Stone Cold

by Kristi Belcamino

  He leaned back, grinning.

  “I see how it is. That’s okay. I can get all the dirt on you from Miguel,” I said.

  He laughed. “If anyone knows my secrets, it’s Miguel.”

  “Really?” I smiled and then picked up the menu.

  It was silent for a few seconds before I looked at him over the menu. “Do you always go swimming in front of the Dolfin?”

  “Never.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  There was a commotion by the front door. I looked over. Three men in black stood there. With one glance I knew they were armed. My heart jumped into my throat. They were on to me. El Jefe knew who I was.

  Seeing my alarm, El Jefe gave me a curious look.

  “Don’t be afraid. They are with me.”

  I exhaled loudly. “Oh. Okay. I think.”

  He stood. “Excuse me.”

  Standing in the doorway, he and the men spoke in low voices. He kept glancing over at me, making my dread rise.

  Were they telling him who I really was? Was this it?

  Then he walked back to me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Something urgent has come up.”

  And without another word, he walked out.

  I stared after him for a few seconds. The three men followed on his heels without glancing back at me.

  Soon Miguel was at my side, asking to take my order.

  Despite my joking earlier, Miguel ended up being a truly terrible source. As I ate my seafood dinner alone, he refused to answer any questions about El Jefe.

  “Can you at least tell me his name?”

  “Senorita Serena, I would move heaven and earth for you, but this I cannot do.”

  I frowned. What kind of chokehold did El Jefe have on this man? On this whole town?

  27

  Nico’s men had managed to intercept the American men in the parking lot of the airport, but someone had seen them, and it would take several phone calls and wire transfers to important Mexican officials to make sure the men had “never been seen” entering Mexico City.

  It was unfortunate he had to handle that right then because he’d just had the pleasure of meeting Gia Santella. Her beauty was raw, sensual, like a black panther. He found he was reluctant to part with her company. But business was business. And he knew where she was staying.

  He couldn’t wait to find out why she was here.

  She obviously didn’t have his daughter with her.

  He could only assume one thing: she was here to kill him.

  Her recklessness was refreshing. She had no idea what she was up against. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill her or kiss her. But that was not important. After all, he was El Jefe Grande. He could do both.

  28

  When El Jefe walked out of the restaurant, leaving me sitting there alone, I was at a loss. It took me a few seconds to readjust my plans.

  I decided to take my time eating, ordering sopes, topped with refried beans, carnitas, and queso fresco.

  Running out after him would set off alarms. He obviously had this whole town in his pocket. I should just assume that there were eyes everywhere.

  As much as I wanted action, my best bet was to play the bored divorcée. I’d set up camp on the beach again and read my book while working on my tan.

  After I paid Miguel, I left by the beach side of the restaurant, slipping off my sandals to walk on the sand. I would take the same way as I had the day before, passing by El Jefe’s house. For all he knew, I took this morning walk every day, right? And it would help burn off some of the excess adrenaline I was feeling from being so close to him.

  When I neared his house, I could tell there was nobody on the upper deck. I passed and the house seemed deserted. I walked again to the end of the beach before turning around. There was no sign of life at the beach house when I passed it a second time.

  Back at my hotel, I set up the lounge chair again and cracked my book, hoping the sound of a ski boat would approach again. But the water before me remained empty.

  I only left the beach to restock on food, cigarettes and drinks, or use the bathroom. I finished my book and started another. I spent the day eating, napping, and reading.

  At one point, I looked down at my skin—I was now at least four shades darker than I’d been when I first arrived in town; thank you Italian DNA—and decided I needed to set up the beach umbrella that was propped in a corner on my patio.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent an entire day doing practically nothing. It felt amazing, but by the time the sun was growing low on the horizon I was bored.

  Inside my room, I showered with the bathroom door open, alert to any sounds from the rest of the room. After my shower, I dressed in a white sundress that made my skin seem even darker, grabbed my bag, and headed for the restaurant as the sun dipped down to the west.

  It was Friday night, so a few of the tables at the restaurant were already occupied. One table held a small family. Another had three couples who looked about my age. The women wore dresses and high-heeled sandals. A third table had an older couple holding hands. No sign of El Jefe.

  “This is when our small town comes to life,” Miguel said as he seated me. “Our population doubles and sometimes triples on the weekends. We are a weekend getaway for those who live in the big city.”

  “Not very many tourists, huh?”

  “No,” he said, pouring me a glass of red wine. “It is rare we have American tourists. We are a bit of a secret. Not a big tourist destination. That is why it was so surprising to have the three men and you all in one week.”

  “That is odd,” I said.

  “Please tell me if this is none of my business, but why do you hide your beautiful eyes behind dark sunglasses?”

  I smiled. “How do you know they are beautiful?”

  “It is impossible they are not,” he said. “Forgive me for asking.”

  His face colored.

  At first, I’d thought El Jefe had put him up to the question, but as he blushed, I realized he was genuinely curious. I felt guilty for lying to such a nice guy, but it was necessary.

  “No apology necessary,” I said. “I’m happy to explain. I suffer from epilepsy. Bright lights can trigger it. Even at night. I’ve worn them so long I don’t even think about it anymore.”

  “I don’t know why I was so rude. Please forgive me.” He bowed.

  “Nonsense,” I said. “Nothing to forgive.”

  “If you say.”

  He waited for me to order.

  “Miguel, would you order for me tonight? I would be grateful if you would pick out a meal that you enjoy.”

  He smiled. “Of course. I know just the thing.”

  He began to walk away but paused when I spoke.

  “One more thing,” I said and waited until he turned so I could read his face. “Did you ever find out what happened to those American men? Why they left early?”

  His face remained expressionless. “No idea, senorita.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  Miguel brought me an outstanding but simple dinner comprised of fresh seafood—shrimp, mussels, and scallops, lightly cooked in a mint sauce that tasted like springtime in each bite. He brought a white wine to go with it.

  I ate slowly, waiting for El Jefe to arrive. Soon, the other tables emptied and refilled with new diners, but there was no sign of the drug lord. It was becoming awkward for me to be there for so long, so I asked for the check.

  “This was perfect,” I said to Miguel as I stood to leave. He had scooted back my chair for me, so when I turned to face him, we were face to face. “Miguel, the handsome man who joined me the other day. I haven’t seen him since. I’d like to invite him to go snorkeling. Are you sure you can’t tell me his name? Or how I can reach him?”

  “Hopefully you will meet up with him again during your visit. You make a striking couple,” Miguel said, skillfully avoiding answering my question.

  His
eyes were twinkling as he said it. Damn. But for some reason, his response reassured me that maybe El Jefe didn’t yet know who I was and hadn’t told everyone in town that I was a dead woman.

  29

  As much as he wanted to go to the restaurant or even go knock on Gia Santella’s door, Nico holed up in his house and spent the day working out, reading his new favorite book, Aztec by Gary Jennings, and napping.

  He wanted her to come to him.

  That way, if he did need to kill her, it would not take place in public.

  After all, she was an American citizen.

  He owned the town—he practically owned the entire country of Mexico—but he also knew that money talked. And that Gia Santella had plenty of it. He’d also heard rumors that she had an aunt, an Italian woman, who could be extremely dangerous to him if Santella’s death were traced back to him.

  For all those reasons, he would be cautious. While it would be easy to have his men storm her hotel room and kidnap her or even kill her and dispose of her body, he wanted to hear what she had to say first. Maybe she was going to ask him for a ransom for Rosalie. Maybe she would try to kill him. He laughed at the thought. Whatever her plan was, he would wait for her to come to him.

  But after a day spent waiting, Nico grew impatient—a weakness of his—and came up with a plan.

  30

  When I woke up and was stretching by the side of my bed, I froze.

  A white envelope had been slipped under my door in the night.

  I used my dagger’s blade to slit the top open. A small handwritten card was inside.

  “Please join me for dinner. 8 p.m.” It was signed, “Nico Morales.”

  His real name.

  I didn’t know what to think of that.

  But I sure as hell was going. I had a thigh holster that could fit my gun under a full skirted sundress. The dress was red and backless and flared out from my waist, dropping to my knees. I tried on the holster with the gun in it and the dress over it.

  I patted myself down in the front. Unless he grabbed my thigh, I didn’t think he would feel it. I didn’t think. That really wasn’t good enough. I looked again in the mirror. Fuck. It did bulge out slightly at one leg. I switched it with the thigh holster for my dagger. That worked better. I’d have to tuck my Glock into my handbag and keep it nearby.

  Even though I was wearing my dark sunglasses, I lined my eyes thickly with black kohl and used extra stage makeup for my scar.

  It felt like war paint. It felt necessary.

  I did some stretches in my room, but didn’t feel prepared. I hadn’t trained for a few days and wanted to warm up. I snuck down the hall and found what I was looking for in a small utility closet. Back in my room, I twisted off the head of the mop and practiced some of the grappling moves and swordplay that I’d been studying for the past two years.

  At eight, I stepped out of my room and headed toward the front desk to ask about hiring a cab or driver. I was going to be late on purpose. If it took forty-five minutes for a cab or driver to get here, so be it. I don’t think the big boss ever had to wait. I was going to show him from the start that I called some of the shots here—that I wasn’t intimidated by who he was and the power he wielded. At least that was my plan. I pushed back the small doubt that was creeping in, attempting to erode my bravado. I had to walk in there like I was his equal, or he would never take me seriously.

  But when I entered the lobby, there was a man dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit over a white T-shirt. He had short hair and looked like he’d done time. When he saw me, he nodded and gestured toward the front door. Through the windows, I saw the black car in the driveway.

  I hesitated, but only for a second. If El Jefe knew who I was, getting in that car was the same as signing my own death warrant. I had to take the chance. Because if he knew who I was, refusing to get into the car wouldn’t save me.

  31

  He paced the upper deck, waiting for his cell to ding that she was on her way.

  It wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to toy with him by being late. It didn’t bother him. His anxiety stemmed from worry that she wasn’t coming at all.

  He’d dismissed his staff for the night. After the driver dropped her off, they would be alone. It was extremely rare that he was ever completely alone.

  His lifestyle and his occupation meant that having armed guards nearby at all times was absolutely necessary. He knew his behavior tonight was risky. Anthony had scolded him, telling him he was a fool.

  “You don’t know who has gotten to her,” Anthony had said. “And even if you are confident you could take her down, she took down three of your soldiers. Or, what if she is not the actual threat? She could be a decoy. Or, what if word spread to the Rivas Cartel that you were unguarded tonight, and they’ve sent a hit squad to take you out? I do not approve of any of this.”

  “I understand and respect that,” Nico had said. “But it is my life. If I can’t make decisions such as this, then I am a prisoner of my own making, now, aren’t I?”

  It was true, but also a nice way to tell Anthony to back off and mind his own business.

  If the head of the world’s most powerful cartel couldn’t make his own decisions, then what was it all worth?

  He hadn’t risen to the position of power he was in by being foolish. Once Gia Santella was inside, he would lock down his house with his top-of-the-line security system. If anyone attempted to gain entry, he would know.

  The stars were brilliant in the sky that night. He leaned on the rail of the upper deck and wondered what Gia Santella was going to say to him. She was an exciting woman. Something about her was so raw and animalistic. He was, frankly, used to polished, sophisticated women. This woman was primal. She had a careless nonchalance about her. She truly didn’t care what anyone thought of her. At the same time, she was like a coiled snake, exuding danger and suspense. And, good God, did she have the balls of a matador to come here to Mexico to find him. Some would call it stupidity, but he knew it was fearlessness.

  He’d thought a lot about her the past two days. He’d never met anyone like her.

  The anticipation of having her in his house was building. But he stayed motionless, staring out at the star-filled night. In the distance, the waves lapped against the beach in a soothing rhythm. His phone dinged.

  “She is on her way.”

  All his big plans to make her wait downstairs and to remain aloof went out the door. He took the stairs two at a time.

  When the car pulled up, he was waiting outside.

  32

  The driver didn’t say a word during the short drive over to El Jefe’s house. Even though he’d given me his name in the invitation—Nico Ortiz Morales—I had a hard time not thinking of him by the name the media had given him.

  I had the ominous feeling I was being driven to my death and was overcome with the sudden urge to text those I loved one last time to tell them how I felt.

  Sorrow swept over me as I realized the list of those I would text was woefully short. Rosalie. Dante. Eva. Darling. My sensei, Kato.

  But I brushed that sadness aside. I was goddamn lucky to have that many people I loved in my life. As an orphan, I’d created my own family.

  And each person in it was like a brilliant gem set in a priceless ring. Golem’s “Precious” had nothing on my bling.

  I didn’t need to send them a last text for them to know how I felt. I made sure to live every moment fully and never part on a cross word. I’d been estranged from Dante before, and I’d vowed it would never happen again. If I had to camp out on his front stoop for the rest of my life begging him to reconcile, I would do it. Life was too short to let misunderstandings separate me from those I loved and who loved me.

  That’s why I was here. To fight for Rosalie. So we would not be separated. Because I loved her. But more than that, she needed me.

  This monster, as charming as he was, was a fucking drug lord. What kind of life would that be for a little girl? />
  A small part of me wondered at that assessment of him. I had to remind myself that most people in supreme positions of power like El Jefe had gotten there through a combination of irresistible charm and deadly drive. Right then, all I’d seen was the charm. However, he was a murderer. Point blank.

  The car pulled into his driveway. He stood near the front door with his hands in his pants pockets. When the driver opened my door, El Jefe greeted me with a huge smile.

  Fuck. It totally threw me off.

  What was his deal?

  As soon as we were in the house, he turned and set what looked like an elaborate alarm system. When he turned back he said, “Unfortunately, to some people I’m more valuable dead than alive. I’d hate to have some of those people interrupt our dinner.”

  “Or making sure I don’t leave?”

  He laughed but then turned to me. “The code is #4467#.”

  I eyed the contraption.

  Of course, he could be lying. But I didn’t think so.

  “This way, Gia,” he said, gesturing toward the interior of the house. “I need a sous chef for my dinner plans. You good with a knife? Oh, wait, of course you are.”

  He walked away, leaving me standing there speechless.

  He fucking knew who I was.

  I gave the alarm system one last glance before I followed him down the hall toward a brightly lit kitchen.

  33

  When I stepped into the kitchen, I saw a granite island covered in stacks of vegetables: tomatoes, avocados, onions, garlic, jalapeños. There were several bowls and knives on the counter. A cutting board off to one side had some type of thinly sliced meat on it.

  “Do you like guacamole?” he asked. He’d tied a blue flowered apron on.

  I stood inches away from the huge butcher knife on the black granite. He had his back to me at the stove, pouring some oil into a deep skillet. It would take less than five seconds to snatch the knife and throw it into his back. I’d gotten pretty damn good at throwing knives at a target. I rarely missed.