“Chris,” his father said quietly.
His gaze snapped away from the pool, drifting to where his father had stepped out of his conversation with Jorge to bring Chris out of his head. A knowing glint in his father’s eye—that familiar concern—stared back at him.
“Do you like the bourbon?” his father asked.
Jorge, who seemed confused at the question, not to mention hadn’t noticed Chris’s distraction, glanced between the two men. Gian brought him out of a state of panic but also did it without making the other man aware of his son’s deepest fear.
It was never good to hand someone your weakness.
They used it when you did that.
“Yes,” Chris said, keeping the nerves out of his tone, “it’s fine.”
“It better be,” Jorge muttered, “I paid enough for the import.”
“Forgive me for being forward,” Gian said, bringing Jorge’s attention away from Chris for the moment, “but I can’t help noticing this is your father’s home, and yet, we haven’t seen him. They told me, although I don’t trust everything said in passing, that your father stepped back from the cartel a while ago, yes?”
Jorge raised a brow and brought the lit cigar between his fingers to his lips for a heady drag. Grey smoke lifted toward the darkening sky, telling them night would fall soon.
“He has stepped back,” Jorge said, passing the house behind them a look, “but he still puts his opinion and influence in whenever he wants.”
A bite colored his tone.
Gian didn’t miss it.
“And what, he doesn’t agree with us being here?”
Jorge tipped his cigar in Gian’s direction. “Almost correct—not quite, though. He’s of the opinion the business will be good, but he’s currently attempting a merger between our cartel, and the only rival we have. Something I think is a mistake, and with you Canadians on my books, we won’t need to merge at all.”
“Is he aware?”
“He stepped back.”
“But did he?”
“It doesn’t matter once it’s all said and done, does it?”
They didn’t get the chance to reply to the man because a door closing had Jorge’s attention turning away. His brow lifted in contemplation before he smiled. Not a fond smile.
“Ah, there they are. Which means the rest have already arrived, and we can begin a proper dinner.” Jorge lifted a hand to wave, and called out, “Hermosa, bring the princesa over for a proper hello to our new friends.”
Chris turned to see who had come out on the back steps of the mansion, not familiar with Spanish but having heard just enough in his lifetime to understand those affectionate terms that left Jorge’s mouth. In a white dress, holding the hand of a small girl at her side, Chris found the answer to one of their unknowns standing on marble steps.
Yes, Valeria was very much alive.
Yes, the cartel had her.
And yes, she was beautiful as that picture of her at the Marcello wedding had shown. Shockingly so. The image on the screen he had seen before now had not done the woman justice.
Tanned, golden skin. Pin-straight, black hair that fell to her mid-back. Tall, and womanly. Her soft features, accentuated with a touch of makeup, seemed more natural than dolled up. The dress she chose draped over her curves loosely, yet still allowed him an appreciation for her body.
None of which he had any right to notice. Nor should he.
“My wife, and daughter,” Jorge said to them, although Valeria had not yet left the stairs with little Maria at her side. “Val is shy, so don’t mind if she doesn’t talk a lot. It’s her nature.”
Or, Chris wondered, could she not talk? That’s what he was here to find out.
5.
“Hermosa, bring the princesa over for a proper hello to our new friends.”
Valeria heard Jorge’s call to her, but her attention was on someone far more important. Surely, he could wait two minutes. Maria attempted to pull the bow from her dark ponytail, and as much and Valeria sympathized with her daughter’s annoyance, she was still quick to kneel and fix the ribbon. She gave her girl a smile and winked.
“Remember what I said?” she asked.
Maria sighed, her dark gaze darting to the side as two kids came out of the back of the mansion, their squeals chasing them down the steps. Valeria thought they were the children of Jorge’s men—the ones privileged enough to dine with them during business, or otherwise. She couldn’t talk to people on the payroll, unless it was Maria’s nanny, and so she couldn’t say for sure.
“Maria,” Valeria murmured, letting her fingers twist into the ends of her daughter’s soft curls. “What did I say this morning, huh?”
“To be good today. We must look pretty. Be quiet.”
God.
She hated this.
Those weren’t things a child Maria’s age should have to worry about at all. Valeria knew, however, if her child misbehaved that she wouldn’t hear the end from Jorge. He’d given her more than enough warnings leading up to this dinner for the last week about what he expected from her, and Maria.
Sure, she could handle his moods, even if it was the last thing she wanted to do, but it wasn’t fair for her daughter, either. Even if Jorge didn’t shout and smack Maria around, she would still have to watch the asshole do it to her mother.
Valeria tried to avoid that.
“Mamá, can I go play with them?” Maria pointed at the kids running down the grassy pathway leading away from the pool. “Please?”
Frankly, Valeria couldn’t find a reason to tell her daughter no. At least, playing with the kids would keep her out from beneath her father’s feet for a while, or until dinner. It wasn’t like the girl could find trouble when there happened to be a small army of guards all around the damn mansion to look after them.
Jorge had asked for her to bring Maria over, but what did it matter?
“Sure,” Valeria told Maria. “Be kind and don’t get your dress too dirty.”
Maria grinned and swished the skirt of yellow dress like she had when her mother put it on her earlier. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Val!”
She tensed at Jorge’s shout for her, gave Maria a quick kiss, and stood up when her daughter raced down the steps to chase after the other children. Air filled her lungs in a heavy inhale, the one extra second she needed to be ready to face her husband, and put on that fake smile he seemed to like so much for his guests.
Everything was fake here.
Nothing was true.
Settled enough in her heart that Valeria thought she might pretend to give a fuck about what Jorge wanted, she turned to see her husband still staring expectantly at her—although, with annoyance tugging his lips down at the edges. Great.
It wasn’t Jorge that her attention turned to though. He was a background thought, never leaving and always a reminder for her to behave. Rather, it was the two men standing near Jorge, one ahead of him, and another behind him at the wet bar beside the pool.
A father and a son, maybe?
Valeria thought the older gentleman, and younger—but he had to be close to her age, at least—shared a lot of similar features. Their strong, square-cut jaws, brown, short-cropped hair, dark eyes, and high, defined cheekbones. The slight differences in the shapes of their faces didn’t detract from the fact it was obvious they were family.