Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Cristiano hesitated. “Someone must’ve been here—”

  “Impossible,” Diego said, and he was right. My father took no risks when it came to his family’s safety. “There are two ways in—through the guards out front or the guards at the tunnels.”

  Diego took a two-way radio from his back pocket.

  “Diego,” Cristiano said, warning clear in his voice. “Don’t.”

  He pressed a button and spoke into the device. “Doña Bianca has been shot. By Cristiano. I need security in here now.”

  Cristiano noticeably stiffened behind me. “Vete a la chingada,” he cursed. “You’re going to tell Costa I did this? I’m your blood, Diego.”

  “And Bianca was just as much my family.” The anguish in Diego’s eyes conveyed what my mother meant to him. At her urging, my family had taken him in when he was only eight and Cristiano was fifteen. Tears leaked from my eyes and onto Cristiano’s hand as I looked anywhere but at her body.

  “She was family to me, too,” Cristiano said through his teeth. He was so angry, his voice broke, and he forgot to keep my mouth covered. “You can’t accuse me of hurting her.”

  “All you do is hurt people,” I screamed. “You’re a—”

  He slapped his hand over my mouth just as the front door slammed downstairs. “Fuck,” Cristiano said. “Tell them I didn’t do this, Diego, or they’ll kill me on the spot.”

  “Release Natalia,” Diego begged. “Please. Try to remember who you were before all of this—you wouldn’t have hurt an innocent girl.”

  Cristiano started left then shifted to go right, as if trapped. Finally, he released my mouth but kept me against him like a shield as he one-handedly wrestled the White Monarch from my grip.

  He was going to kill Diego next.

  Diego.

  The boy who’d not only watched me grow up, but had protected me like an older brother. Who’d never treated me like a little girl despite a seven-year age difference. Who brought me stinky marigolds when I was sad and never complained that we could only ride our horses up to and along the fence Papá had built to keep me in, even though Diego could go anywhere he wanted.

  Diego’s eyes widened as Cristiano got the gun from me. It would devastate Diego to kill his own brother, but for Cristiano to shoot Diego, it would mean nothing. Cristiano took lives all the time.

  “You’re caught, brother,” Diego said. His nostrils flared as his anger finally seemed to override his confusion. “Don’t make this worse than it is. Put her down and face them.”

  Boots pounded up the staircase with a chorus of shouting men. Cristiano carried me toward the door, his back to the wall, eyes on Diego. He switched the gun to his other hand to lock the door.

  In that split second, Diego lunged forward.

  Cristiano whipped around and pulled the trigger.

  I screamed when the shot rang through the air, covering my ears as I hit the ground. Diego crumpled, clutching his bloodied thigh.

  Men pounded at the bullet-resistant door Papá had specially installed. Fists hammered the wood, followed by what sounded like the butts of their rifles.

  Cristiano picked up Diego’s gun, stuck it in his waistband, and leveled the White Monarch on his brother’s writhing body. “You left me no choice. Loyalty is king around here, but look how quickly it’s broken.”

  “Don’t shoot—I know a way out,” I exclaimed through my sobs. Cristiano towered over me, looking like the Grim Reaper himself. “I can help you escape,” I said.

  Cristiano stilled. “It’s not possible.”

  “I know a secret way.” My voice shook. I wasn’t helping my mother’s killer, I told myself, but protecting Diego and me.

  “Natalia, no,” Diego said, huffing as he made an effort to sit up. “He—he has to pay for this.”

  “Where is it?” Cristiano asked.

  Diego was getting unnaturally pale as if he might pass out any second. I got to my feet and started to go to him, but Cristiano grabbed my arm and yanked me back against his hip. “They’ll get in before he dies. Show me the way out.”

  Diego groaned and closed his eyes, and I inhaled a quick, stuttering breath to keep my panic at bay. “The c-closet,” I managed.

  Cristiano marched me back across the room and into my old nursery. Once I’d outgrown the space, my mother had converted it into a sizeable walk-in closet that held much more than just clothing. There were walls of shoes, purses, drawers, and mirrors, as well as an island in the center for her costume jewelry and Papá’s ties.

  Cristiano took a chair from my mother’s vanity dresser, wedged it under the closet’s door handle, and turned to look at me. “Now what?”

  I couldn’t think. There was a bullet in my mother’s stomach and one in my best friend’s leg. My bloodied skirt stuck to my knees. I was going to be sick. “The . . . the dresses.”

  Cristiano walked to me. He put the chilled metal barrel of the gun under my chin and tilted back my head to get me to look him in the eye. “If they get in here before I get out, I can’t promise we’ll both make it out alive. Show me the escape, or tell your father I didn’t do this. Those are your options.”

  I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t even breathe. I’d never been so sure I would die if I made one wrong move. I shook my head hard. “I won’t lie for you.”

  “Look what loyalty got me, Natalia.” He raised the gun higher and I glanced down the barrel. The silver nearly sparkled under the closet’s lamp. “Whether I did or didn’t do this, I’m dead. If they don’t get me here, they’ll hunt me down. That isn’t loyalty, and there is no justice.”

  “Loyalty?” I was shaking now, but there was no quiver in Cristiano’s voice, no tremble in his hand. “You killed my mother. Why? She cared about you—she treated you like a son.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as we stared at each other. “Show me the way out,” he commanded.

  “I’ll help you, but only to save Diego,” I said. “Promise you’ll never come back here.”

  “I can’t.” His expression hardened as his voice dropped. “Consider this a lesson—never trade your life for someone else’s.”

  I backed away slowly, turned, and went to the safe. Amongst the papers, I found the small metal box I needed. I popped it open, took out a key, and stilled with a bang from the next room. If security was breaking down the door, then Diego must not have been able to let them in. I quickly prayed he was still alive.

  I hurried to the closet that held my mother’s party dresses. They were heavy enough that I had to use both hands to push them apart so I could crawl through them. “In here,” I said.

  Against the closet’s back wall, I felt around for a keyhole. It was dark, but my father had walked me through this plenty of times. There were tunnels under the house all the security knew about, including Cristiano, but this secret passageway was only for my parents and me. When I’d pointed out to Papá that the men who’d built it must’ve known about it, he’d exchanged a grim look with my mother and changed the subject.

  I put the key into the hole, but it was already unlocked. I slid the wall open to reveal a dark, dank room. “There.”

  If Cristiano was surprised, he didn’t show it. “There what?”

  I pointed to a trapdoor inside. “Go down that hole. There are no lights; you’ll have to feel your way.”

  He stared into the dark. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

  “It’s your only choice.”

  He got closer, his presence looming tall. “Open it for me.”

  It wasn’t a request. Fortunately, my father had ensured that I knew the escape drill well, so entering the small space wasn’t foreign to me.

  I squatted down to unlatch the trapdoor that led to the one passageway nobody else knew about. Cristiano closed and bolted the door behind himself, extinguishing everything but a sliver of the closet’s warm light.

  I hoisted open the hatch and it fell with a hard thud a
gainst the ground. I concentrated on keeping my voice steady. “This also connects to the tunnels the mules use,” I explained. “But if you stay to the left, that’s a way nobody else knows about. It will take you south.”

  “To where?”

  I glanced back at him. “That’s all my parents told me.”

  The dark turned him into a shadow as he stalked toward me. “I’ll have to take you with me.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going down there together.”

  I backed away, but since he blocked the door, there wasn’t anywhere to go. “Why?”

  He tucked the White Monarch into his waistband with his other gun, grabbed my arm, and yanked me toward the entrance of the tunnel. I flew forward, no match for his strength. My heart leapt into my throat as everything happened in a flash. He couldn’t take me. He wouldn’t. Nobody dared cross my father—but Cristiano already had, and now, he had nothing left to lose. If he got me into that tunnel, I’d never return. Never see Diego again. My father. I wouldn’t attend my mother’s funeral.

  “I helped you,” I said as more sobs bubbled up into my throat. I looked down the ladder. Since we were on the second floor, one push would send me flying some five meters down into the pitch dark. “Why are you doing this?”

  “To show you that you can’t trust anyone. Not me, not Diego, maybe not even your parents. Just because you help someone doesn’t mean they won’t betray you.” He turned toward the ladder. “And because I need a head start. Get on my back.”

  Once he released me, I switched into high gear. Perhaps he was known for his ruthlessness, but I’d spent my short life sneaking into places I shouldn’t, surprising even the stealthiest of my father’s guards. I grasped the White Monarch from his pants and stumbled back, leveling the pistol on him with both hands.

  With the light at my back, I saw a hint of amusement flash in his eyes. “You don’t know true fear, little girl. It puts you in danger.”

  I did know fear. I was staring at my mother’s murderer. I couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t hear over the deafening pounding of my heart.

  Wherever Cristiano surfaced, my father would kill him.

  Or I could save Papá the trouble and do it myself.

  For the first time since before I’d tripped over my mother’s dying body, calmness fell over me. Nobody had been able to stop Cristiano—not my mother or father, not Diego, and not security. I could, though. He deserved to die for his sins.

  I urged myself to act, but something Cristiano had said stopped me. There is no justice. Was I sure, down to my very core, that he had done this? What if he hadn’t? I didn’t know him nearly as well as I did Diego. Cristiano was fourteen years older than me—a man. Despite his reputation as a killer, he had always treated me with kindness.

  And my mother, too.

  But as he’d said—you couldn’t trust anyone in this world. Not even your own blood.

  “Do it,” he invited.

  Based on what I’d seen, I was pretty sure in order to shoot, I first had to slide the top of the gun toward me. But the firearm itself was so heavy, I needed both hands to keep it steady. I glanced at the top part to determine the best way to do this.

  “Never hesitate, Natalia.” Cristiano snatched the pistol from me and pressed the muzzle to my forehead. “See? Bang. You’re dead.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I was dead. Defenseless. Shivering like the little girl I was.

  “And never draw a weapon you can’t operate. When you aim, kill.” He flicked a switch on the side, stuck the gun back in his pants, and grabbed me.

  “Stop,” I cried and pushed against him as he hugged me to his chest with his arm.

  “Hold on.” One-handedly, he quickly descended the ladder.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck. He was the furthest thing from a safe place, but in that moment, I was no longer concerned with being brave. I was trapped. I gave into my fear, submitting to the warmth of his body, sobbing into his neck as he descended into the dark.

  “Is there another key to the secret door?” he asked.

  I sniffled. “My father keeps it on him.”

  “He’s probably already on his way,” Cristiano said, almost consolingly. “They’ll find you eventually, Natalia. This is the only way I’ll be able to put enough distance between them and me.”

  It was cold and black at the bottom. I shivered uncontrollably as he reached the final rung of the ladder and jumped the rest of the way. Never go down if you don’t have to, Father had said. You won’t be able to reach the ladder to get back up.

  This was it. I was at Cristiano’s mercy now.

  On solid ground, he took a few slow steps, feeling for a wall. When he found one, he squatted. “Sit here,” he said. “Don’t move until they come for you.”

  I didn’t let go of his neck. The scent of his sweat and my tears mixed with the soil around us. I’d never been worried about the dark before, but I couldn’t even see my own hand.

  “What if nobody comes?” I asked.

  “They will. And by that time, I’ll be long gone.” He pulled at my arms. “You’re brave. Let go.”

  I released him. The next thing I heard was his retreating footsteps. I sat against the wall, wrapped my arms around my knees, and held my breath. Tears flooded my eyes, overflowing onto my cheeks.

  I’d always known the love and protection of my parents and their titles. Being the daughter of one of the most powerful drug lords in Mexico meant I’d been in danger since the day I was born—and also sheltered from everything.

  No longer.

  As the threat of Cristiano receded, I was left alone in the dark with the realization that my mother had kissed my cheek and tucked me in for the last time. Her lyrical voice would never again lull me to sleep and end each night with, “Te quiero mucho, mariposita.” There would be no more of her famous homemade “Talia taffy” for the rest of my birthdays, no more riding horses into town to shop for fabric or spices.

  That morning, impatient to go, I’d hugged her waist and asked her to hurry up as she’d done her makeup. Now, I wished only to stay with her a little longer. I wished for more time.

  But the parade was over.

  Death’s day had come.

  Natalia

  Eleven years later

  I ducked out of the helicopter and into dry desert air as the blades whipped wind through my hair. My father’s head of security offered a hand and helped me down. “Bienvenida a casa, señorita,” Barto called over the whir of the rotors.

  Welcome home.

  The pilot carried my bags to a black Suburban waiting on the tarmac. Somehow, the Mexican heat felt stronger than in California, the sun intense and unforgiving. I slipped my sunglasses into place and followed Barto to the car.

  “How’s it feel to be back?” he asked.

  No words could properly convey it. Leaving home for a boarding school in the United States had been my choice, but Father would’ve shipped me off even if it wasn’t. I both dreaded and anticipated coming here. California was safe, clean, easy. Nothing like this place, where danger haunted the streets. It was the thought of seeing Diego that lifted any sense of dread that came with getting into a car headed for home.

  Barto glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “If I can say so, you look more and more like señora Cruz each time I see you.”

  I had my mother’s light eyes, and her small, sharp nose, but our physical similarities stopped there. “I’m more like my father,” I said.

  “But you have her grace.”

  I swallowed. Regal was how my father often described her.

  “And that determined look she often wore,” Barto added.

  I didn’t doubt that. I wasn’t only home to spend time with my dad, catch up with friends, and celebrate Easter. I was here for Diego—my best friend and my love. The boy who knew all my secrets because he’d been there for many of them, if not physically, then a phone call away. But with the distance between us, we’d done enou
gh talking for a lifetime. I couldn’t wait to just be close to him for the first time in a year.

  Next summer, I’d be graduating, and I was dead set on having Diego in Santa Clara with me by then—permanently. But since my dad wanted the opposite, it would take some convincing.

  Barto steered us up the long, winding drive lined with imported banana leaf trees. Men with AR-15s stood along the side of the dirt road, waving us on, smiling at me through the blacked-out windows.

  Barto handled my luggage and sent me straight upstairs to see my father. At the threshold to Papá’s study at the south end of the mansion, I stopped when I heard his raised voice. “Do you have any idea the magnitude of what you’ve committed us to?”

  “We can handle it.” When Diego spoke, a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupted in my stomach. “We’ve been refining our operation for over a decade, and it’s as close to perfect as it gets.”

  “‘Close to perfect’ is not perfect,” came my father’s grave response.

  “Nevertheless, we’re ready. With this partnership, we take things to the next level.”

  I should’ve made my presence known. I’d found out at a young age that sneaking around was the only way to get information. Back then, it’d been exciting. Now, information was both powerful and burdensome. People who knew too much were targets. Witnesses. Leverage. The more you knew, the harder it was to escape this life.

  And the more dangerous you became.

  But my curiosity continued to burn the brightest flame, no matter how I tried to extinguish it. I resisted the old habit of removing my shoes to mute my steps, but I still peeked into the light-filled room, finally laying my eyes on Diego. He was as beautiful as ever. His normally silken brown hair had been kissed by the sun and was long enough to tuck behind his ears. He’d been working outdoors more, and it showed, not just in his skin tone and hair color, but in his broad, muscular shoulders. He stood straight and tall to address my father. I wanted to run and throw my arms around his neck, but Papá wouldn’t stand for it.

  Patience, Diego had told me a million times before.