What had Jorge told her today?
Business meeting—new partners.
Right.
Valeria was hyperaware of the men’s gazes locked on her as she came down the stairs and walked along the edge of the pool to approach them. She was careful in her heels not to step on any wet spot, lest she slip, and fall into the water. Wouldn’t that be just perfect?
It was the man ahead of Jorge by a step—the younger of the two—that didn’t drop Valeria’s stare as she came closer. He was handsome, strikingly so with his piercing gaze, and rugged features that seemed carved from stone. He didn’t smile, but he also didn’t have to considering his lips naturally curved in such a way they pulled into the hint of a smirk, anyway. His form, fit under a tailored suit, rested confidently in his stance.
Valeria shook her head, turning her gaze away from the man that was still watching her with every step she took closer to him, her husband, and the other unknown gentleman. God knew she didn’t need Jorge thinking she was staring a beat too long at another man even if said man was decent to stare at.
That was her first thought about him, too, which was strange. Looks were the last thing Valeria noticed about a man. His appearance only hid what was beneath the handsome package. A lesson she had, unfortunately, learned firsthand, and not one she cared to learn again.
“I wanted you to bring Maria over to say hello,” Jorge said, nothing hiding his displeasure in the slightest once Valeria was close enough for him to speak. He reached for her, and while it killed her to put on this act for the newcomers, she allowed his arm to snake around her waist, and pull her into his side. Cigar smoke clung to the air, and it became worse when Jorge lifted the lit cigar in his other hand for a heady drag. “And now look at her.”
Valeria’s gaze searched for her girl, and she found her. “She’s having fun with the other children, let her play. She’s a child.”
“It’s good for children to play,” the older gentleman said, “because it lets them burn out all that energy they can’t seem to get rid of otherwise.”
Jorge tipped his cigar in the man’s direction and nodded. “You make a good point, Gian.”
Gian.
Was that Italian?
She thought so, but the man had a strange accent. It had a hint of Italian, but also something else, too. Something as equally smooth, maybe. French?
Valeria couldn’t be sure.
Gian chuckled. “Been a while since any of my boys were that young, however. Isn’t that right, Chris?”
“It is, Papa.”
So, she had been right.
Father and son.
Jorge’s hand tightened on Valeria’s waist, bringing her attention back to him. Heaven forbid her eyes weren’t always on him, waiting for the next moment when he would snap his fingers, and demand something new.
“Valeria,” he said, “meet my new business partners. Gian and Christopher—although, he likes Chris, they told me—Guzzi. From Canada.”
Business partners.
Right.
The cartel had one business.
Jorge tipped his head toward her, saying to Gian, “And this is the wife I may have mentioned once or twice.”
“Yes, Valeria, correct?”
She nodded. “That’s me.”
Gian smiled, but said nothing.
Jorge didn’t notice, continuing with, “We had a rough patch for a while, but somehow, Valeria found her way home, didn’t you, hermosa?”
Her heart thundered in her throat. Yeah, she found her way home. As though it had been her choice to come back to Mexico, and not like Jorge hunted her down as though she were an animal that deserved what it got. She wondered if her choosing to come home also meant watching Jorge’s man point a rifle at her daughter’s head, and calmly explaining that if she didn’t go with them, they would kill Maria?
She swallowed those words, knowing damn well nothing good would come from her letting it slip out of her mouth. Instead, she took the safe route, even if every single part of her screamed to do the opposite.
So was her life, now.
“Yes, right where I belong,” Valeria agreed.
All lies.
The younger man—Chris—had said nothing at all, and he didn’t then, either. Gian chuckled as though he understood Jorge fine.
“You should go watch Maria while I discuss details here,” Jorge told her.
Fine with me.
“Sure,” Valeria replied.
He didn’t let her go, so she didn’t move. She understood what Jorge expected; she gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, swallowing back the bile that flooded her tongue, before giving the other two men a smile. One she had practiced time and time again in the mirror. That way, no one had a clue it was a fake.
“Very nice to meet both of you,” Valeria said.
The men greeted her in kind, not that she cared for small talk, or whatever business they had come here to do. She still counted down the seconds when she could get away from her husband for the evening though. Jorge had that effect on people.
• • •
Tiptoeing out of the room Maria would use to sleep in for the night at her grandfather’s mansion, Valeria carefully closed the door without making more noise that might wake her daughter up. She could stay upstairs for a bit—a few minutes more, safely—and Jorge would know nothing different, but she wasn’t stupid.
He expected her to put their child to sleep after dinner and come right back down. He would send someone up after her, if he figured she was taking too long, and no one needed that problem.
Mostly, dinner had gone well. The Canadians kept conversation on everything but business, although Jorge hadn’t seemed to mind indulging their chattiness, for once. She figured because he banked on being able to supply their territory in order to get out of the arrangement his father had made with the García cartel. If they wanted to talk about the sky, he would probably do it as long as it got him what he wanted, no doubt.
Valeria didn’t care either way. She liked it when Maria didn’t have to hear about all of that nonsense, anyway. Wasn’t it bad enough that the girl had a front-row seat to her father being horrible against her mother, did she also need the cartel spelled out for her, too?
Maria wouldn’t be young forever.
Eventually, she would understand.
Not now, though.
Valeria navigated the halls of the upstairs, walking down the grand spiral stairs where at the bottom, she listened to the echoing voices of the men inside the large sitting room. She edged closer to the doorway, but stayed hidden beyond view to peek inside.
With dinner over, business took its place.
“You expect to need that many kilos a month?” Jorge asked.
Gian stared at Chris. “Oui?”
“We can supply Canada-wide through our connections with the gangs, and other organizations. We’ve had the stronghold over most organized crime in Canada for ... longer than I have been alive,” Chris added.
“He isn’t wrong,” Gian added. “So yes, monthly.”
“The smuggle runs will have to go in through several ports of entry,” Jorge muttered, his gaze narrowing on the glass of liquor in his hand, “to avoid detection. We’ll have that covered, but once it gets over the border, it’s your problem.”