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“Daniel is sick,” I announced bluntly. “It’s better if he’s not here. You know he can’t keep his hands to himself.”
Stefano nodded in easy agreement, but his fingers briefly clenched to fists before releasing. He definitely hadn’t forgotten about Daniel’s insult to Carmen.
“I trust your judgment.” He maintained his casual bearing, but the words were heavy.
He was much more skilled and subtle at political maneuvering than I would ever be, but I got the message. He wouldn’t stand in my way if I wanted to kill Daniel.
His black eyes swept over our allies, his lips twisting in a small, affected frown. “Arturo isn’t usually late. Can we expect him to join us, or is he sick, too?” His gaze snapped back to mine, quick and sharp despite his slow drawl.
While I wasn’t entirely surprised that Daniel was too much of a coward to show his face, I’d expected Arturo Flores to join us. Arturo didn’t command as much wealth as the brat, but he was older and had consistently supported Stefano ever since he’d established himself as king—twelve years of loyalty.
Arturo had been throwing his weight around a little in the last few weeks, testing Stefano’s control over the cartel. It wasn’t good that he hadn’t showed. He’d chosen not to come when his boss called.
The insult couldn’t go unpunished. It was a dangerous time for Stefano to eliminate a powerful associate—he needed his oldest allies to stand firm behind him more than ever. That meant I’d have to handle it.
“I’ll go check in on Arturo once we’re done here,” I offered. “Maybe he has the same illness as Daniel.”
Arturo would be a warm-up. I’d pay Daniel a visit once I finished with the older man.
Stefano tipped his head in a small nod, acknowledging my unspoken plan. I would do this without his vocal support, eliminating the problem while he could feign innocence.
As always, we would work together to stabilize his regime. He would remain king, and I would remain rich. The arrangement was ideal. There was a reason we’d both survived this long.
“Now that we’re all here,” Stefano began, already eliminating Arturo and Daniel from our inner circle, “I’d like to discuss our next moves. I’m very pleased that you’ve all accepted my invitation to the gala on Friday.” He beamed at each of us, as though we’d had a choice in accepting his invitation.
I didn’t feel like attending another one of his fucking fake parties, but this was how Stefano operated. I wouldn’t have fun, but I would be there, looming behind him; his ever-present, menacing shadow.
The rumble of a raised, masculine voice broke through Stefano’s falsely jovial energy. My attention snapped to the door, which was closed to ensure our meeting remained private. The guard stationed outside shouldn’t be able to make out anything distinct through the wooden barrier, so the fact that we could hear him at all meant he must be shouting.
I didn’t need Stefano’s prompting to stalk toward the commotion, removing the wickedly sharp hunting knife from the sheath at my side as I moved to confront whoever dared to disturb us. My fingers flexed around the knife handle, shifting my grip in preparation for violence. I doubted our enemies had managed to infiltrate Stefano’s private high-rise building, but the interruption alone called for a swift lesson in respect.
This was my role in the cartel. This was what kept me rich, powerful, and secure: vicious, unforgiving brutality.
Just as I wrenched open the door, a high, feminine cry pierced my chest.
“Raúl!” My name was ragged and desperate on Marisol’s lips.
My eyes skipped past the guard blocking her way, immediately fixing on my frightened little captive.
Her lovely eyes were wide and wild, dark with panic. Crimson blood painted her fragile face, staining the soft cheek I’d caressed for the first time mere hours ago; the cheek that had pressed into my hand, welcoming my touch and seeking my protection.
A savage, animal roar boomed through the corridor, and my knife found the man’s heart with lethal precision. I flowed through the ingrained, deadly movement without conscious thought.
I shoved aside his lifeless body, reaching for Marisol. She cried out again, but this time, she wasn’t calling my name. She shrieked and stumbled back, desperate to evade my maddened advance. The sudden movement jarred her head wound, and her eyes rolled back as her knees buckled.
I caught her just before she hit the floor, cradling my pretty, breakable hostage with aching care that was entirely at odds with the vicious snarl that ripped from my chest.
Chapter 3
Marisol
“Marisol.” He rasped my name, and his big hand caressed my cheek with the same careful gentleness as this morning. Two thick fingers curled beneath my chin, tipping my head back slowly. A feather-light brush over my hair sent a wash of dizzying pain through my skull, radiating outward from the cut where my head had slammed into the glass coffee table.
