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Is that it? Is she self-destructive?
Or is she smart, hedging her bets, knowing the battles she may have a shot at winning and rolling over for the ones she can’t? Because if that’s the case, then something happened to her. Something made her like that, broke her, because by nature, she’s a fighter. I’d be willing to be my life on that.
And I have a feeling the scars on her back are that something.
The thought makes me angry. To break something wild, it’s not right.
The image of those silvery-white lines is burned onto my mind. I’ve seen some shit. I’ve done some shit. But her back, it was bad. She was whipped and badly. I can almost see the rage in the hand that held the lash.
I want to know who did it.
I want to know what she did to earn it. If she deserved it.
My gut tells me no and that all roads lead back to one man: Alessandro Estrella.
But I don’t know their family history. Why would her own brother do something like that to her? It doesn’t make any sense. They’re twins. Seriously, aren’t twins linked somehow? I have no fucking clue.
The next morning, I’m in my study making calls. The first one I make is to a florist. I order three dozen blood roses sent to her work. I like these. Black and darkest red. Fitting from a mobster to a cartel princess. And even if she is distancing herself from the cartel now, she is still that. A cartel princess. The note attached tells her that Vincent will pick her up at eight for dinner, and if she’s good, she’ll get to come twice tonight. I’m still smiling at the silence on the florist’s end of the line when she took down my message.
That assistant of hers will be spilling about who she thinks sent them. I don’t know why I get a certain pleasure from that. I know Emilia will hate the attention. Will hate anyone poking into her life, nosing around. She’s afraid they’ll find out who she is, but what I said about family, it’s also true in that that you can’t run from who you are, and she is an Estrella whether she likes it or not. She can change her name a hundred times, it won’t make a single difference.
After the florist, I make a call to Killian Black. He’s the owner of Mea Culpa and a man Dominic trusts. He and Hugo Drake. Killian answers on the first ring.
“This is Giovanni Santa Maria.”
“Dominic said you’d be calling. What can I do for you, Giovanni?”
“You have surveillance of the meeting with Estrella, correct?” Mea Culpa was where the meeting between myself and Estrella took place. That’s when we discussed specifics. He’d brought men with him when he was supposed to have come alone, but I forgave him that. A gesture of goodwill. But no good deed goes unpunished. I should know better.
I know about Killian Black’s penchant for recording things. Even though that meeting was off-limits, I have no doubt he has a copy of it somewhere.
He clears his throat. He’s not going to lie about it. He may work for Dominic, but he’s a force to be reckoned with in his own right. He’s not scared of me. I know that, and I respect him for it.
“I want a copy.”
“I’ll have a copy sent to you this morning.”
“The men he brought, I assume you already have names?”
“Would you like that file as well?”
Of course he has files. “Yes.”
“There was one complication.”
I notice his use of the past tense. “What complication?”
“Estrella had brought four men. Only three are alive.”
“And you know why the fourth one isn’t?”
“Turned out Hugo knew him from his time in prison.”
“Ah.” I smile. “Good to know. Let me ask you another question. The sister, Emilia, know anything about her?”
“No. Just that she disappeared after the attack that killed her father. Assumption is that she’d died in the fire too.”
“No. She’s alive and well. Goes by Larrea now. Em Larrea. See what you can find on those four years she was missing, will you? I’m coming up short.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Thank you.”I would collect Emilia myself but for the fact that I’m delayed at a meeting. But when I get a call from Vincent, telling me she isn’t at work, that she’d apparently left earlier than expected, I am surprised. I call Katy, her assistant, who recognizes my voice. I can almost see her blushing through the phone. Katy lets me know that Em decided at the last minute to join her birthday outing with several other colleagues and had gone home to change. She promptly invites me to join after mentioning how beautiful and romantic the delivery of roses was. I take down the name of the place and ask her not to mention it to Em—Christ, I hate when they call her that—because I want to surprise her.
