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)
“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 you’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.
His exasperation was nothing after what I’d endured from my father the day before. I crossed my arms. “We have to talk, Diego.”
Where our compound was a more traditional Spanish-style hacienda, Diego’s was sleek and modern. The single-story house was a third the size of Papá’s—not even counting our hundreds of hectares of land—but still a mansion for these parts with stacked stone columns, a flawlessly smooth, white exterior, and manicured bushes around the yard. He led me up the walkway to the front door. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcased a cloud-like, puffy leather couch, flat-screen TV, and brass-and-mirrored coffee table atop a neutral geometric-patterned rug—plus the armed men who guarded all of it.
“You can’t just show up, mi amor,” Diego said, opening the door. “That’s one way to get a bullet in your head.”
“I tried texting, calling, e-mailing—everything,” I said. “I miss you, and I’m tired of sitting around watching the clock tick down.”
“I know. I had to get rid of my last burner.” He shut the door behind us and dismissed a guard from the entryway. “I’ve been trying to make it to the house to see you. Because obviously, I miss you too—but it’s no excuse for putting yourself in danger.”