Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Costa nodded along as if Cristiano spoke the word of a patron saint. “That’s a generous offer, but a last resort,” Costa said. “I’d rather not get the Maldonados involved until we have to. We’ll take you up on help consolidating what’s left, though.”
“I’ll make some calls,” Cristiano said. “Get your most trusted men together, and I’ll get mine. We can store the product in one of my warehouses. Nobody will know the location, and if they do, they wouldn’t dare cross me.”
Cristiano was hijacking my deal in front of my eyes. How would it look to Costa that I needed to be rescued? How would it look to Natalia? With a deep ache in my jaw, I unclenched my teeth. “You expect me to trust my livelihood to you and your unhinged cabrónes?” I asked.
“Cristiano is offering to help,” Costa said. “Where is this warehouse?”
“At the border of town where the desert starts,” Cristiano said and glanced at me. “Nothing to do with the Badlands if that’s what you’re referring to.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Costa said. “With both cartels working together, we can pull this off.”
“With our two cartels working together,” Cristiano said, returning his gaze to Costa, “we can pull anything off.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. Aha. There was more to it than I’d thought. The Calaveras had their own solutions for trafficking, but if they joined forces with us, they could move double the volume and restrict their competitors from our services.
But that would mean a merger—one I’d be excluded from.
And not just any merger, but one between the de la Rosas and the Cruzes.
Anyone at the helm of both the Calavera and Cruz organizations would be afforded a power few others could match. Did Cristiano feel he was owed that after the decade he’d lost? Was it not enough that he’d taken our parents from me? Now he was back to take the rest? If so, his endgame was bigger than I’d guessed.
He had reason to push me out . . . but no—it was impossible for him to know that. I was nothing if not careful and always had been. Cristiano would’ve gone to Costa by now, and this conversation would be happening atop a fresh grave.
“Perdón.” Cristiano rose from the table with his cell phone in hand. He started to turn but paused. “You may want to consider putting Natalia on a plane, don Costa. In case things get any worse.”
I wondered, not for the first time, why Cristiano was concerned with Natalia at all. I hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at her at the costume party, first predatorily from the balcony, then later, the way a man regards a woman who has something he likes.
I recognized his interest in Natalia because I shared it as well.
She was more than an interest to me, though. I loved her. She was my weakness.
Did we share that as well?
Did Cristiano have a tender spot for her that he might not even be aware of . . . until someone stepped on it?
As Cristiano left the table, Costa turned to me. “Are things going to get worse for my daughter, Diego?”
He said everything he needed to in that one question. It had nothing to do with how the Maldonados could hurt her, but how I could. “Natalia is my best friend,” I said carefully. “I’d do anything to protect her.”
“That won’t be necessary. The best thing you can do is put her safety above all else and release her.”
I didn’t have to be explicitly told to stay away from her—that had always been implied. But it was the closest Costa had come to acknowledging my relationship with her. I wasn’t going to get his blessing. Which turned the question from how to get his approval . . . to whether I needed it.
“So I ask you again,” Costa said. “Are things going to get worse for Natalia?”
I shook my head, looking into my glass. “No, señor.”
“Good. As for your brother,” he said. “He wants to help.”
“And you don’t wonder why?” I asked.
Costa sucked his teeth, charting Cristiano from across the restaurant as he made a call on the patio. “No. Because he is grateful I have welcomed him back to his home,” he said. “Finish your drink. Then go and express your gratitude for your brother’s offer to help.”
Cristiano wasn’t here to help. He was here to hurt. Or worse . . .
No doubt he thought I’d turned my back on him eleven years ago and blamed me for everything he’d lost. It occurred to me that I hadn’t even considered the worst Cristiano could do.
It was true that by saving my Maldonado deal, he’d get credit for it, win back Costa’s favor, and potentially replace me. I’d assumed that was the fastest way for him to get everything he wanted.