Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
I bit my tongue to stop from retorting what a shame it was that he’d lived to see anything at all. It was enough that Diego and I had his attention; it wouldn’t help to anger him.
“Tell me,” Cristiano said, moving to see me better. “Have you learned how to shoot a gun yet?”
When you aim, kill. “Hand me yours,” I said, “and let’s find out.”
“Cuidado, Talia,” Diego said through his teeth. “Careful. You don’t know what he’s capable of. Go back to the party. I’ll find you.”
I kept my eyes on Cristiano as his stayed on me. “What if he tries to hurt you?” I asked.
“Not unless the traitor strikes first,” Cristiano said. “Go back to the house, and I promise you my brother’s safety.”
A second firework sailed through the night sky and exploded blood red. “He’s not a traitor, and he’s not your brother. I don’t know what my father wants with you, but you’re not family.”
I immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Cristiano came closer, tilting his head as his black eyes took me in. “Natalia Lourdes,” he said, drawing out my full name in a way that made it sound sinful, like wisps of breath against a neck that didn’t belong to him, and dangerous, like sharpening a knife.
With a sudden movement from Diego, Cristiano turned his head, focusing on his brother. “If you’re going to draw your gun on me like you did back then,” he said, “aim well. You’ll only have one shot, and this time, you’d better be willing to die for it.”
Behind him, the shadows stirred. Two shapes with two sharp pairs of eyes took form. Were these the misfits Diego and Tepic had spoken of?
Before anyone could make a move, voices from the lawn made me turn.
Barto approached with two members of our security team. He looked between Cristiano and Diego. “Costa wants to see you both in the ballroom. Now.” Barto turned to me. “And you, Natalia. What are you doing here?”
“I was just taking her back to the house,” Diego said.
Barto frowned at him, shaking his head. “You’d do better with the truth, Diego.”
“Meaning?”
“Costa’s likely to be less angry that she snuck into the party on her own than that she came to spend time with you.”
Diego licked his lips. “Had I been informed we were hosting a known murderer and rapist, I would’ve obviously sent Tali straight back.”
Cristiano barely noticed the insult. Instead, he was watching me. Listening. He’d always been that way, taking in everything around him, processing it like a computer, keeping his observations to himself—to what end, God only knew. Was he plotting ways to terrorize me more? Reminiscing about the life he’d had here?
Fantasizing about dancing in dark corners?
Or worse?
A small part of me couldn’t reconcile the human trafficker to the Cristiano I’d known before he’d fled. He’d been next to impossible to get to know back then, even putting aside our fourteen-year age difference. But having only ever been under his protection growing up, I’d never seen him as the vicious killer everyone else had.
Until that day.
Barto nodded at the brothers. “Costa is waiting. Tonight, he’s not feeling patient.”
Cristiano and Barto exchanged an unfriendly look, which reminded me that before all this, they’d been close. They had come into the cartel around the same age and had risen in the ranks together. Barto, an important member of our security team even then, had been away on business with my father during Cristiano’s attack on my mom. Like Cristiano, Barto never said much, but I knew he constantly beat himself up over it.
Barto had lost not only my mother—a member of the family he’d been hired to protect—but Cristiano too, his closest friend and comrade.
“Send someone back to the house with Talia,” Diego told Barto.
“It’s okay,” I said, even though Cristiano still hadn’t removed his eyes from me. “I don’t need an escort.”
As Cristiano passed me on his way toward the house, he stalled. “I’ll see you to your bedroom if you like,” he said so only I could hear.
The suggestive offer, not made out of graciousness, made me think of our tango. Or perhaps it was more appropriate to call it a mind game than a dance. It was becoming clear Cristiano liked to play. With Father demanding his presence and Barto watching on, I was safe. Instead of cowering at his suggestion, I called his bluff and offered my elbow as I would to an escort. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go indeed,” he said with a hint of a smirk before he walked off with Diego and Barto.
Apparently, my discomfort amused him—but so did my fight.
That didn’t surprise me.
Cristiano would pinch a butterfly’s wings together just to watch her struggle.
Natalia
Aromas of coffee and cinnamon-raisin toast preceded the pop of a toaster as I entered the open, airy kitchen. Papá sat at the breakfast counter with a newspaper as Paz filled a mug with spicy café de olla from an orange enamel pot.