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“I can’t wait to see it, honey.” I stroke my fingers through his hair, desperate to avoid eye contact with the figure lurking just beyond my field of view.
Yet he won’t easily be ignored. “Lupita—” his voice catches over the syllables in the name. “When you’ve tucked him in, come see me. We have unfinished business, you and I.”
“Business?” I cough to hide my fear, but his feral smile tells me he knows damn well how unnerved I am.
“Nothing serious,” he replies. As if to undercut those words, he lets his tongue slide along his lower lip in a devious display of innuendo. Sweat drips down my back as I rush to interpret the gesture. A threat? “Just… To discuss concerns any parent may have regarding the welfare of their child.Adíos.”
Shit.With unparalleled grace, he leaves, though I’m sure one of his minions, like Horatio, is lurking out of sight, ready to ensure his master’s wishes are brought to fruition.
Any fantasies I had about escaping die.
Tonight, he won’t let me out of his sight.
Perhaps…notever.
CHAPTERTWO
Like a burgeoning storm cloud, Jaguar’s departure ushers in a sense of doom. Replaying his parting words in my head, I’m sure there was a threat hidden amongst them somewhere. Were I alone, I’d panic and fret.
But I’m not, and Francisco doesn’t deserve to see me cower.
I fake a cheerful demeanor for his sake by forcing a smile. “Eat, baby,” I demand, prodding his mostly-full plate. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. I hope you’ve been okay.”
“I’m fine,” he replies in a deadpan tone. His expression turns glum, and his gaze downcast as if Jaguar stole his joy when he left.
“Franco?” The hairs on the back of my neck go up. I know that haunted, vacant expression. For the past decade, I’ve sported that same look, always fearful, always on guard. “Tell me what happened after you left your papa’s house, baby.”
My voice is choked with panic and guilt. Jaguar promised me all along that Franco was safe, but what is safety to a narco? Only God knows what the boy witnessed while being taken from his father’s home.
I place my hand on his shoulder until he looks up at me. “Please, honey. Tell me what happened.”
“It was nighttime,” he says in a small voice. “Papa said I had to leave and stay at the California house. He had Chino and Guapo take me—”
“Just those two?” I ask, frowning. They’re Braulio’s most trusted lieutenants. The bastard wasn’t just being petty by moving Franco out of state and away from me. By sending those men to guard his son, he’d been worried for the boy, in his own sick way. Why? I scan his delicate features, desperate for an answer. “Honey, do you know why?”
He shakes his head. “No. Auntie… Are my mama and papa coming today too? Are they here?”
Damn.I sigh and sit back in my chair. How I’ve been dreading this question. Rather than evade it, I suck in a breath and do the one thing I’ve been fearing since setting off on this course of action—I tell him some version of the truth. “No, they aren’t coming, honey. Franco, I think it’s best if your papa stays away for now. He has a lot of stuff on his plate. All that matters is that you are safe—”
“No!” I feel my heart pang as he looks down at his plate and says, “You’re lying. He won’t come. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“N-No, baby.” I rush to pat his back. Did Jaguar plant this seed in his head? As much as I loathe Braulio, I can’t deny that seeing Franco’s heartbroken frown arouses the grim reality I’ve been trying to ignore all this time. At the end of the day, this child loves his parents, both of them. What happens to them in this twisted narco game will affect him no matter what.
Perhaps, this is the real reason behind Jaguar’s taunts? He holds Franco’s physical and emotional well-being right in the palm of his hand—and I’m the one who put both there.
“Franco, baby, look at me—” I stroke his hair until he complies. His brown eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I feel my eyes well in response. My poor boy. “Where did you hear that from? Did someone say that to you?”
“No, but I’m not stupid.” He sniffles, batting me away. “Hehasto be dead. Papa was afraid, and I heard the men who brought me here talking. They said, ‘you know whose kid this is? Braulio, the dead man walking—’” A sob cracks through the stoic demeanor he tries so hard to uphold.
“Oh, Franco.” I pull him into my arms, blinking as those menacing tears finally fall. “Your daddy is alive. He just… He just can’t be here right now—”
“And my mama?” he demands, pulling back with a questioning grimace. “They just left me here.”
“She loves you, baby,” I insist, gently wiping his tears, first with my fingers and then with a napkin snatched from the table. “They both do.”
It kills me to say that, but I know he needs to hear it.
Suddenly, he grabs my hand. “Auntie. Before I left, I heard Papa say… He said bad things. I’m scared.” Fear floods those beautiful brown eyes, and I squeeze his hand, desperate to reassure him.
