The Right Garza : A Friends to Lovers Romance (Red Cage Book 1)

by S. Ann Cole

  “I won’t change it this time. You’ll see.” I turn my face from the sky to look at him. He’s already looking at me. He’s always looking at me. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  His eyes close as if to think about it, but I know what his answer will be—professional basketball player. When his eyes open again and meet mine, he replies confidently, “Your husband.”

  I roll my eyes. Ugh. He’s so frustrating. “You never answer me seriously about anything.” I get up and dust sand off my behind. “Come on. Let’s go play volleyball with the others.”

  ~

  It’s my sixteenth birthday.

  Monica is hosting a nice dinner party for me next door. Outdoors, so there’ll be enough room for my large family.

  I’m in my room getting ready when Mama shadows my door to tell me he’s here to see me. I’m still in my bathrobe and in the middle of blow-drying my hair, so I ask Mama if she can allow him in my room just this once. She is not at all like Monica Garza—only blood family is allowed in our home.

  Mama doesn’t like my request but, because it’s my birthday, she reluctantly agrees with a harrumph. “Solo esta vez,” she says, wagging a stern finger at me.

  “Si, Mama.” Just this once.

  I smell the scent of Irish Spring first, and I glance up in the mirror of my dresser to see him in my bedroom doorway.

  I turn off the blow-dryer and turn to give him my attention. “Hey. What’s up?”

  He walks in.

  There’s something in his hand. “I…um…I just wanted to give you your birthday gift before things got crazy.”

  I flash him a silly grin. “You got me a gift?”

  He holds his hand out. A gray box wrapped with white bow sits in his large, calloused palm.

  I’m excited as I take it.

  I untie the bow and lift off the cover.

  Nestled in a delicate ruffle of red silk is a gold necklace. Angel wings that close together in the shape of a heart. “Oh, wow. This is…” I look up at him, stunned. “Is this real gold?”

  He nods, looking somewhat nervous.

  “It’s…Oh my God,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

  And without a doubt the nicest, most expensive gift anyone’s ever given me.

  “Open it,” he says. “It’s a locket.”

  Oh…

  Frowning, I flip it from side to side as I try to figure out how to open it. “How—”

  “Lift the wings.”

  Following his instructions, I lift the wings outward, then break into a watery smile when I see a miniature picture of Mama and me. “Where did you get—”

  “I stole it from your phone.”

  My heart stretches tightly in my chest. He knows how much Mama means to me. That she’s my world. They all know. This is such a thoughtful gift it makes me want to weep.

  I throw my arms around him, tipping high up on my toes to hug him hard so that he feels every bit of my appreciation.

  He sighs in my hair as he hugs me back. Squeezing me tight.

  “Put it on me,” I say, spinning out of his arms so my back is to him.

  He takes the necklace from me and sweeps my hair to the side, locking it around my neck. His fingers linger at my nape, and his minty breath warms my neck as he whispers, “I love you, Lexi.”

  I giggle. “Of course you do silly, I’m freaking awesome.”

  I skip off to the dresser and admire my new treasure in the mirror. “I can’t believe I own a gold necklace,” I squeal. “Thank you so, so much for this beautiful gift. I love it!”

  ~

  Rage fuels me as I haul piles of Torin’s clothes from his room and out onto the lawn.

  Monica isn’t home to stop me or yell at me. Neither are Torin, Tripp, or Tillie. Just the twins, and those two know better than to get in my way when I’m irate.

  I’m nicknamed Hellcat for a reason.

  True is in the living room watching a baseball game like nothing’s happening.

  And he is watching from his upstairs bedroom window.

  With Mama’s sharp scissors I slice through Torin’s clothes, piece after piece, until they’re nothing but shreds. Then I douse them with gasoline from the garage, strike a match, and let it fall, stepping back as flames eat up the pile.

  I glance up at his bedroom window. The lights are now off, but I know he’s still there watching me. He’s always watching me.

  Satisfied with the flaming damage I’ve done, I cross the street to my house.

  Why are there no tears? Aren’t you supposed to cry when you get your heart broken?

  Is my heart broken? What I feel most is shame. Indignance. Like I’ve been made a fool of. And, as a result of that shame, anger.

  I’m just so angry.

  So angry.

  I stomp to my room and slam the door. It echoes through the house. Falling back against it, I slide down to the floor, willing myself to feel something; anything other than unquenched rage.

  In my pocket my phone pings, and I pull it out to see it’s a message from him.

  Him: I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here for you. Always.

  I hiss a curse at my phone then block his number.

  Then I delete it.

  Then I do the same with all the other Garzas in my phone.

  Screw them. Screw every last one of them.

  The Garzas are dead to me.

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX

  “Grease and dairy don’t go well with fear.”

  Lexi

  “Open your eyes.”

  Oh God.

  No. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes tighter. I don’t want to see.

  My face is wet with tears.

  My restrained hands itch to reach up and touch the necklace around my neck.

  I can’t. I can’t touch it. I can’t feel him one last time.

  Oh my God. How? How could I have missed it? Been so blind? So oblivious?

  The searing burn of regret percolates in my chest, my throat tightening, clenching, blocking my airflow.

  What damage will seeing my lifeless body with a hole in my head do to him? To Mama?

  “Open. Your. Eyes.”

  I push hard against my blocked airway and inhale a shuddering breath. Then, slowly, cautiously, I open my eyes.

  Stefano’s head is cocked to the side as he observes me with a slight frown. Does he remember me? And at this point, would it matter?

  With his free hand, he gets out his cell and from his jacket pack, taps on the screen a few times before lifting it to his ear.

  A few seconds later, “Trenton. How art thou, dearest cousin?”

  Cousin?

  He listens for a beat then, “Well, since you are so very busy, I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to ask: That ‘girl’, whose debt you cleared several months ago, is she still yours? Because she is sitting in front of me, and I am two seconds away from putting a bullet in her head.” … “Oh, calm down. I did call you to verify, didn’t I? Aren’t I your most favorite cousin ever?” … “Well, five million dollars has gone missing and I am told that her and another one are behind it.” … “Uh-huh” … “I see.”

  He drags his gaze from me to Slim and asks, “What is the other one’s name?”

  “Ellie,” Slim answers quickly. “Ellie Harper. But I was misled. Lexi is not—”

  Stefano silences him with just one look, then says into the phone, “Ellie Harper.” … “Hmm, I see. So, what you are telling me is that you paid to save her life just so she could come back and steal from me again?”

  His gun lowers as he listens, and I exhale a rush of breath. Having a gun trained on me is the single most terrifying experience of my life.

  How much more of said life is left? Will I get to see Trent again? Just once?

  “Right. Well, here’s the thing, cousin. This is your fuck-up. If you had allowed me to chop her head off like I planned on, we would not be here right now. So, hear this, you are going to f
ind that thieving bitch and bring her to me—free of cost—and in the meantime, I will hold on to your precious Lexi.” … “No, you cannot fucking talk to her, Trenton!” … “I don’t give a shit. Find the cunt and my money and bring her to me or Lorenzo, or I will fuck your Latina raw then stick a knife in her throat.”

  He ends the call.

  And I feel a sharp stab in my throat as if he’s already stuck a knife in it.

  Stefano looks at me and beams. “Thank you, Lexi. It’s not often I get to boss around a Garza. Cocky little fuckers.”

  Huh? This man is both lethal and ridiculous at the same time. I wouldn’t trust someone like him with a ten-foot pole.

  “Untie her.”

  Slim jerks at the command, hurrying over to the sofa.

  “Don’t touch her,” growls a deep, gruff, voice.

  I glance to the side to see Stefano’s look-alike—who I’m now assuming is ‘Lorenzo’—has turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows and is striding across the room toward me.

  Slim immediately backs away.

  Lorenzo pulls me up from the couch, positions himself behind me, and proceeds to undo the binds from my hands with unhurried care. Not in a million years would I have expected such gentleness from someone who emanates menace and animosity.

  Even after the binds are off, he lingers, massaging my wrists to soothe where my skin is rubbed raw. And while I appreciate it, I also feel uneasy, considering the threat of fucking me raw then stabbing me in the throat that was just issued.

  “Lorenzo,” Stefano says in a tone that sounds like a warning.

  The two exchange some kind of silent communication, then Lorenzo grunts and walks out.

  Stefano waves me to him. “You’re coming with us, Lexi.” He then points at Slim like he’s a dog and tells him, “Don’t set even a foot out of this building until I say you can.”

  I take two steps forward, then halt.

  I like neither men, but I know the lesser of the two evils is Slim. He wouldn’t hurt me, at least not in the way the Castellos would. It’s not who he is. But at the same time, he can’t save me either. He’s even more terrified of these men than I am.

  “Come, Lexi,” Stefano sternly beckons.

  Knowing I have no choice here, I go to him.

  He takes my chin between his fingers and turns my face to the side. “Oh dear,” he mutters, then flicks his gaze over my head to Slim. “You better pray this bruise fades by the time my cousin gets here. I would not want to be you if it doesn’t.”

  With that, he takes my hand and leads me to the elevator.

  ~

  “Are you hungry?”

  I drag my dazed attention from the window and direct it to the man sitting next to me. We’re in the back of an Escalade, chauffeured by one of his suited men. Another suit is seated in the passenger seat up front. Identical Escalades drive both ahead of us and behind us, as if they’re escorting the president or something.

  Stefano watches me expectantly, and even though my appetite at the moment is nonexistent—who can eat at a time like this?—I have a feeling there’s only one answer to this question, so I reply, “Yes.”

  “Good.” He gets out his phone. “What do you want?”

  “Um, a cheeseburger…and fries.”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Grease and dairy don’t go well with fear.”

  “How would you know?” I ask him. “You don’t strike me as someone who fears.”

  “No.” He lifts the phone to his ear. “But I have fed a lot of men before I killed them. The grease makes them vomit, the dairy makes them shit themselves. Makes for a messy cleanup.”

  Who talks this casually about murder? How on earth are Trent and these people related?

  Into the phone, he says, “Seafood from Calla’s. Two fish and vegetables. One shark, one salmon.” As he hangs up and returns the phone to his jacket pocket, he mutters, almost to himself, “For some reason, when people think they are about to die they ask for cheeseburgers. What’s so goddamn special about cheese fucking burgers?”

  I don’t even attempt to offer any kind of clarity. He’s a strange individual. “Are you really related to the Garzas?”

  “Yes.”

  “But… I grew up with them. Lived right across the street from them,” I say, unable to hide the disbelief from my voice. “I’ve never seen or heard of you—Castellos.”

  Stefano eyes me with mild curiosity. “That’s because we were not allowed to visit them. They visited us.”

  “Why were you not allowed to visit?”

  “The Jamaican goddess.”

  “You mean Monica?”

  At the hum of a dull buzz, he holds up a finger and gets out his phone to take a call.

  The phone call lasts for several long minutes, but as soon as he hangs up I ask, “What did Monica do?”

  For a moment he frowns at me with a confused expression, as if he’s forgotten our conversation already.

  I’m about to remind him when he snaps his fingers with an “Ah” as though the conversation has just returned to him. And I imagine what the thoughts inside his head must be like.

  “Well, she didn’t do anything except exist,” he says. “She was my papa’s woman first, you see. He messed up one too many times, so she left him. Uncle Flavio, who had always wanted her, swept her up and made her his queen. By the time Papa came to his senses it was too late. For Papa, she was the one that got away. He resented Uncle Flavio, so he kept us from visiting the Garzas or attending their family gatherings.

  “In our mid-teens, he had a slight change of heart and started allowing our cousins to come visit us, but never Monica. He refused to see Monica and Uncle Flavio together.”

  Wow. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to come to terms with the fact that the Garzas are related to what appears to be a freaking mob family.

  “Funniest part?” Stefano continues with a humorless chuckle. “Exactly one week after Uncle Flavio’s heart attack, Papa had one right behind him. The regret of forcing a wedge between himself and his brother instead of coming together as a family killed him.”

  Damn. That’s sad. “I’m so sorry.”

  His hand reaches up to my face as if to brush my hair from my eyes, but when I flinch in reaction, he drops his hand.

  “I value family. A lot,” he tells me. “I’d shoot a woman dead before I let her come between me and my blood. But money…” He sighs dramatically. “Sweet Lexi, I do not fuck around when it comes to my money. My cousin seems to care about to you, and I care about my cousin. But while I would never start a war with family over a woman, I would do it for five million dollars. So, for all our sakes, I am really, really, really hoping Trenton comes through on this one.”

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Ask me again.”

  Lexi

  After around three different stops to “business associates”—I was left under watch in the car each time—the Escalade makes its final stop in the alley behind Black Gold Casino.

  Suited men with grim expressions file out of the vehicles and shuffle me through a black metal door guarded by two large men.

  After climbing two flights of stairs, Stefano tugs me into an elevator with him and holds his hand up to halt the others from entering.

  The elevator spits us out on the sixth floor, and he leads me into an office.

  It’s quite an office. Wide and masculine, a dominant decor of gray and deep brown with an unobscured vista of the strip. It screams ego.

  He gestures to one of two long, leather couches. “Have a seat, Lexi.”

  I do so without argument, as I’m not sure if being secluded with just him is a good thing or a bad thing.

  He strides to his ginormous desk, unbuttons his jacket, and sits down. He glances over and starts to say something, but then his phone rings and he answers.

  And as soon as that call ends another one comes in, again, and again, and again. From his desk phone to his cellphone to his desk phone, on
e call after the next. Who is this man?

  With my hands clasped in my lap, trying not to breathe too loudly, I listen to his one-sided conversations instead of the thundering beats of my heart. It is a terrible thing to wait in fear. Not knowing what fate awaits you. Death or freedom?

  A knock comes at the door and Stefano pauses his phone call to give the knocker the okay to enter.

  The doorknob starts to turn then stops. Sounds of a scuffle… A feminine screech of protest… A low grumble… Then the doorknob turns again and Lorenzo strides in with two takeout containers on a tray. His serious, don’t-fuck-with-me eyes sweep around the room and settle on me. Something glints in that terror-inducing gaze of his.

  “Why are you bringing this instead of Kate?” Stefano asks with a scowl.

  “She…tripped,” Lorenzo replies.

  And I sense that there’s more to Kate’s “trip.”

  Stefano sighs. “The shark is for me, the Salmon for Lexi.”

  Lorenzo strides over to where I’m at and hands me the takeout container. On top of it is a sticker with “Salmon/Veg” scribbled across it.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “Drink?” he asks, his voice a deep, low rumble, his gaze coasting over me like I’m his own meal.

  “Yes. Um, water.”

  His lips do this thing, as if he’s trying to smile at me and keeps failing. With a silent, somewhat frustrated grunt, he turns and moves across the room, pausing to drop the second container carelessly on Stefano’s desk before heading to the wet bar.

  From the mini fridge, he grabs a bottled water and strides right back to me, Stefano scowling at him the entire time.

  “Need anything,” he mumbles as he hands me the cold bottle, “send for me. Yes?”

  Though I have no intention of doing any such thing, I reply, “Okay.”

  As he’s leaving, Stefano asks, “Do I not get something to drink, too?”

  “Choke,” Lorenzo grunts out just before the door slams behind him.

  Although my appetite is still in hiding, I unwrap the plastic fork and force myself to eat, as something tells me Stefano wouldn’t appreciate it if I don’t eat. I’ve not forgotten how, when I woke up to him in my apartment, he’d made breakfast and forced me to eat it.