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Chapter
One
1925, Caribbean Sea
A loud crash and what sounded like gunshots stopped Rosalía Ferrer in her tracks. Equally concerning was the fact the yacht she was currently hiding in seemed to have stopped.
She had been in the cargo hold for almost a day now, and it was getting harder to keep track of time. Still, she was fairly certain it was much too early for the Hippodrome to be making port.
The vessel belonging to Cuban shipping heir Juan Valverde—a friend of her brother, Santo—was occasionally used to run rum up to Atlantic City. Which made it the perfect vessel for her to escape in. When she’d illicitly boarded the yacht in La Romana on the southeastern coast of Hispaniola, she’d been under the impression they’d sail for two days before they reached Havana to pick up more cargo, and then it was another day to a cove near Key West, where she planned to get off and secure transportation to her destination: New York City. Once she was in Manhattan, she would make her way to Harlem and secure a place as a singer in one of the city’s famed jazz clubs.
The entire plan hinged on her not being detected in this cargo hold, especially not less than twenty-four hours into her journey. She’d paid good money, more than she could afford, to obtain a copy of the navigation schedule from one of the hands. She had it pinned inside her shirt, but she didn’t need to pull it out to know what it said. She’d practically memorized it. It was simply much too soon for the yacht to stop. Something had to be wrong. She froze when she heard boots thumping around the deck and then what sounded like another crash.
“Oh God,” she whispered, as she strained on her tiptoes to hopefully make out the voices coming from above.
Alarm turned into fear when the door in the ceiling of the cargo hold opened with a clang. Rosalía almost cried with frustration as she looked frantically around for a place to hide. She was completely exposed here, and she would never make it to the small space under the floorboards in time. She’d been assured that once at sea no one would come down there during the voyage. The hold was packed to the gills with crates of rum. When she’d snuck inside at the port, she’d had to crawl over them to reach the small hiding area she’d paid a fortune to secure.
She hunched, making herself as small as possible, holding her breath and praying that whatever the reason the captain of the Hippodrome had for stopping, it was not because they had business in the hold.
“Where is it?” inquired a deep, commanding—and new—voice. It was masculine, a bit raspy, and very unhappy.
“I told you we don’t have it.”
She knew the voice of the second man. It was the Hippodrome’s first mate. He’d been in the hold for hours as they readied the yacht while Rosi had been safely in her hidey-hole. The only thing she’d feared was fainting from the heat. But now she felt exposed crouching behind a stack of crates. A loud pop ricocheted somewhere outside and was immediately followed by a cry of pain.
“Don’t fuck with me, Guzman,” roared that vicious voice again. “I have no problem putting a couple of bullets in that empty skull of yours. Where is the fucking rum?” The furious roar, accompanied by a terrified scream, floated down to Rosi’s hiding place. She began to shake uncontrollably when a foul smell filled the room, and a second later, she had to plug her nose.
“Me cago en la madre,” another man shouted in what sounded to her like Argentinian Spanish. “He pissed on himself!”
She didn’t recognize that voice either. There had only been four men taking the yacht up the coast, all of them had come through the hold as she’d been ducking in the floorboards. These new voices did not belong to the men sailing Juan Valverde’s yacht to Key West. What if they were working with criminals to steal the boat? She knew the men Valverde hired to operate his rum-running schemes were not part of the same crew she’d met when her family was invited to parties on the Hippodrome. This crew did not include the white-gloved, refined men who’d served Rosalía champagne. This lot was rough, smelly, and scary. If she hadn’t been so desperate, she’d probably have waited for another chance to get off the island. But her situation at home had become unbearable.
In the six months since her father had passed away, her brother’s behavior had gone from unpredictable to terrifying. He’d become so erratic, she feared for her safety. When he announced he would take a two-week trip to Havana, Rosi knew that was her only chance to escape. The Hippodrome, which was set to sail north in the time he was gone, was her only option. She’d really thought she’d be able to make it to New York, but she suspected whatever was happening above her was likely going to destroy her plans. Though nothing on this boat could be more horrendous than what would’ve happened if she’d stayed at home.
“Go down there and check for the damned rum, Rolly.”
In seconds the hatch door was thrown open, and the person who was presumably Rolly descended with alacrity. Rosalía cowered in the corner, but she knew there was no way she wouldn’t be discovered. Not if they were planning to move the crates.
She almost sobbed in frustration. Just her damned luck.
Rolly roamed the space, inspecting the crates with a flashlight as she prayed for invisibility. To feel at least somewhat able to defend herself, she reached for the blade she had strapped to her thigh. It wasn’t big, but blades didn’t have to be big to do damage. To the people of La Romana, she might’ve been General Gerardo Ferrer’s little girl, but her father had taught her to defend herself.
She made herself breathe very slowly and calmed a little as she tightened her fist around her blade. The stench of sweat, tobacco, and too much rum invaded her nostrils, almost choking her, and then a light flashed in her face.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The glare of the flashlight was too intense for her to see the man clearly, but his offensive odor told her he would not be much to look at. She stood at her full height, her curves and heavy breasts hidden behind the bulky trousers and jacket she’d made for the voyage. She’d tucked her hair under a cap. It was a serviceable disguise if someone spotted her at distance, but with only a few feet separating her from the man, he would tell what was under her clothes.
“Come here, darling,” the man coaxed, his calloused hand gripping her wrist. She tried to squeeze into the corner, but she had no illusions of how things would go here. She was trapped alone in the hold of a ship that was probably being raided. Whoever these men were, they would not be concerned with her safety. The only thing she could do was fight.
“No,” she told the man defiantly, flashing her little knife at him.
“Don’t play with me,” he said with a vicious laugh. “The more you fight, the more unpleasant things will be for you.” His spittle landed on her face, and her stomach heaved. Rosalía had to think fast if she was going to get out of this alive. They spoke English, so maybe they were American. If she could reason with the leader—the one with the booming voice—maybe she could talk him into taking her with them. She was willing to do almost anything to reach New York, but she foolishly hadn’t considered just how high the price would be.
“Let me go,” she cried as the man reached for her, tugging the lapel of her oversized jacket and causing her to stumble forward. Only when she crashed into the odious man did she remember she still had her blade in her hand. She lunged and sank the knife into his shoulder. She’d never done something like this, and the feel of the blade slicing through skin made her want to retch, but she kept pushing it in. The man yelped out in pain, then tried to kick her off him, which sent them both tumbling onto the crates. The two of them crashed to the ground, shattering the bottles inside. Immediately, the fumes of alcohol filled the stuffy room.
Oh God, they were going to skin her for this.
“What the hell is going on down there, Rolly?”
“I found a stowaway, Captain,” the man called up, still gripping her despite the blade now sticking out of his arm. “The cunt stabbed me.” He dragged her by the hair into the light.
