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CHAPTER 18
ISABEL
I eyed my husband over my plate, still confounded by the fact that he was willingly sitting at the dining table with me. Awkward silence stretched between us as we both fumbled for something to say. We’d spent so much time deliberately avoiding one another that I wasn’t sure where to start with a conversation.
“So, what did you do with your day?” I asked haltingly, the question sounding forced and inane in my own ears.
He grimaced and looked away from me. “You don’t want to know.”
My stomach flipped. “Oh.”
He’d done something violent. I could see it in the way his fist clenched around his fork. He was sparing me the gory details. I’d rather not hear them, anyway.
Doubt nipped at me. I wasn’t sure how I could manage to get along with my taciturn, criminal husband. He was deeply embedded in the cartel, completely loyal to the organization that I hated. I’d grown up surrounded by criminals just like Sebastián, and they’d been cruel, angry men. They’d hurt me. And the ones who hadn’t hurt me had only been trying to woo me in an attempt to take control of my fortune.
But Sebastián hadn’t been cruel to me, and he hadn’t pretended to win my favor. He was blunt and honest, even if he was tight-lipped about his lifestyle.
“Why do you do it?” I asked before I could think better of it. “You’re not like my father and brother. You’re not like Stefano and Raúl.” Those men would’ve killed me if I’d given them one more reason to suspect that I was a threat to them. Sebastián would never do that. He would spank me instead.
Mercifully, he answered before my mind could wander too far down that confusing, embarrassing path.
“Do what?” His brow furrowed.
“Work for the cartel,” I clarified.
He leaned back in his chair, those dark eyes considering me. His lips pressed together, as though he didn’t want to reply.
“I don’t need the gory details,” I said hastily. “I just want to understand. You’re so loyal to Stefano, but he’s…” I trailed off with a shiver, unable to put my fear of the boss into words. “Why do you do it?” I repeated.
Sebastián released a heavy sigh. “Stefano wasn’t the boss back when I joined the cartel, but he’s proven himself. I know he’s a scary bastard, but that’s what’s needed to control the organization. I respect him.”
“How long have you been in this life?” I pressed. I knew Sebastián was at least a decade older than Stefano.
“Since I was fifteen,” he admitted. He didn’t say anything else.
“So young?” Getting answers out of him was like pulling teeth, but curiosity had taken hold of me.
He nodded. “I told you that the farm I worked was part of the Sinaloa cartel’s operation. Well, one day there was a raid by a rival organization. It was a massacre.” His dark eyes went flat and distant, like he was seeing something I couldn’t. When he spoke again, a rasp roughened his words. “They freed Rafael and me. We helped them kill our owner, José. I’ve been loyal to our cartel ever since.”
Our owner. My stomach turned. Until he’d spoken those two words, I hadn’t realized the extent of the horror he must’ve endured as a child. He’d said he was only eight years old when his father sold him. His freedom, his childhood, had been stolen from him. He’d been a captive for seven years of his life.
Something echoed through my mind. Don’t you fucking call me your captor. Not ever.
Sebastián had shouted those words at me when I’d accused him of keeping me as his captive in this marriage. My heart squeezed. His mercurial nature had terrified me, but now I understood how my accusation had triggered his darkest memories. He was a fierce, immensely strong man. I couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like for him to be young and too weak to defend himself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded, his jaw tight.
I blinked to clear the sting from my eyes. He wouldn’t welcome my pity. He’d been so reluctant to tell me any of this. And it wasn’t only to spare me; it was because the memories still hurt him. I could see it in the furrows around his eyes and mouth.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said, schooling my features into a small, strained smile.
He offered a stiff nod and returned to his meal, clearly dropping the subject. I wouldn’t press him for more information. He’d shared some of his darkest, most painful secrets with me. I doubted he ever talked about his past with anyone; he wouldn’t want them to know about his weakest years. Despite my sadness for him, warmth bloomed in the center of my chest. I felt closer to him now. Somehow, this was almost more intimate than when he’d stripped me bare and made me come. Sebastián didn’t strike me as a man who ever made himself remotely vulnerable. He really was trying to connect with me, to make this marriage more bearable.
