He’s back to being entirely walled off. He isn’t the gentle man from a moment ago or even the passionate one. He’s the man without a soul my mother warned me about. His eyes appear devoid of any feeling. I only know how badly I overstepped from the harshness in his voice.
I know I was being a bitch, but it’s true. His grandfather and uncle died here, and the rest of his family left Colombia because it was safer in the States.
“You heard part of the story from Humberto, but you didn’t hear all of it. Obviously, whoever’s told you about the past didn’t tell you a fraction of the truth. Myabueloruled Latin America for nearly twenty years before his brother had him killed. Mytíohas ruled for more than thirty. He doesn’t live in the U.S. because he’s afraid to live here. He lives there because he has more power and influence in this hemisphere than any otherman alive. He controls more from there than he could here. When Humberto’s hired gun killed myabuelo, my father andtíocame down here. I’ve seen the photos of the destruction they left behind. The Mexican cartels didn’t come up with the idea of leaving bodies to litter the streets to remind their neighbors who runs their country. Thirty-six years later, buildings remain rubble and ash. My uncle won’t let anyone—not private citizens nor the government—rebuild them. That’s the control he has here. If you’ve known Humberto for more than a month, then you know he’s had different bones broken every few weeks.TíoEnrique makes sure thatpedazo de mierdacan never forget he breathes because mytíoallows it. If he hurts you,Iwill make sure he knows how badly he fucked up right before I kill him.”
When I met Humberto, he had bandages wrapped around his right hand. I discovered he had broken bones in the center of his hand. I didn’t know why and couldn’t figure it out. Right now, he’s limping. He has to wear sandals because three of his toes are swollen and taped together. I can tell they’re broken. I didn’t know what happened to them either. I can guess it was Enrique who did it, or someone he sent. Maybe one of his other nephews.
“While that’s chivalrous, your uncle killed my father.”
How I let that slip my mind until now is beyond me.
“You should count yourself lucky I don’t hold your family or your name against you. Your father tried to killTíoEnrique and my father. When he failed at that, he tried to kidnapTíaLuciana. She won’t repeat the vile threats he made to her, but I’m certain he planned to rape her then kill her. He cornered her outside the grocery store and wrapped his hand around her throat. He punched her in the face. When he tried to grope her, she stabbed him in the thigh. He didn’t think she was strong enough to fight back because she’d backed down when they were engaged to avoid arguments like that. He underestimated mytía’sability to defend herself, and he sorely underestimated mytío’sretribution for touching his wife. Mytíacame home scared and with bruises on her face and throat. Your father deserved everything that happened to him. He was a fool to hurt a woman and think my family wouldn’t respond. He was out of his fucking mind to think he could touch a Diaz woman and survive. Humberto forced Domingo to work for him and believed your father could infiltrate our family because they’re cut from the same cloth. Your father was untrustworthy, and so is Humberto. He took myabueloand mytíofrom my family. He sure as fuck isn’t taking you from me.”
Chapter Five
Pablo
My temper is on the verge of shattering.
A maelstrom of emotions swirls within me, and there are several I recognize but am not used to. I’ve spent my entire life sharing almost everything I’ve had with my four cousins. Before my little brother got himself killed because he fucked around and found out Maksim Kutsenko doesn’t play when it comes to protecting his wife and children, I shared nearly everything with Juan. Often it was because the shithead took things from me. More often than not, I gave in to keep him from picking a fight where I would’ve pulverized him.
So, the possessiveness I feel now is utterly foreign and completely unreasonable.
That doesn’t stop it from surging through me. That and anger at Florencia’s refusal to cooperate, even if I understand why. I can’t blame her for not trusting me. I don’t trust her even if I want to fuck her into next week. But she needs to come with me, or she may not survive the night. I need to change my approach; otherwise, we’ll stay at this stalemate.
“Call your mother and tell her about your conversation with Humberto yesterday. See what she says.”
“She’ll tell me to be careful and not piss him off.”
“And when you tell her he’s put a hit on you? When you tell her he’s threatened to rape her and kill yourabueloandprimos? What will she say then?”
“Would he really—to my mother? Has he…”
She can’t finish her question, and I don’t blame her.
“It’s rare for women to go to his home, so he hasn’t had the opportunity. He knows any of his guards would kill him if he tried. They may work on his estate, but they work forTíoEnrique. We have no proof he did before his house arrest, but we can’t be sure he didn’t commission it before mytíobanished him to the estate. Do you want to be the reason he figures out how to make it happen?”
She’s so quick to stand I barely get out of the way before her head can nail the underside of my chin. Anger shoots flaming arrows from her eyes as she glares at me. They threaten to turn me to ash beneath her feet.
“How dare you?!”
“Did I ask anything you aren’t already asking yourself?”
“IfI told my mother anything, she’d tell me to get as far away from you as I possibly can and to not look back.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“Yes, she?—”
“As much as your mother hates my family, she knows we have far more honor than Humberto ever has. She knows that despite what we do, we never hurt women.”
At least, not intentionally. We’ve committed our fair share of sins in the last few years, inadvertently making women in the other NYC syndicates collateral damage. It was never the plan to hurt them, but some got caught in the crosshairs. But in an “usversus them,” we’ll always put our family first. None of the other families are any different.
“She might agree with that, but she would never agree to me going with you. You might not hurt me, but you’ll never convince her or me that you won’t get me hurt.”
“Chiquita, you’d be screaming down the house if you believed I’d hurt you. You would’ve shot me if you believed I was a threat. You didn’t. You kissed me instead. You pressed your body against mine, and you enjoyed what you felt. You want me to spank you, and you want me to make you come.”
I scoop her over my shoulder again like a barbarian carrying his mate off to his cave. My hand lands across her ass once more. We both understand my double entendre as I turn away from her bed.
