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“Always in the sun, avecita.” I turn to face him, and he swats at a bug. “It’s hot as fuck out here.”
“It’s Mexico. Of course it’s hot.”
“I thought Russians liked the cold.”
“I’m not sure I can really be counted as Russian anymore.” I hold my arm out, glancing at the golden hue of my skin.
He sits next to me, picking up a strand of my blonde hair. “You’re still a rare bird, avecita.”
He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side, revealing his damp chest and abs. I force myself not to look, and instead pluck one of the discarded daisies from their spot on the bench next to me, caressing the soft petals. I hate that I suddenly feel so awkward around him of all people.
“Nero called,” he finally says. I still and seemingly so does everything around me: the sound of the gentle breeze, the cicadas… it all stops. Whatever temporary moment of peace we were having is instantly shattered.
“What did he want?” Is he coming after Rafael? Is Rafael going to suffer repercussions because he denied Nero?
“He called to say that he has vague whereabouts on Una. She’s in Europe.”
I“Europe? Why?”
He shrugs. “She is from there. But I guess she’s trying to outrun the hit.”
“Who would try to assassinate an assassin?”
“In our world, there must always be balance. One crime organization gains too much power, and it throws everything off. Una is supposed to be neutral. But Nero just had her kill four Italians, all fairly influential. It put a target on her back. I’d say it’s one of the mob bosses.”
“Why would she do that in the first place?” He glances at me, lifting a brow, waiting on me to piece it together. “He bought me…to get to her.”
He nods. “Nero is gaining power and your sister is sure to be at the top of the Italian’s shit list.”
“Surely they know he hired her?”
“Let’s just say Nero has some powerful friends, and he’s without the usual mafia morals. Without solid proof, no one is going to be brave enough to point the finger at him.”
“So my sister is now being hunted because of him?”
“She chose to do it, Anna.”
“For me.”
“She’ll be fine. Whoever’s brave enough to go after her will get a nasty surprise. Not to mention the fact that Nikolai Ivanov will lose his shit. He’s very attached to her from what I hear. No one wants that crazy bastard after them.”
I shift closer to him and lean my head on his shoulder, needing his closeness. It’s all so messy. “Does Nero still want me to go to him?”
“I don’t care if he does.”
Despite the heat, I shiver. “I hate this,” I say quietly.
Rafael grabs my thigh and yanks me across his lap in one move. I try to shift away from him, but his fingers spear into my hair, holding me to him. I’m instantly acutely aware of every part of his body that’s touching mine. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Rafe, you’re putting yourself right in the middle of shit that shouldn’t concern you.” His jaw tenses, his expression hardening. I scratch my nails over the stubble on his face. “I only mean that this isn’t good for your business.”
“Fuck business.”
I tip my head back with a sigh. I want to scream because it seems I’ll never escape fate. It always seems to follow me. His fingers tighten and he touches his forehead to mine. “Fuck everything that isn’t this, right here.”
“At some point, the bubble will burst,” I whisper. I feel like it’s already straining under everything.
“What bubble? Everything we are is born from chaos, little warrior. Life in the cartel is dangerous. You know this.”
“I didn’t choose to be a part of the cartel.”
“Didn’t you?”
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. Even staying with him was never a choice. When choosing between the cartel and the mafia…well, it’s a rock and a hard place, isn’t it?
“I chose you. Not the cartel.”
“It’s one and the same, avecita.”
He reaches for my face, but I grasp his hand mid-air, glancing at his split knuckles; a very real reminder of exactly who and what he is. My gaze lifts from his bloodied skin to his face. “You hurt yourself.”
He tightens his fist, and the skin starts to bleed again. “It’s necessary. Sometimes you break something to make it stronger.” I trace my fingers over what looks like years of scar tissue over his knuckles. Broken, again and again, to make the skin tougher and stronger.
Make it stronger. Like him. Like Una. “Teach me to fight,” I blurt.
He frowns. “Anna…”
“Make me stronger. Please.” I need to be stronger in every way.
“You don’t need to fight.” His gaze meets mine, and he strokes fingers over my cheek gently. “I’ll always protect you.”
