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“Thank you, Miss Muriella. You’re kind to think of me.” The doorman graciously accepted my offering as he held open the door to the lobby with his usual smile.
“It’s your favorite, right?”
“You and Miss Vivian are,” he corrected with a wink.
“We’d better be,” I teased, shifting the milk from one arm to the other.
A neighbor I recognized but didn’t know exited the elevator. She crossed the lobby to where we stood, pulling her cardigan more tightly closed when a gust of wind blasted through the open door. We nodded and smiled politely at one another before she informed Paul she needed to make arrangements to have a piece of furniture she’d donated to charity moved the following day.
I propped the door open with my foot and waved him on, dropping my keys in the process on the large rectangular doormat that adorned the outside entrance. They fell with a thud and a jingle, and I bent down to pick them up.
“Camila.”
I froze in my stooped position. The fingers that grasped the keys began to shake. No one had called me by that name in over twenty years, and my stomach turned into a nauseating vat of acid. Slowly, I rose to my full height, keeping my back turned until I was prepared to face the person who’d spoken to me.
Taking a deep breath, I turned, fear streaking down my spine.
“Camila, it’s me. Carlos.”
My brother was the exact image of our father. He reached for me, and I backed away. Carlos had put me on the boat all those years ago, and all the doubts about his motivation came back with a vengeance.
The longer I stared at him, the more obvious it became to me he had become a product of our father’s environment. Money provided an air of refinement, but the family business was ugly. It was evident in the deep lines in his face, the seemingly permanent downturn of his lips, and the hard edge of his eyes. I imagined they’d seen more than their fair share of horror, yet there was softness in them as he looked at me.
“Camila. You look just like Mama, only more beautiful,” he said in fluid Spanish. There was reverence in his voice, and I knew that was for our lost mother.
“Stop calling me that,” I said harshly in English, angry at the sound of my old name and at how easily I processed my native language, despite not having used it in years.
Carlos reached for my hand again, and I jerked away. Hurt flashed in his eyes. “Listen to me. You have to come with me now. Papa knows you’re alive. See?” He easily switched to English, hastily digging in the front pocket of his shirt and producing a folded newspaper clipping.
Warily, I accepted it and opened the paper to find a photo of Stone and me taken in front of Paths the last time he’d visited me there. Our bodies were close, and we stared adoringly at one another. The caption identified me by name. As crazy as it seemed, I’d forgotten everyone wanted a piece of Stone, that pictures like this made the paparazzi lots of money. I’d let my guard down.
“I’ve tried to make sure he never found you, but I couldn’t stop him from seeing this. I overheard him discussing with the General that he’d found you. I made up a story about needing to meet with the Colombians so I could reach you first. Please. You have to come with me.”
I snorted. “You think I would just come with you? Trust you? How do I know you won’t take me to him?”
“I’m your brother,” he said.
“He was my father!” I shouted, not caring all the people walking past could hear.
Carlos started, taking a step backwards at my outburst. “I couldn’t stop him,” he whispered, his dark brown eyes haunted. “I did what I could.”
I tried to steady my temper. “I don’t blame you.”
That seemed to ease some of the pressure in him, though he was still rigid, hands balled into fists at his sides. “You should. I have no right to ask you to trust me, but I will do whatever I can to keep you away from him.”
Seeing Carlos after all these years twisted me up, confused me. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I wasn’t sure I couldn’t either. “Let’s go upstairs. We can talk there.”
We crossed the lobby, past Paul and my neighbor still engrossed at the desk. My brother stepped into the elevator behind me when it opened. I’d thought a million times about what it would be like to see Carlos or Papa again. Fear usually seized me at the thought of being discovered and having to face the man who haunted me. Strangely, now that it could really happen, there was only an eerie calm. I sent a quick prayer of thanks for that small peace and also asked God to protect Stone, Vivian, and Daniel. While I didn’t want to ever see my father again, I wasn’t scared of the possibility any longer. I wouldn’t run. If he knew of my whereabouts, then he knew of the people I loved, and he would use that against me to get whatever he wanted. I’d already survived hell. I’d do it again if it meant keeping my family safe.
I shot off a quick text to Stone, warning him Carlos was here and my father might not be far away. When the elevator arrived on my floor, I stepped out into the private lobby and unlocked my front door. Carlos trailed me inside and closed the door behind us. The click of the lock echoed in the foyer.
I moved farther into the apartment and had almost reached the living room when I stopped in my tracks. The scent of cigars hit my nose, and in that instant, I knew my freedom was gone.
Chapter Forty-One
Muriella
I followedthe despicable scent to the living room, a thousand memories evoked by that smell. To think I’d once loved it, though I could barely remember that. None of the memories were good anymore. I looked back accusingly at my brother. Had he known what awaited us in my apartment?
