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“Tío,” I say politely. “Thank you for bringing me here.” I take a seat beside him and smooth my dress over my legs. “I hope this won’t cause problems with you and the Kozlovs.”
“I’ll smooth it over.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Your happiness is more important.”
Prickles of unease dance down my spine. That’s something he’s never said before. I don’t know what my uncle and Jorge are really after, but something is going on.
“I’m thankful to hear you say that,” I reply, false cheerfulness in my tone. My fingers clutch my coffee cup so tightly I’m afraid the porcelain might shatter. “Where is Jorge this morning?”
“Attending to a few important matters. Don’t worry, he’s not running off back to America. He’s eager to spend time with you again.”
I swallow. “Wonderful.”
“Tell me, Bianca, what happened with your husband? I was under the impression that you were happy being married to Daniil Kozlov. Was I mistaken?” My uncle studies me with an intensity that makes me want to jump out of my skin.
Hold it together. Just for a little while longer.
“Not exactly,” I say, careful to keep my expression blank. “It was fine at first, but then his true colors came out. It was clear he had no interest in being a married man. So when Jorge reached out to me at the charity event and told me you wanted me home, here with you, I knew it was time to leave.”
“I did not know you were so loyal to the Morales family.” A chill descends on the table and when I look up, the glint in his eyes is pure ice.
“Of-of course I am,” I stammer. A server brings us a platter of fresh-baked goods, and my uncle offers me a croissant. I hesitate, but he continues to hold it out for me. I swallow and moisten my lips. This is what a mouse feels like when it spots a cat about to pounce. Finally, I take the pastry from his hand, my stomach in knots.
The smile my uncle offers me is predatory.
“Jorge made new friends in America. Learned such interesting things. Do you want to know what he discovered?” I shake my head, but he continues anyway. “That you are an FBI informant. That couldn’t be true, could it, my dear?”
I drop my hands into my lap, steadying myself with a deep breath. He knows. My uncle knows. A riot of emotions erupts inside of me: pain, betrayal, confusion. Had the Kozlovs set me up? As angry as Daniil is, I can’t believe he’d ever do something so ruthless.
Whatever the case, the only thing to do now is play the game and hope my uncle doesn’t gut me right here over breakfast. I’ve certainly seen him do worse.
I release a haughty laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Why would the niece of a major cartel player and the wife of a vor squeal to the FBI? What reason would I—”
He puts up his hand to stop me. “I can think of many reasons. But I think the most likely one is that you made a very tragic discovery about your past.”
My teeth gnash together. “What would that be?” I ask, my voice strained.
“You found out I killed Mommy and Daddy? And let’s not forget baby Celeste. That must have hurt.” I lunge for him then, fury hijacking any good sense or self-preservation. But I’m no match for my uncle. He has me restrained in a blink, his hand wrapped around my throat. “Ah, that’s what I thought. You do know. I suppose you’ve been biding your time, planning your revenge.” His face is red, spittle flying from his mouth. “But that won’t happen.”
I struggle against him, but he squeezes my trachea and blackness dances around the edge of my vision. It’s only when I’m close to losing consciousness that he relaxes his grip.
I gulp in a full breath of air. “Why?” I choke out. “Why not kill me, too? What kind of monster raises the child of the family he murdered in cold blood.”
“Why do you think, you dumb bitch? The only reason to keep you alive is because you were useful. As my only living relation, I could marry you off to create a powerful alliance, and I did exactly that.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I gasp. “Before Daniil, I was promised to Jorge.”
His expression turns gleeful. “And you still are.”
“What!?” My adrenaline surges hard as my eyes dart around the property, looking for an escape, anywhere to run. But of course, guards patrol every square inch of the property.
I’m fucked.
“You and Daniil aren’t legally married. I made sure of that. The paperwork was a forgery. In the eyes of the law, you are not married to Daniil Kozlov, and in the eyes of God… well I don’t fucking care.”
On instinct, I break free from my uncle’s grasp and take off running toward the edge of the property. For one sweet second, I taste freedom before I am brutally tackled to the ground by a strong male body. I thrash in the arms of my captor, legs flailing as he rolls on top of me, pinning my hands to my body. The cloying smell of Jorge’s cologne invades my nostrils, the familiarity making me wretch.
It’s then that I feel two competing sensations. He grows hard against my leg, grinding against me. And then the unmistakable snap of cold metal against my temple.
“Stop fighting,hermosa. It’s pointless.” I ignore him and continue to thrash until he releases the safety on the gun, a resoundingthunkagainst my temple. That stops me cold. “There you go, now you know we’re not playing.”
