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He doesn’t say anything. His stern expression suggests he wants me to agonize over that question. One thing becomes evident as his jaw clenches with anger—this isn’t just about a mistaken identity.
Something else has him simmering, seconds from lashing out.
“Of course not.” Suddenly, he smiles, but it’s a feral display of teeth without an ounce of warmth to be found. “A threat would imply I wasn’t serious, but I’ve gotten to know Franco while you were napping the day away. He is a good boy. I would hate to see that his welfare has been used as a ploy to pull on my heartstrings.”
He fingers a piece of my hair while I stand there, paralyzed.A ploy?
“I don’t…” I stammer to find the right words. “I don’t understand what’s wrong—”
“Don’t you?” With that smirk still on his face, he releases me and turns toward the door. “I don’t appreciate having my generosity taken advantage of, or watching those in my orbit usepawnsin an attempt to manipulate me. While you may not be his mother, your duty to Franco remains clear. You either care for the boy, or you don’t—” His tone hardens as he tilts his head to shoot me a piercing glance. “Don’t flip the script now.Claro?”
My poor, exhausted brain rushes to try and decipher what lurks between the lines of his words.Prove my devotion to Franco wasn’t a lie—that I’m not using him for my own gain?
“Come up and join us for dinner,” he says, giving me whiplash at the sudden change of subject. “I made sure to order his favorite. If you’re lucky, he’ll leave some scraps for you. Ciao, for now, Lupe.” With that, Jaguar strolls from the room, whistling a chilling, jaunty tune that echoes in his wake. The second I hear his steps on the staircase, I collapse to my knees, gasping for air.
Oh, God. My eyes burn as I try to fight back the tears. What am I going to do?
Focus, for one, I decide with a firm shake of my head. Get my bearings. Not panic. And certainly not leave Franco unattended in the home of an infamous narco. Providing Jaguar still aims to keep Franco safe, then I will go along with whatever he wants, no matter what the game is—though I wonder why he cares? Anger at being lied to, I could understand, but this seems to go deeper. The look in his eye when he demanded I be clear about my intentions toward Franco… It wasn’t cold, or calculating, but protective. As if he genuinely thinks I sought to use the boy merely to get to him.
My mind wanders before I can help myself, probing deeper into the prospect. Perhaps, as a boy, was Jaguar used by his own mother?
Enough, Pita,I tell myself with a firm shake of my head.Snap out of it. Focus on Franco. Only on Franco.
Bracing myself against the wall for balance, I stand and then make my way from the room, straining my ears for Franco’s voice. Eventually, I find myself in a spacious dining room dominated by a long, glass table. At one end, Franco sits, dunking chicken fingers into his own private array of sauces.
I savor a few seconds of watching him from the shelter of the doorway. My poor little Franco. He seems so big, after only a few weeks. His baby fat is starting to melt away, revealing the handsome bone structure beneath. In a few years, he’ll resemble his mother even more, and the thought hurts like hell. Does Tiena, wherever she is, even miss him?
“Au—Mama!” Spotting me, Franco grins and then wrinkles his nose. With a ketchup-smeared finger, he points at my legs. “Why are you wearing that thing? Is it a costume?”
“Huh?” I ask, inspecting my outfit for the first time. The ivory, lacy shift that swishes around my legs with every step is, thankfully, way more modest than one of Jaguar’s risqué choices for me regarding clothing. In fact, the cut resembles something a nun might wear, hence Franco’s assumption.
In contrast, the man who strokes his chin as I approach represents nothing holy.
“Your mama was in such a rush to meet you here that she forgot her clothes,” Jaguar says from his perch at the head of the table. From my previous position, I hadn’t been able to see him. “We shall have to take her shopping, yes?”
I assume it’s a boast, given that he has his women share clothing between them like living barbie dolls. Still, I force a smile.
“I’ll let you pick my clothing, baby, if you want. What would you like me to wear?”
“Pink!” He grins before chomping on a ketchup-soaked nugget.
“Pink?” Jaguar laughs and takes his time inspecting me from head to toe. Deviously, he lets his gaze linger over my breasts before finally meeting my gaze. “I don’t know if I can see it. Your mama seems the opposite of soft and sweet. Perhaps red suits her better. The color of blood.”
I flinch at the way his teeth catch over the supposed “compliment.”
“Not uh. Pink,” Franco says playfully. I’m sure the darker innuendo has gone right over his head. “But she doesn’t like dresses. She likes pants.”
“Oh, is that so?” Jaguar raises an eyebrow and traces his bottom lip with his tongue. It’s a shameless display, put on just beyond Franco’s line of sight.Dios mío, his eyesdevourme through the thin material. “Pants, you say. How do you think she’d look in mine?”
Franco cackles gleefully. “Silly.”
“I’m sorry, Francisco.” In contrast, Jaguar’s laugh is low and guttural. “I think I may have to disagree on that, my son.”
“F-Franco,” I croak, reaching for his hand. “We shouldn’t keep Mr. Domingas. I’m sure he’s very busy.”
“Your mama is right,” Jaguar says, but I know in my gut it’s too easy a retreat. Based on the searching look he sends my way, I will pay for this sooner or later. Goosebumps erupt on my skin as he stands, his smile strained but polite. “I’ll go to my study and get started on my busy, boring work. Franco, why don’t you show your mama to your room when you’re done eating? She hasn’t had the chance to explore yet.”
“Okay! It’s so big,” Franco says, turning to me, his eyes bright. “My room even has a TV, Au—Mama!”
