“I won’t stand by your side if you inflict pain and slavery on others. If you wanted that, you should’ve chosen a different wife. If I find out the rumors are true, I will stand in your way at every turn. I will not fall in line.”
If, if, if. Her accusations were yielding as doubts crept in. Pride and lust surged through me again. This time, the lust was more carnal. The impulse to spar with her, to see just how close I could bring her to falling in line. And the pride was that of a husband watching his wife grow. “Spoken like a true queen. This is the Lourdes in you,” I said, referring to her regal second name. “But how long would you hold strong to your ideals? You promised to obey me. I don’t need to remind you that defying me could bring danger on your family.”
“Yet you do remind me quite frequently.”
I had to stifle my chuckle.
“What would you do?” she asked. “Would you choose the right thing over family? If it meant saving countless lives?”
“I already did.” My amusement vanished. “And I’d do it again.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. You turned your father in because he was involved in human trafficking. But he never took it as far as you have.”
“You don’t know that, do you?” I asked, my tone verging on snapping. I wanted to be patient with her, but it got under my skin when she compared me to him so easily without verifying anything that she assumed was fact. At some point, I needed her to realize that she was doubting and maligning me without evidence, while I saw nothing but potential and goodness in her. And even if I was her own personal beast, I was still nudging her toward a better version of herself. “You’ve made a lot of assumptions and accusations, Natalia, but not once have you asked about the specifics, or even generalities, of my business.”
She smacked her water glass on the table. “I’m asking,” she said with a frown, as if I hadn’t just invited her to.
I stuck a toothpick in my mouth, somewhere between wanting to teach her a lesson and trying to be patient with her. One minute, her curiosity allowed her to listen, the next, she was obstinate for no reason. “Then I will show you.”
But not until she ate. I’d already finished my meal, and she’d barely taken three bites.
I shifted to take a velvet box from my back pocket and stuck it squarely on the table in front of her plate.
Her gaze bounced between the box and me. “What is that?”
“Your wedding ring. Teresa made it. Remember Felix, the boy with no front teeth? His mom.”
“But I already have one. It’s—oh. I see.” She glanced at her hand, then slid off the ring I’d put on her finger in the church and placed it in front of me. “It was your mother’s. You must want it back.”
That wasn’t why. My mother’s ring had been a stand-in. It wasn’t good enough for my wife. I’d found it amongst Bianca’s jewels, the ones I’d recovered for Costa over the last several years. It meant nothing to him so I’d pocketed it, meaning to melt it down. It’d come in handy, but now I could get rid of it. I tossed it aside, opened the little box, and slid it closer to her.
Her eyes widened. “Cristiano. This is . . . enormous.”
Indeed it was. I’d explained to Teresa what I’d wanted, but she’d insisted on meeting Natalia before creating it—to capture her personality, apparently. Who needed personality when you had a big, fat rock to back up your confidence? I’d wanted something bold. A jewel fit for a queen. I’d told Teresa to recall the biggest diamond she’d ever worked with—and then find one double the size.
Natalia would wear my ring, a piece of jewelry so heavy, she’d feel the weight of me at all times.
“Is it real?”
I arched an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh. “Natalia, for fuck’s sake. Of course it is.”
She gave me a minx-like smile—she was messing with me—then slipped on the emerald-cut diamond set in a diamond band.
I picked up the box. There was more inside—a two-tone, gold-and-silver ring with a fine, almost invisible pearl inlay strip around the center, engraved inside with our wedding date and one word.
Mine.
It would be only my first taste of branding her tonight.
I passed it to her, and she slid the rings together to form one. She spread her fingers, peering at them. Would she recognize why I’d chosen it? She placed her splayed hand on the table, admiring it in silence.
She only raised her eyes to watch me push on my ring. My band matched hers, but without the pearl and with a different word inside.
Yours.
I was a married man.
I didn’t wait to hear what she thought about it. She wasn’t in a place to thank me for anything yet, and if she was going to tell me she hated it, because it didn’t come from Diego, I was in no mood to hear that.
“You haven’t touched your fruit,” I said. “In Greek mythology, pomegranates are the fruit of the dead.”
“That was true for Persephone,” she said right away.
Ah. I wasn’t expecting such a smart comeback. Between us, we seemed to possess a wealth of knowledge on tempting berries. “If you see her time in captivity as a death sentence, then yes. Some would be willing to die in order to become the queen of hell, though.” I sliced my pomegranate open to get to the juicy red center. I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into Natalia, too. “Es un delicia inigualable.”
A matchless delight. Her cheeks pinkened as she watched me scoop out the seeds. “Jaz,” I called, and she appeared in the doorway. “Pack Natalia a bag. We’re not staying here tonight.”
Jaz nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Natalia stilled, her palm still pressed to the table. Her fingers curled. “We’re not?”
“You said you were bored.” My tone dropped, making it sound like a threat—and I was fine with that. “We’re going out.”
“Out?” She met my gaze. “Where?”
There it was. The slight tremor of fear in her voice that she tried to hide. It did something to me, owning that fear. That was at least one thing Diego had never gotten from her. Perhaps he’d made her quiver, but I could inspire the deepest tremble. I would make her shake.
I’d make her beg.
Natalia jumped up before I could answer. “Wait,” she called across the room, but Jazmín was long gone. “I can pack my own things.”
“Sit and finish—you’ll need the energy,” I said. “Jaz will do it.”
The phone wouldn’t last another night.
With an audible swallow, Natalia lowered herself back into the chair. “Where are we going?”
“To La Madrina. You remember my nightclub?” I allowed myself a smile at the way her spine lengthened. “But first, I’m going to introduce you to the Belmonte-Ruiz cartel.”
14
Natalia
In Cristiano’s closet, I quickly dug through the bag Jaz had just packed while Cristiano showered. During Cristiano’s absence, I’d gotten my hands on a sewing kit and stitched a secret pocket into the lining for the phone. I tore through her precise folding and the tops she’d rolled into neat, tidy torpedoes until I felt the weight of it in my palm and breathed a sigh of relief.
“All there?”
I jumped at Cristiano’s voice behind me, then tucked the phone back into place, piling clothing on top of it. “Yep.”
I turned around and darted my eyes away. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the way my heart skipped seeing him in just a towel—all the trim, powerful muscles that lay in wait beneath his clothes on display. The fact that his body had pinned me to the mattress several days ago made me want to sneak another peek when it should’ve made me desperate enough to throw myself over the balcony just to escape. I’d never felt that kind of firm, promising weight on me, not even with Diego. And it made my insides tighten with desire.
I was a traitor to myself and my gender.
And Cristiano was a smirking jerk who seemed to read my mind.
“We’ll leave in ten minutes,” he said. “Wea
r the same black dress you had on the night you came to my club.”
But it was so short. So revealing. I’d only worn it around Cristiano knowing Diego was nearby. And we were meeting the Belmonte-Ruiz cartel, a thought that immediately dried my throat. I was supposed to meet sex traffickers in a skimpy dress? “I don’t think it’s clean,” I lied.
“Even better. Put on the dirty little dress you wore for me that night.” His pupils dilated as he looked me over. “We can role play what would’ve happened if you’d come up to my office like I’d asked you to.”
"What if there are people I know at the club?”
“Doubtful as it’s out of town. But you don’t need to worry about that. You won’t be seeing anyone I haven’t arranged for you in advance.” He turned his back to me. “I don’t like surprises.”
My eyes drifted to the carpet. “And yet a life in the dark is nothing but surprises.”
“At least it’s not boring, eh? Now, where’s that dress?” He discarded his towel on a chair and surveyed his extensive suit collection. “I want to watch you squeeze into it.”
I lost my breath at the sight of his ass. I could’ve flicked a quarter at it and ducked as it ricocheted right back at me. Smooth with bronze, concave cheeks, it had more definition than his top-of-the-line TVs.
I slipped out of my robe and took one of the last clean pairs of underwear from a drawer.
“Leave them,” Cristiano said.
I froze. “But I’m still on my period.”
He grunted his disapproval. “How much longer?”
“A few days probably.” I proceeded to pull on the most unflattering underwear I had. “I found tampons in your bathroom. You must spend a lot of time with women to keep those handy.”
“Jaz put them in there for you,” he said.
I slipped into my dress, feeling his eyes on me. I’d been told on enough California beaches that I had a good ass, but it wasn’t the product of the gym. I never worked out, though that would have to change if I were going to continue with the self-defense classes.
“Is there a fitness center here?” I asked.
“I’ll get someone to dust it off.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “You don’t use it?” I hadn’t meant to sound so surprised. He wasn’t beefy by any means, but muscles like his went way beyond genetics.
“Nah. Get my exercise in other ways. You can’t design a better glutes workout than squatting outside a drug lab with binoculars for eight hours. Nor can you spar with friends like you can fend off enemies. Sharpens reflexes. Builds muscle.” He winked. “And stamina.”
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was exaggerating. “I never thought I’d have a killer for a husband,” I muttered.
“What do you think Diego is?”
The question caught me off guard, but it was warranted. “He may have killed, but he isn’t a murderer at heart.”
Cristiano snorted. “You still believe that?”
I supposed I couldn’t. If he was willing to lie and deceive so thoroughly, then it was likely he’d also created himself a new persona.
“And how about you, mariposa?” he asked. “Are you a killer? If I ask you to knot my tie, will you try to strangle me with it?”
I turned as he tucked his dress shirt into his pants and responded wryly, “If I thought I could get away with it.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He stepped toward me, took my waist, and lifted me onto the island in the middle of the closet. “Do you know how?”
“I learned when I was nine.”
He spread my knees, and my dress rode up as he settled himself between my legs. He smelled of the same soap I did and the cedar shampoo in his shower. “Nine?” he asked.
“My father taught me how to do Diego’s tie for my mother’s funeral.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I see.”
As I pulled the wide end up, he lifted his chin and kept it there even after I’d looped the tie and tightened the knot.
“Give me your hand,” he said. When I did, he brought my fingers up and pressed them gently to the hollow of his neck, under his Adam’s apple. “Remember I said we all have the same weak spots?”
“Yes.”
“This is one. The trachea—or windpipe. If your attacker ever exposes this to you, hit him here.”
“I would think higher.” I moved my hand up to his Adam’s apple. “Wouldn’t this be worse?”
“No.” He stretched his thumb away from his other four fingers to show me the webbed curve between them. He held it to the middle of my throat and squeezed. “If I’m attacking you, there’s no chance in hell you’re going to be able to strangle me.”
“You’d be surprised at the strength that comes with a rush of adrenaline.”
“Natalia, I can crush a skull. You’re not going to win unless you’re strategic.” He contracted his hand even tighter. “See how much effort it takes? Do you feel anything?”
“Not really.”
He lowered his grip, pressing his palm into the base of my neck, and immediately, I was choking. Alarms fired in me, my hands flying up to grab his forearm just as he released me. “You felt that,” he said.
I moved my fingers to my throat as my heart pounded, the terrifying sensation lingering. “Right away.”
He took my hand, spreading it into an L-shape the way his had been. “It has the same effect on me that it does on you. You can hit someone there—hard—to incapacitate or disorient them, giving yourself time to run or do more damage.”
He slid his hand under my jaw and pressed his thumb and index finger into the sides, where I’d been taught to take my pulse. “These are your carotid arteries. You can strike them to do damage, but if you have a knife, even better. Cut both of them at the same time.”
My throat constricted, and I struggled for my next breath. Cristiano had an unsettling obsession with throat-related murder. “At the same time?” I asked. “How?”
“Don’t just stab your assailant in the neck. Stab through it.”
I inhaled sharply with the gruesome mental image, but also—I could barely admit in the depths of my mind—embarrassment that his savagery was a turn-on. His hand was hot and tight around my neck. I wrapped mine around his wrist, not to pull him off this time, but to try to channel the utter strength he held against an opponent. A beat passed between us. “How many men have you strangled?” I asked softly.
“Are you asking if the rumors about El Polvo are true?”
“I know they are. Diego saw you pour sand down a man’s throat until he choked to death.”
“I did.” He spoke without inflection or emotion, his hand loose around my neck.
“What did he do to deserve that?”
“I’ll tell you what he didn’t do. He didn’t kill me first—and that’s what matters.” He grazed his thumb under my jaw. “Such a pretty, slender throat,” he said, his eyes drifting down. “I’ll bet there are many who’d love to get their hands on it.”
“You’re the only one who has.”
He looked pleased by that, even though I hadn’t meant to flatter him. He dipped his head but kept his gaze on me. “And I’m the only one who ever will. That’s my promise to you.”
A threat . . . or a promise. He’d be the only one to keep my fate on a precarious edge.
“You don’t have to worry about the sand,” he said, moving his mouth closer to my ear. “That would be such a waste. A throat like yours would bruise and tighten and succumb so beautifully under a man’s hands.”
A shiver prickled down my spine as cords of fear and desire tangled in me. I couldn’t stop swallowing. “How many women have you choked?”
“With my hands? None.”
“But you’ve strangled some?” I asked.
“No.” His crow’s feet deepened as he suppressed a grin. “I was being suggestive, but I’m glad to see it was lost on you. I assume that means mine will be the first cock you gag on.”
&
nbsp; A gasp sucked the air from my lungs with the delicious, maddening pull I was coming to expect between my legs whenever he spoke about dominating me.
“And before you accuse me of abusing a woman’s mouth,” he added, bracing his hands on both sides of me until our mouths were close, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Some women love it. They shouldn’t call me El Polvo. They should call me El Gallo.”
“The rooster?” I asked at the same moment it clicked. His cock.
“More women have willingly choked on my rooster than men have been forced to eat my dust.”
Of course, Cristiano de la Rosa’s attempt at a joke would be both sinister and provocative. I didn’t laugh, mostly because I was too focused on trying not to picture the look that would cross his face the first time I took him in my mouth. Would he become even more domineering when I kneeled for him? Or would I steal his control?
“How many men have you killed?” I asked.
“Countless.”
“How many women have you been with?”
He searched my eyes. “Tell me why you’re asking, and maybe I’ll answer.”
“I want to know if I’m one in a long line of many, or if you intend to take our vows seriously.”
He went uncharacteristically silent, as if racking his brain for a response. “And how would you feel if I promised the rooster belongs to you and only you?”
“I would feel that the rooster was in for a long nap. And that he perhaps should not bother waking at all, as he’ll be in for great disappointment.”
The corner of Cristiano’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. I, too, almost smiled. Almost. At his sudden playfulness, in part, but also because there was something appealing about Cristiano never taking another woman again.
Not even me.
My hardwired female instinct saw the romanticism of keeping a wild man, but even as my fantasies wandered, the angry, bitter part of my brain wanted to torment him with our vows until death did us part.
“We should go,” Cristiano said. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“Everyone?” I asked.
He took his blazer off a hanger and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Wear this until we’re alone again.”
Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2) Page 18
