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I hope it is, too. Now all I have to do is come up with a way to convince him to return to Miami, where I’ll have a better chance of getting my life back. I think there might be a way to make this all work.
6
ENZO
What is she thinking? What’s this all about? I’m willing to give her enough rope to hang herself with by letting her dream up a way for this to benefit both of us, but I only have so much patience. There will be hell to pay if this is nothing but a stall tactic.
She’s pensive, brows drawn together, lips pursed while examining the shelves lining three walls of the study. Along with countless books, there are framed photos taken decades ago, along with assorted treasures from the many cities Grandfather visited on cartel business. Not that he was a sentimental man. I always imagined he enjoyed looking at certain pieces and remembering the deals he put in place on those particular trips.
I would tell her about it, but I don’t want to interrupt her reflecting upon my offer, which was truly not an offer at all. She has no choice.
So why didn’t she jump to accept it?There he goes again, my grandfather, still speaking in my head while buried beneath six feet of earth. Taunting me, challenging me. Forcing me to look at the problem from all angles, dissect it, and dig into it until I reach the heart of the matter.
And what is at the heart of the matter? The fact that no matter what I do to her, it gets me no closer to justice. And that is what I need—sitting here, where my grandfather should be seated, drives the point home. Yes, I want a child, an heir, but I want my heir born into a world with as few bloodthirsty enemies as possible. I want them safe.
That means I’m going to bring down the Alvarez cartel if it’s the last thing I ever do, though I have no intention of it being that. I’m going to win. Even if I’m not certain at this very moment of just how I’ll go about it.
And I’m not going to get any closer to that understanding if I spend all my time sitting here at what was only recently my grandfather’s desk, gazing upon my wife as she putters around and quite possibly stalls for time.
Wife.The word still boggles my mind. I have difficulty wrapping my head around it, no matter how I present the matter to her. For better or worse and all that. She is my wife. And I will see to it that I get what I deserve out of this arrangement.
Even if she has to think about it. Her reaction boggles me, too. She is in no position to think things over, or weigh her options, especially because she has no options. It’s either this or she dies. What, does she intend on challenging me, pushing me, seeing if I mean it? And what happens when she finds out I do, that I mean it very much? She won’t be alive to reflect on her foolishness.
I have to turn my attention away from her or else risk exploding. On the desk is the file Grandfather presented me with before sending me to Miami. All of the information we have about Alvarez and the cartel. At the moment, it does me no good. I need to find a way to get closer, deeper inside. It might be easier now, ironically, since I have no doubt Alvarez is crowing and celebrating up a storm, thinking he got one over on us. The limited time I’ve spent with the man has told me at least one thing: he’s extremely full of himself, deeply certain of his cleverness. I might be able to use that to my advantage. I only have to figure out how.
“This is a beautiful room.” She slides the book she was examining back into its slot, then runs her fingers over the spines along the rest of the row. “Really gorgeous. Your grandfather put all of this together? Or did your grandmother do it?”
“I never knew her, but this was the way he liked things. His special room. I doubt he would’ve allowed her to decorate it for him.”
Her lips twitch. “That sounds right. No offense, but this is the second time today I find myself surprised by him.”
“We De Luca men are complex creatures. It isn’t all violence and greed.”
“Obviously.” She crosses the room slowly, her hands folded in front of her. Even at this moment, when I’m so fucking frustrated I can barely breathe, I can’t help but admire the dignity with which she carries herself. That’s one thing I’ve always appreciated about her from the beginning. She might cry and beg, but she doesn’t break easily. There I was, attributing that strength to her upbringing in the middle of a cartel, but now I know it’s simply who she is. And I’m sure the hardships she’s endured have only toughened her further.
She looks down at the file, spread open on the desk. I watch as her eyes light up. “I know a way to make this work for both of us,” she murmurs. Do I hear sly excitement in her voice?
She is amusing, if nothing else. “Where did you get the idea that this was open for discussion or negotiation? Or that I want this to work out for anyone but myself? Did I not make myself clear enough? Because I would be more than happy—”
She holds up a hand, shaking her head. “You made yourself perfectly clear, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I retort. “So? What’s the point of this?”
“I hear your offer… and would like to make you a counteroffer.” Only the slight twitching of her jaw gives away her nerves. Otherwise, listening to her, I would think she was made of ice. Cold, perfectly composed. Damned if it isn’t a turn-on, too. It’s as if everything about this woman was created to tempt me, tantalize me, even when I know that’s the last thing I need right now.
I lean back in the chair, tenting my fingers beneath my chin. This might turn out to be interesting, come to think of it. “Very well. And just what would that counteroffer consist of?”
She arches an eyebrow. “You’re willing to hear me out?”
“I’ll listen,” I grunt, nodding slowly. “But understand me. If I don’t like what I hear, I’m going to take what I want anyway. Nothing you say right now is going to change that. But please, do go on. I’m curious.”
Her jaw twitches again, and I know, I just know she’s fighting to maintain herself. What she wants is to smart off, to tell me to go fuck myself or something similar. She’s too smart for that.
She gestures to one of the chairs facing the desk, and I nod, watching as she takes a seat. She sits perfectly upright, at attention. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how I ended up here. Like I told you, a friend of mine gave me the information about the warehouse, the package, and all of that. It’s her fault I got into this in the first place. Whether she did it on purpose or not, she set me up for this. And I think it’s wrong for her to get off scot-free.”
I barely suppress an amused snort. “By all means. Go right ahead. I would never refuse the impulse for vengeance, but I’m still not sure what this has to do with me. Or our arrangement.”
She ignores my response altogether and continues, “I only know her through school, really. That’s how we met. We’ve never socialized outside of school because, as I told you, I never had any money for that kind of thing. No time, either.” Her gaze fixes over my shoulder as she stares out the window for a moment, almost like she’s reflecting on her life.
