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“Are you going to speak now?” Mateo asked him.
“You can go fuck yourself. I won’t betray her,” Samuel seethed.
“We’ll see.” Mateo gently slapped his swollen cheek.
He settled his gaze once more on me.
“Take out his teeth. If you want to hear what he to say, you’ll have to make him talk.”
I knew he could have just told me whatever it was Samuel knew, but maybe it was better this way. If I was going to be with him, truly, I would need some major balls of steel.
I refused to be the typical pretty housewife who racked up his credit card bills and baked cherry pies, waiting for him to stop playing big bad kingpin. I wanted to be beside him, occasionally on top of him, but I would never stand behind him. I’d agreed to play a role before; now, I was deadset on making it my reality.
I stepped forward, glad I was in sweatpants and not a damn party dress like the last time I’d tortured a man.
Without me noticing, Elias had slipped on a pair of black leather gloves.
He looked at me with silent encouragement written on his face. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready,” I affirmed, trying to ignore the sensation of Mateo’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face.
Elias nodded and wedged his fingers into Samuel’s mouth. Using both hands, he wrenched it wide open, keeping a death grip on his jaw.
I lined the tip of the pliers up with Samuel’s front bottom molar.
“You can do this, anjo,” Mateo encouraged when he saw I was about to hesitate.
I looked down at my uncle, right in his eyes, flashing back to the unmistakable hurt and rage I’d seen on my father’s face, and got to work.
I couldn’t get the damn thing out until after trying for a good five minutes to separate the tooth from its root.
I squeezed the pliers all the way together, clamping and twisting to loosen it up. The tooth cracked, and a piece of it broke off completely.
There was blood and saliva running down either side of his face by time I got around to the third tooth. Aside from trying to call me every name in the book with a mouthful of bloodied spit, he still wouldn’t talk.
Mateo, who’d been watching the entire time, suddenly called out something in his native tongue again.
“We have to meet Sergio and oversee a shipment, amada. Do you think you can handle this?”
When he asked me that, it felt like every pair of eyes in the room homed in on me to see how I would react. He’d said ‘we’. At first, I thought this was a test, and I suppose it could be considered one.
I was the only woman in a room full of his men that wasn’t currently packing yayo into the bottom of high heels.
The Remmingtons were an old money powerhouse involved in drugs, gambling, trafficking, and extortion. This life could be as beautiful as it was dark and cruel.
I needed to set the record straight, assert myself, and prove to people that I was capable of handling this lifestyle and being the queen to Mateo’s king.
His name would carry me far; I’d be respected out of people’s fear and love for him, but that wasn’t good enough for me, and he knew it. I wanted the same fear and respect on my own name. Elena Rias. One day, Elena Remmington.
This was the best place to start. And with that realization, I understood why he wanted me to do this alone.
Mateo didn’t want a docile pageant princess to warm his bed.
He wanted a ruthless fucking queen who wasn’t afraid to get her hands a little bloody before picking the kids up from school.
“I can do this,” I replied, smiling reassuringly.
He came to stand in front of me, shooting off another command before kissing me deeply.
