Page 71 of No Darker Temptation

Sandro gets up, black eyes burning with rage and defiance. He charges for me and we both go barreling across the room. I land against the far-right wall where the television stand is. The massive flat screen shatters with the force of our weight and falls from its mount on the wall. I lose my balance in an attempt to get out from under the TV when Sandro lands a kick to the kidneys and a right hook that sends me spinning.

Son of a fucking. Bitch.

I forgot he can fight back.

There’s decades of bad blood between us and all of it explodes the moment my fist connects with his jaw.

He grabs me by the shoulders and flings me into a row of metal file cabinets. I yank one of the drawers off its track and slam it against the left side of his head. Sandro goes spinning and Regina tries to step in.

“Stop—”

I grab her by the back of her shirt collar and shove her out of the room. “Stay out of it!”

With my back turned, Sandro has the upper hand. He takes a heavy crystal vase and shatters it against the back of my skull, the pressure so intense it brings me to my knees. I feel his weight on my back as he locks me into a choke hold I quickly out maneuver, and then he’s beneath me, at the mercy of my rage and every ounce of hatred I’ve felt for him since we were children.

I hit him for things I hadn’t even realized I blamed him for.

Anger over my father’s death. Pain over Regina’s betrayal. Hatred for the times he tried to have me killed, overthrow my family, jeopardize our empire. Most of all, I think of Dahlia.

How her life forever changed because somewhere along the line, Sandro interceded. Whether or not he put the first hit on me last summer, he still knew about it. Nothing has been the same since and all the dominoes have fallen over, one by one, and I live in fear of the day the last one does because what will happen then. Will we lose control of the city, will the family business fall apart, will my life fall apart?

And what about Dahlia’s?

I think of all she’s seen and endured in the last year. How much she’s changed. I tell her I love her but I can’t protect her. I make promises I can’t keep and expose her to things that little by little, dim the light inside of her. As time passes, I fool myself into thinking everything is all right but it isn’t.

She hasn’t been the same since the Wesleys tried to take her or since Rico Salcedo. She hasn’t been the same since she killed that man to save me, or since I kidnapped her in a manipulated attempt to protect her, and she will never, ever be the same again. Not after this.

The blows he delivers to my sides are brutal. At one point, he manages to briefly get out from under me and grabs something—a decorative tray, I think—and rams it against my chest as I advance on him. He takes a step back and trips and tumbles, once more giving me an advantage when I pin him to the ground.

Sandro’s strong and he fights back but he eventually tires out, whereas I remain propelled by fury and grief. I hit and I punch and my knuckles meet flesh and bone. I’ve killed men like this before—beat them until their skulls caved and their faces cracked in half. I have no idea how long I stay on top of him or how long he goes without oxygen while I keep my fingers wrapped around his neck. His face is bloodied, nose broken, both lips split wide open. There’s blood everywhere; leaking out of his ears and rolling down his temples.

It takes five men to get me off of him, one of whom is my brother. I have no idea how he got here—did he have someone follow me? Did he guess I’d be here? I don’t know. I don’t care.

“Alejandro, ¡ya basta!” Diego yells. “Enough! You’re going to kill him!”

Regina kneels beside her brother and it’s the closest I’ve ever seen her to showing concern for him. She pulls him into an upright position and says, “Get him out of here, Diego!”

“Sandro!” He lifts his head and meets my gaze. The threat that leaves me is nothing short of menacing. “You go near her, you speak to her, you so much as breathe in her vicinity, and I’ll kill you. ¿Oíste? ¡Te mato!”

Diego drags me out of the room but not before Sandro threatens to kill me first.

We’re out on the street before I’ve had a chance to catch my breath. Diego shoves me into the passenger’s side seat of his car and slams the door shut. A moment later, he’s reversing out of his parking spot and flying down the main avenue. Seconds tick away and the red haze around my vision persists. Diego taps his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I’m taking you home⁠—”

“No.” I cut him off. “Not right now.”

“Hermano, I really think⁠—”

I turn in my seat. “I don’t want Dahlia to see me like this.”

Traffic brings us to a stop and he looks at me. Right now, it feels like I’m outside of my body. The rage burns so deeply that it singes all the nerve-endings in my body and pain from my injuries hasn’t registered yet. It’s difficult to clench and stretch my fingers, my head feels heavy, and I haven’t taken a full breath in what feels like hours. Diego’s concerned about what I look like on the outside but he has no idea what’s going on, on the inside.

Dahlia’s never seen me angry—not really. Not like this. I fear this is a side of me I’ll have to keep secret because our relationship would never survive it.

Reading my thoughts, my brother nods. “Okay, hermano. Como quieras.”

There isn’t anywhere to go so we drive until we hit Girona and then turn back. It’s after nightfall by the time we get home.