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“Tasha and Alejandro told me. That’s another reason they’re coming after you?”
“Sí.” He held out his hand for the last bandage. “A ver. Give me that.”
“I still need to wrap your chest.”
He gestured for me to hand the packet over. When I did, he set it aside and took my forearm, tugging me down to the bed. I let him guide me into the crook of his neck. “When we drove into the Badlands the first time,” he said, “what’d you think you’d see?”
I shut my eyes like I had that day, transporting myself back to that moment. “The worst,” I admitted. “Rundown buildings, beggars, prisoners, prostitutes. I think I half expected a guillotine. I could’ve sworn I saw people huddled into the cargo space of a semi.”
“Those who’d chosen to leave the Badlands and make their homes elsewhere.” He ran a hand up my arm. “I won’t ask what you thought of me.”
“I thought you were a monster.”
With a deep breath, he shifted under me. Whether from physical pain or something else, I wasn’t sure. “I am, Natalia. No question there.”
I tilted my head to see his face better as I half-whispered, “You’re scarier than any monster.”
“You remember.”
“You said that to me one night after a nightmare, when my mother was still alive. You promised you’d keep the monsters away. But if you’re the good guy, what does that make everyone else?”
“Not figments of our imaginations, unfortunately. They’re bad. So I have to be worse. I’ve made peace with it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t also stand for something.”
I scooted over on the bed, getting even closer to him. He’d talked of owning my wants and needs. I wanted to know him better. I needed to know why—why I sat beside him now, why he felt compelled to help, how he’d gotten to this place.
“Is there really no reason you do all this?” I asked.
“Nobody should need a reason to help those people,” he said and paused.
“But you have one,” I guessed. I slipped my hand into his. He tensed under me but then relaxed. Offering him comfort was new for us.
Or maybe I was the one who needed it.
Getting to know the innerworkings of Cristiano’s mind, heart, and soul wasn’t a task for the faint-hearted. Wondering what I’d find scared me—but not enough to pull back. Not physically, and not from whatever new emotional territory we were wading into.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
9
Natalia
With each inhalation, Cristiano’s massive chest expanded underneath my cheek, but his arm remained firmly around me. Silence permeated our bedroom. Secured in the crook of his arm, it would’ve been easy to change the subject back to something safer. Why rock the boat with questions about his past, now that we’d set sail on smoother waters?
But he’d always encouraged me to ask questions, to look closer, to live this life with wide-open eyes—and he hadn’t shielded me from the ugly sides of it. So, the longer he remained quiet, the more anxious I became. If Cristiano struggled over opening up about his past, I suspected that meant it was deeply painful for him. Could I be the comfort he needed? Had I made him feel safe?
Was that even possible when I’d only just begun to concern myself with his safety and comfort?
Maybe that was his hesitation. To open up about what haunted him, he’d have to take a leap of faith.
After a while had passed, he shifted. I placed my hand on his chest and raised my eyes to his. He nodded toward the bedroom door. “Growing up, our household had staff, like yours. Like mine does now.”
“It’s not unusual.”
“My dad had groomed me my whole life to help with, and eventually take over, his business. Diego, too, but he was much younger. I was significantly more involved. My father had a warehouse near the border of Juárez and El Paso. He had to hide it from your father and the other families around here. There, my parents trained and housed mules, prostitutes, and slaves. I visited several times before their deaths, and I saw the innerworkings of the sex trade.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen when it started.” He closed his fingers around my hand on his chest, veins protruding from his forearm. “I watched him quietly build that business. Anytime I tried to speak up, he’d beat me. After a growth spurt, I tried to physically interfere with a deal. The next day was the first time he brought Diego to the warehouse. He was only eight.”
Cristiano’s punishment had been Diego’s introduction to the darker side of that life. His father must’ve known how that would affect Cristiano. I flipped my palm over to squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”
His dark eyes drifted up to the ceiling. “He tried to get me to see people as commodities. No different than weapons or drugs to be moved across borders for a profit. Same with my mom. They didn’t see faces, just dollar signs. And control. Maybe I would’ve, too, if not for . . . for Angelina.”
