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“You gave it to me.” He reached out to touch my face, but I flinched back, and he dropped his arm. “You’re right to be upset. I just couldn’t bear the thought of watching you marry him without having any piece of you to myself. It meant everything to me, Tali.”
Bile rose up my throat, and this time, it had nothing to do with the road. It means less than nothing to me, I wanted to tell him. Cristiano fucks me so much better.
I would’ve said it if I was only responsible for myself, but I couldn’t risk provoking him.
Diego sighed. “We should arrive soon.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“We have some things to figure out.”
Some things. I had an idea of what he meant. “Cristiano won’t cooperate,” I said bluntly.
Diego’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t respond at first, as if deciding whether I actually knew anything.
I might, if his plan was the one Cristiano, Max, and I had pieced together months ago. Belmonte-Ruiz hadn’t killed any of us when they’d had the chance—that was no coincidence. We’d concluded that Diego had intended to use me as leverage to force Cristiano into helping Belmonte-Ruiz expand their human trafficking ring.
But that would never happen.
Cristiano knew my wishes. I would not allow him to put his soul and others’ lives at risk for me. Diego was delusional enough to think he could pull this off, but I’d come to learn that Diego’s delusions were extremely dangerous—and for Mamá, they’d been fatal.
“My brother has pissed off a lot of people; I’m not the only one who wants to see him dead,” Diego said finally. “If anything, my plan is the only thing keeping him alive—at least, for as long as I need him.”
The vehicle hit soft ground and slowed to a stop. Diego patted my knee, put on his jacket, and passed me the burlap sack. “Put it on.”
He helped me from the van. The sun never hit my face, and the temperature had dropped, but the sack let in enough light that I could tell it was still daytime. We walked up a small hill, and I struggled for breath, as if something sat heavy on my chest. My dress brushed the ground as dense dirt gave under the spikes of my heels.
Once my shoes hit firmer ground, and the fresh air turned stale, Diego said, “You can remove it.”
I pulled off the sack. We stood in a sprawling, one-story concrete and brick warehouse, surrounded by wood pallets and a forklift, steel shelving with plastic bins, gas cans, and crates. I searched for any potential weapons. Petrol and wood to burn the place down. Scissors at a workstation near a conveyor belt. If he didn’t tie me up, I could sprint for the fire extinguisher against one wall. Incapacitating him with that would require little mobility and even less creativity—but what about the other men?
Diego took me to a windowed office in one corner of the warehouse. He handed me the keys and said, “Unlock it.”
He didn’t want to turn his back to me. With the truth about my mother out there, I’d lost at least some of the trust he might’ve kept. I took the single key. I could jam it in his eye. Slipped it in the lock. But that’s not strategic.
He definitely had a gun on him—he’d be stupid not to. It was most likely somewhere around his middle.
I held my breath as I opened the door.
Diego took the key and the sack from me and gestured for me to pass through, then at a metal folding chair against the back wall, under a domed floor lamp. “Sit.”
He walked to a desk of computers across from the seat. Above it was a bank of monitors—security footage of the inside and perimeter of the warehouse.
“What is this?” I asked, trying to distract him as I noted my surroundings. Empty buckets in one corner. A stack of bricks in another. A file cabinet. Even the lamp and chair could act as defense weapons. Anything that wasn’t bolted down. My purse was nowhere in sight.
“We’re just going to let my brother know you’re safe.”
“Why?” I asked as I walked to the chair.
“Hands behind your back.”
I held them together in front of me, hoping he wouldn’t think anything of it. Easier to escape that way.
Diego eyed me up and down. “I said behind you.”
“Does it matter?” I said but obeyed, mentally preparing myself for the most difficult restraints. However he bound me, I could get out of it. I’d practiced countless times. But some scenarios were worse than others. For handcuffs, I could try to find a prop on the desk in front of me, but I’d need time alone. All my sneakers at home had Kevlar laces that could cut through zip ties or rope, and some even had universal handcuff keys strung on the laces for this purpose—but of course, I was in heels today.
