by Cora Kenborn
We drove in twenty minutes of silence before Adriana turned to me. “You shouldn’t have left a witness.”
“Don’t start with me.”
“Wow, someone’s in a bad mood.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m fine.”
I caught her bored stare out of the corner of my eye and hated the sudden rush of blood through my veins as she raked that sultry gaze down my body.
“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re about to rip that steering wheel off and beat somebody with it.” I forced myself to look away as she settled her attention back on the road.
“Pretty and perceptive. Tell me again why some lucky guy hasn’t snatched you up yet?” Before she could respond, I answered with a smirk of my own. “Oh, that’s right, it must be because you learned your social skills from a bunch of psychopaths.”
“Wow, that was a good one,” she exclaimed, giving me a slow clap. “It must be nerve-racking throwing all those stones inside that glass house of yours."
My smirk faded. As much as I enjoyed this push and pull between us, I couldn’t forget what Val said. Adriana’s back was against the wall. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. While he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, he wouldn’t trust without verifying. He was right, and I needed to find out what he’d uncovered and give him an update on whatever was in that envelope. Especially since there were now two more bodies to contend with. He wouldn’t be happy we left them there, but without the surveillance tape, nothing could be traced back to us.
I had no doubt this Ignacio posed a real threat against Val. The man I reported to was a walking bull’s-eye. However, Adriana was hiding something else. Originally, I convinced myself it involved an intricate plot to take me down simply for screwing her over, but now I had a feeling what lay behind that secret smile was much worse.
“I said I’m fine. I’m just ready to get this shit with you over with and get back to Houston.”
Adriana’s eyes snapped back to mine. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“You heard me.”
Silent for a moment, she squinted and studied me. “You’re punishing me for turning you down the other night.”
“That’s funny, I don’t remember you turning me down. What I remember is fucking you over the hood of this car.”
Her cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about afterward when you insinuated that you wanted more.”
A confession said in the heat of an argument I wished I could take back. I swore to never let my guard down, but despite every effort, she managed to slip behind my defenses. A mistake I didn’t intend to repeat.
Glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, I snorted. “Don’t lean too far forward, or you’re going to fall off that pedestal you’ve put yourself on, princesa.”
Adriana reared back as if I’d slapped her. A few tense moments passed as we stared at each other. Eventually, the shock on her face faded into suspicion. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Live this life. Cartel life. Val and I were born into it, but you chose it. It’s going to be a hard existence for you. Our world is too blood tied for you to ever truly belong to our familia.” Shifting, she waved a hand from my shoulders to my waist. “I mean, Dios mío, look at you with your Armani suit and your manicured hands, and…”
“My white skin?”
Adriana’s lips parted. “I didn’t say that.”
She didn’t have to.
“You don’t think I have to work three times as hard as anyone else just to prove myself?” I didn’t bother hiding the steel in my voice. “I have more eyes on me than I care to count. Hell, half the time I don’t know if someone wants to shake my hand, cuff it behind my back, or cut it off at the wrist.”
“So, why do it?”
Baring my teeth in a cold smile, I cupped her cheek. “Newsflash, sweetheart, other than a 6x8 jail cell or a 3x6 grave, this is all I have left. Until I’m forcefully shoved in one or the other, I am your fucking familia.”
Her eyes darkened as she slapped my hand away. “How dare—”
“So,” I continued, cutting her off. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m still figuring out the proper protocol for entertaining my boss’s recently resurrected petulant sister while she holds my balls in her hands.”
“I’m not petulant,” she growled, folding her arms across her chest.
For the next thirty minutes, we gave each other the silent treatment, the conflict inside me driving me insane. I'd never had such a violent urge to simultaneously sink a blade and my dick in a woman before. I hoped for both our sakes she kept her mouth shut, but by the time we made it back to Chapala, my anger gave way to curiosity.
Tilting my chin, I nodded to the envelope resting in her lap. “Are you going to look inside that thing or what?”
“Later.”
“Adriana…”
“Don’t push me,” she warned, placing a protective hand over it. “You may have been the boss in Houston, but you’re in Muñoz territory. That means I call the shots here, not you.”
“Fine,” I growled, flinging my door open. “But if you think I’m calling you boss, you can shove that crown up your ass, princesa.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adriana
Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico
“You can’t put it off forever you know.” Brody’s eyes shifted to the unopened letter, still sitting in my lap.
We sat on the stairs in between the kitchen and the living room, just like when I tended to his injury. Only this time, he wasn’t the one who was bleeding. At least, not in the literal sense.
My wound went much deeper than the simple graze of a bullet, and there wasn’t enough vodka in the world to cleanse it. Its gnawing presence never left me. It kept me on edge, pulling me forward while pushing others away. Hiding its dark secrets while slowly destroying me.
The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.
Sometimes I wondered if a part of me always knew things would end this way. That sins of the past would come full circle, and the one who was spared would be the one who ended the reign.
“Adriana?” Brody lightly bumped my shoulder, and I blinked away the burn behind my eyes. “Did you hear me?”
I picked up the envelope and ran my fingers along the edge. “Yeah, I heard you. Listen, before I open this, I need to say something, but I need you to not make it weird.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“When I came to Houston, I wasn’t lying. Adriana Carrera was the only name I had left, and I wasn’t going to sit by while some pinche cabrón ruined it. I never hid that I knew bargaining information would force Val to align with me.”
Brody’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Bargaining? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Would you shut up and let me finish?” I growled, slapping the envelope across his injured arm.
“Ow! Jesus, okay!”
“I’m trying to apologize for what I said in the car. You’ve had every opportunity to turn on me, and if I’m being honest, every right to. I threatened to ruin your life, yet when shots were fired at El Palacio, your first instinct was to protect me.” I turned to him, the envelope crinkling in my hand. “Why?”
He stared with a widened curiosity. “No one has ever risked anything for you, have they?”
Flinching, I immediately started to argue, then remembered my own words to him. How I told him in detail how Cristiano left me once a rank was no longer on the table. I lowered my eyes and rubbed my chest, trying to relieve the suffocation slowly building behind it.
“Adriana, you fight me because you fear me.”
I snapped my head up, eyes blazing. “I don’t fear anyone.”
“See, that right there.” He blew out a heavy breath, his thumb leaving a trail of fire as it traced the corner of my mouth. “That’s your go-to response for everything. You talk a big game, and it’s pretty damn convincing t
o anyone who doesn’t know you.”
“And you think you know me?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. You keep people close enough to watch them, but far enough away that they don’t realize all this…” He waved a hand down the length of my body. “…is just an act. The real Adriana fears everyone.”
“You’re wrong.”
I’d perfected evasion into an art form. Hid behind it. Worn it as a suit of armor. There was no way he could’ve seen through it.
“You think if you let someone close enough to get to know the real you, they’ll reject you, and that’s worse than having the world hate you. That’s why I didn’t think twice to protect you at that club, Adriana. Because despite all that you’ve done, and as hard as you try to hide from me, I see you. And maybe for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a placeholder.”
Stop it.
The words echoed in my head, taking root and refusing to let go. He was digging too deep. It felt too personal. My world was black and white, but the things he was saying dragged it into a muddled gray area.
“I think you see me too.”
I should’ve pulled away. As soon as his thumb slid across my bottom lip, drawing it open, I knew what he wanted. My breath hitched as he leaned forward, his hooded gaze on my mouth. I’d already given him my body, but I couldn’t deny how much I wanted to let him have the one thing I’d never allowed any man.
I craved it. I feared it.
I turned my cheek just before he kissed me. “Don’t.”
He pressed his forehead against my temple, a ghost of a smile on his face. “You have rules.” Sitting back, he scrubbed his hands down his face, discreetly adjusting his pants. Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, he nodded to the letter still clutched in my hand. “Open it. Time’s wasting.”
Slipping my finger underneath the seam of the envelope, I tore it open and pulled out the multiple pieces of paper tucked inside. Brody sat quietly, giving me space as I unfolded them, scanning the handwritten pages.
“It looks like pages ripped out of a diary.”
Brody cocked an eyebrow. “Does it say whose?”
It didn’t have to. “It’s my grandmother’s.” Then realizing what I said, I shook my head. “I mean, Esteban’s mother. It’s dated fifty-five years ago.” Scanning the pages, I read aloud, my hand shaking. “‘Today I followed Pablo to where he keeps his whore. He thinks I don’t know. Men with his power aren’t expected to be faithful, but he hasn’t been discreet with this one. I hid in an abandoned house across the street until he left then confronted the woman sleeping with my husband. I threatened her just like all the others. We both may lay with the same man, but we are not the same. Rosita can spread her legs for my husband, but I can break them. I gave her a choice, walk away from Pablo or never walk again. That was when she told me why she’d summoned him. Pablo’s infidelity has shamed our family, and the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. Poison has infected our bloodline, and it will eat away at our souls for generations to come.’”
The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.
Brody’s eyes flicked toward me. “He got her pregnant.”
I nodded a weak affirmation, and as I flipped the page, every bone in my body snapped to attention. Swallowing uneven breaths, I felt an inescapable coldness settle into my soul.
“Jesus, you’re shaking.” Brody’s concerned voice sounded far away as I stared at the paper in my hand. “What is it?”
“It’s a birth certificate,” I whispered.
“For who?”
“Ignacio Vergara.”
Holding up my phone, I pointed to the dusty road to my right. “The GPS says this is it. Turn here.”
Giving the wheel a sharp turn, Brody grumbled, “I don’t see why we’re bothering an old woman who may or may not have given birth to this asshole. We should be going back to Guadalajara and tracking down—”
“My ex,” I finished for him, rubbing my temples in frustration. “I know, you’ve said it six times already.” It was the same argument we’d had for the last hour, but apparently, one he wasn’t about to let die.
“You’d think maybe after the first couple of times, some common sense would’ve gotten through to you.”
I didn’t have time for this. We already went to El Palacio and searched for Cristiano. We threatened, I begged. No one was letting us into that club in the middle of the day. He wasn’t answering his phone, and I couldn’t waste any more time. When you had a smoking gun in your hand, you didn’t tuck it away to search for the missing bullet. You went straight to the hand that fired it.
Besides, Brody called Val before we left the club, and he had already deployed a swarm of Carrera soldiers before they ended the call.
“Would you stop with that? I’m not accusing him of anything until I have proof. You’re a damn lawyer. Aren’t people innocent until proven guilty?”
Brody squeezed the steering wheel. “If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s—”
I glared at him. “It’s not a fucking chicken. I know. I’ve heard this one already. Get new jokes.” He didn’t answer, and I didn’t elaborate. “We’re here,” I announced as a tiny house came into view.
With the papers in hand, we walked in silence along an overgrown walkway toward the front door. I knocked twice, drawing the ferocious barks of what sounded like extremely large dogs. “¿Señora Vergara, estás en tu casa?” Miss Vergara, are you home?
The dogs kept barking, but no one answered.
Brody sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening. “See? She’s not here, can we go now?” Just as he turned around, a frail voice filtered out from behind the door.
“¿Quién está ahí?” Who is there?
Grabbing his arm, I pulled him back and continued in Spanish. “Miss Vergara, my name is Adriana, and this is my friend, Brody. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you. It won’t take much of your time.”
“Go away!”
I pounded on the door again. “Miss Vergara, please. This is important. It’s about your son, Ignacio.”
There was a moment of tense silence before a makeshift curtain rustled against a window beside the door. I held my breath as a weathered face appeared. “I know no Ignacio.”
That was a lie. I saw it in her eyes when she said his name. I didn’t wish this woman harm, but I wasn’t leaving without the answers I came for.
Pulling out the birth certificate, I turned it around and slammed it against the window. “I think you do.”
She raised a shaking hand, tracing the handwritten words. “Where did you get that?”
“In a safe deposit box belonging to Esteban Muñoz. I know you know who he is, just like you knew Pablo and Carmen Muñoz. Now you can let us in, or I have no problem standing out here all day.”
The old woman’s hand dropped, her dark eyes lit with renewed fire. “I’ll call the police.”
It was the response I anticipated. “You do that,” I challenged, pulling the certificate away from the window. “I’d love to tell them how your son hunted me then chained me up like a dog. Or how he’s the one rebuilding the Muñoz Cartel.” She jumped as I slapped my palm against the glass. “How many people do you think you’ll have at your door then, Rosita?”
The curtain fell, and she disappeared. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt too small, and the air too thick.
Brody placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Adriana, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay! She can’t just—”
There was a soft click, and we both turned as the wrinkled face from the window appeared in the doorway. “Come, I’ll put the dogs away.”
Ten minutes later, Brody and I sat on a stained floral couch in a pathetically bare house. A few pictures hung on what was probably once vibrant orange walls, and a small square table sat tucked in the corner covered in a serape.
That was it.
A
door opened near the kitchen area, and she made her way toward us, the battered cane she gripped in her gnarled hand scraping along the dusty floor. Lowering herself into a rickety chair, she settled a hesitant eye on me and waited.
However, Brody waited for no one. “Is Ignacio Vergara your son?”
I glared at him, but he kept his eyes on Rosita, who shifted her attention toward him, transitioning into broken English. “Yes. But I haven’t seen him in many years. Not since…” She looked away, a sudden cloud shadowing her face.
“Not since what?” he pushed.
“Not since…” Her frail voice trailed off, and tilting her head, she narrowed an accusing gaze at me. “How do you know Esteban?”
I froze, the words stuck in my throat. Panicking, I looked at Brody, who gave an encouraging nod. “I’m his daughter,” I said.
She studied me. “His daughter is Marisol. You said your name was Adriana.” My name barely left her mouth before recognition sparked. Her eyes widened, and both hands wrapped around her cane as she flung herself out of the chair and snatched the crucifix off the wall. Holding it close to her chest, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, chanting a prayer in frantic Spanish.
Ave Maria. Hail Mary.
She knew who I was.
There was a harsh edge to Brody’s face, and his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. But I knew exactly what was going on, and if I was going to get answers out of her, it had to be woman to woman.
Victim to victim.
I fell to my knees beside her and wrapped my hand over hers. Raising my voice, I overpowered her chanting with rapid fire Spanish.
“You know who I am. You know Esteban murdered my mother and stole me from her arms. Now you tell me what Pablo Muñoz’s bastard son has to do with it!”
Without warning, her incessant chanting stopped, and her eyes flicked toward mine. “Esteban wasn’t the one who killed your mother, child. It was my son.”
I released her hand, falling backward as if I’d touched fire. “What? Why?”
“Adriana, what the hell is going on?” Brody shot off the couch, but I didn’t move. I never averted my eyes as the harsh truth spilled from Rosita’s parched lips.
