Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“No,” I said. “He won’t feel any guilt. He did what he had to. If he hadn’t gone after your parents, they would’ve come for him. And I don’t think the de la Rosas would’ve taken me in if the situation had been reversed.”
“They wouldn’t have. I miss my mom and dad, but you’re right—they weren’t so merciful.” He glanced away. “Perhaps it would’ve ended up worse for you than death.”
What was worse for a young girl than death, I didn’t have to ask. Though our families had been rivals, they’d still abided by a code. Back then, the de la Rosas had trafficked weapons, and the Cruzes had dealt in narcotics. My father and grandfather had imposed a strict pact that neither family would enter into the vile space of human trafficking. And when Papá had discovered Diego’s parents had broken that pact, the de la Rosas had needed to be dealt with.
But it was plotting against my father that’d ultimately gotten them killed.
I sighed. “Maybe we should just smuggle you across the border like a brick of cocaine.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “After all, that’s what the Cruz cartel is known for, right? Our unusually high success rate at getting illegal goods into North America?”
The corner of Diego’s mouth quirked. “Where’d you hear that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it? My father’s instinct is unrivaled, but you’re the brains behind this business.”
“I’m hardly that,” he said, but deep dimples appeared with his smile. Once I’d been old enough to notice how sexy they were, they’d proven irresistible. “I just want him to see me as . . .”
“As?”
“More than the others.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Someone worthy of being part of his family.”
“You are worthy. I know that, and so does he.”
“But I can’t blame him for doubting me after the way my parents conspired against him.”
I refrained from pointing out what he already knew. Yes, Papá had agreed to take in both boys, but on one condition—that they wouldn’t followed in their father’s footsteps. In order to ensure the boys never made a move against Costa Cruz, my dad had made them watch as he’d put bullets in their parents—a warning.
“My father knows you’d never go against him,” I said. “Their murder ended a decades-long feud between our families—”
“Until Cristiano,” Diego said.
I shivered, a natural response to hearing the devil called by his name.
Mamá’s hospitality had come with a price—her life. But it had also brought Diego into mine.
He’d understood that my father and abuelo had had no choice but to stop his parents.
Cristiano, on the other hand, hadn’t.
Eleven years later, he should’ve been a distant memory. I tried not to think of his tight grip on my arm, his gun tipping up my chin, or the shadowed, divine face of a godless man. But how could I not look over my shoulder? Cristiano de la Rosa still inspired dread, even from the grave. At least, I hoped that’s where he was. Despite rumors that he’d been running an underground drug empire in Russia, or that he owned a freighting company in Bolivia, or had become an arms trafficker between America and the Philippines—I’d convinced myself he was six feet under. I didn’t sleep well most nights, but assuming he was dead helped a little.
“My father knows you aren’t your father, and he definitely doesn’t think you’re anything like your brother,” I said.
Diego stuck his hands in the back pockets of my jeans and pulled me closer. We were tempting fate by being affectionate out in the open, but I couldn’t deny it excited me that Diego couldn’t resist touching me. “Your parents treated Cristiano like a son, and he still turned on them,” Diego said. “No matter how I prove myself, your father keeps me at arm’s length—even before the betrayal, I was just another worker to him. I sometimes question whether Costa would’ve taken me in without my brother.”
Even though it hurt to hear that, I understood why Diego felt that way. Both boys had been tossed into the Cruz cartel army right away. Cristiano had taken to it like a child to sweets, while sensitive, creative Diego had struggled to adapt.
“You’ve shown him almost twenty years of loyalty,” I said. “You’re now one of the cartel’s most trusted advisors. You’ve helped make this business what it is—one with an average success rate above eighty-seven percent.”
Diego’s mouth fell open as he scoff-laughed. “How long were you listening at the door?” He narrowed his eyes, playfully scolding me. “You little snoop.”
“I just didn’t want to interrupt,” I said. “But is eighty-seven percent good?”
“The best. Our competitors don’t even touch us. Cartels come to us when they need the absolute best chance of getting their shipment over the border.” He winked. “That’s how we can charge so much.”