered, was the problem.
I wasn't going there.
"Corazón, how can I help?"
The hard stare softened, and she put her hand on mine. "Colin's never texted me before but now he's bombarding me with messages that I owe him money, that he's going broke, and that I'm a drug-ridden cow who needs to be sectioned."