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Once she was gone, and Miguel and I were alone in the dining room, Miguel gave me a tight-lipped smile. I’d seen that smile before, so I knew what it was: a warning. A warning that I tread too much here.
“Well, well, well,” Miguel spoke as he leaned back in his chair. “Aren’t you all up in arms over Giselle. How interesting.” A thoughtful sound left him, and he got up and wandered over to the cabinet on the far side of the room, a boudoir full of alcohol. He retrieved one glass—one, just for himself—and went to choose his poison.
I did not move. I watched, my nostrils flaring. My stance was one of an animal ready to attack—but I knew that’d be a mistake. Even if, say, I managed to kill Miguel here, that would only put a target on my back, and if Giselle was still alive out there, I wouldn’t be able to help her, to save her.
No. For now, unfortunately, I had to hold back from hurting Miguel like I so desperately wanted to.
Miguel ended up pouring himself a glass of whiskey, his specialty, and he slowly turned around to meet my glare across the room. That’s when I noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You know,” he paused as he took a small sip, “I always suspected you were in love with her, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Zander. I let you come into my home, I took you under my wing when you came forward about Benny turning traitor. I thought, now this boy is an up-and-comer. This boy shows promise. Maybe if I never have a son, I could train him to take my place.”
Miguel’s expression hardened, and his finger tapped the glass. “But you fell for the wrong girl. Out of everyone you could’ve had, you decided to go for the one that was off-limits to you. Not smart, Zander. Not smart at all.”
I ground my teeth. I had a few select things to say to him, but I knew he wasn’t done with this little speech. Miguel did not like being interrupted. If I had any hope of finding out what really happened, I had to play nice.
For now.
“I gave you one job. One fucking job to prove yourself to me. Everything could’ve been different if you wouldn’t have missed the mark—” His legs brought him toward me, and he now stood less than two feet in front of me, matching my glare with his own. “—but that’s the thing, isn’t it? You didn’t miss. You hit exactly where you meant to.”
He was talking about Giselle, how he’d wanted me to kill her. I’d made countless apologies to Giselle about that night, but she didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the man under the hood. I would not, however, make any apologies to Miguel for doing what I did.
“You chose not to kill her that night, so I suppose, when you get down to it, all of this is because of you.” Miguel chuckled at that, a dark, menacing sound that was akin to nails on a chalkboard. He stepped closer and set a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it a notch or two above uncomfortable. “I suppose I should thank you, then, because now Rocco and I have a more public reason to work together.”
I shook him off me and glared harder, which only made him laugh as he stepped back and sipped his drink. “What did you do, Miguel?”
“What did I do? Oh, Zander, that’s a long laundry list that we don’t have time for right now.” The way he spoke, he sounded proud of it. “I suggest you leave while I’m still feeling generous. If you overstay your welcome, I might not let you leave with your life.”
It was stupid of me, but before leaving, I said, “There’s a line even you shouldn’t cross, but I think you crossed it. If I find out you had anything to do with this, I will put a bullet in your head. That’s a fucking promise, boss.”
A muscle on Miguel’s face twitched. He did not like being threatened, and he surely had some comeback ready—or perhaps a bullet to put in my head in return—but I didn’t stick around. I turned and stormed away, leaving the house, feeling the need to cool down but knowing I wouldn’t be able to until I had Giselle in my arms.
And I might never have her in my arms again. She might be dead, which would make all of this a waste.
I headed to my car. I went home. I tried calling Luca, but the asshole wouldn’t answer. All the while, I tried to think about what Miguel and Rocco were hoping to achieve by uniting. They both wanted on the Hand, obviously, but Miguel was not a man who played nice. If he was teaming up with Rocco, it was for his own gain, not for a mutual one.
You know, talking to Miguel, hearing him talk so off-handedly about Giselle… it sounded like he didn’t even love her. Like he had already disowned her. The guy had wanted me to kill her, so it shouldn’t surprise me, but it did. I, for one, could not imagine acting so calm if my daughter was out there, missing, and I sure as shit would never tell one of my men to kill her.
I’d been right, though. Miguel had known I had feelings for her, and he’d tested my loyalty. From the night I’d failed to kill her, my position at his side had been withdrawn. I’d failed the test, and now I was out.
I was out, and soon enough I’d be dead. Miguel wouldn’t let me go. Not after I failed him, and definitely not after I threatened him. He probably assumed I was of no threat to him while Giselle was missing, so he’d focus on getting on the Hand first, and then, once he had that in the bag, he’d tie loose ends.
Me. Rocco. Anyone else who might’ve already served the extent of their purpose.
Fuck. I couldn’t believe I’d trusted him. As a man, as a boss, as someone I respected and even admired. How fucking stupid was I to ever want to be like Miguel Santos?
I knew two things.
The first was, clearly, Miguel had something to do with Giselle’s disappearance. What I did not know was if she was alive or dead. Miguel clearly wanted to use her death to his advantage in this Black Hand thing, so he had no reason to keep her alive. Missing, dead; it was all the same.
The second thing I knew was that I couldn’t stay here. Not in my apartment downtown. Miguel knew where I was staying. He could easily send his men here to kill me. I had to get out of here, ASAP, but who the hell did I trust? Who could I go to that wouldn’t run straight to Miguel?
Who would help me find Giselle? One way or another, I had to know.
An idea came to me as I paced the length of my apartment. I had nothing important to pack up; I’d left everything when we came to Cypress, mostly because I didn’t have much. No family, no sentimental personal belongings. Someone with a loving family did not end up working for men like Miguel Santos. Only homeless, hopeless kids who needed somewhere to belong did. Men who had no other choice.
Unfortunately, I had to wait until nightfall, and then some. I passed the time holding onto my gun, just in case. I’d be damned if I let Miguel best me now, when so much was up in the air. No. I’d fight tooth and nail to find Giselle—and if she was dead, I’d fight tooth and nail to wreak bloody vengeance on Miguel Santos.
Once it was late enough, I slipped out of my apartment. No one was waiting for me in the hall, no goons hiding in secret, waiting to put some lead in me. I made it to my car, and then I drove deeper downtown.
