“He’s the head of security for Ramirez,” Nardo muttered beside me, sobering both of us up in a rush.
“Fuck,” Jet muttered. “Now I remember where I know you from. You met us at the gate when we came for Manuel Ramirez’s head.”
Guzman bowed his head again. “That was me.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jet looked at me as if I knew the answer. “What are we doing with one of Ramirez’s men? Who the fuck is running his business now?”
“I haven’t kept up with who inherited everything since Cali died. You’ll have to ask your son that. He’s the one who sent him to pick us up.” I nodded toward the Jeep as I turned back to Guzman. “We won’t all fit in there.”
“There is a second car,” Guzman said, indicating a car coming in the distance. “I’m to take you and your men to the house. But Mr. Hannigan’s presence has been requested elsewhere.”
“I’m not leaving him.” I stepped into his space. “I don’t know you, and since you work for Ramirez, I sure as fuck don’t trust you.”
“Garret Hannigan trusts me,” Guzman said with a slight smirk. “So does his mother.”
At the mention of his wife, Jet pulled me away and got in Guzman’s face himself. Grabbing the man’s shirt in both hands, he jerked him closer. “Felicity?” he rasped. “You know where my wife is? Stop playing around and take me to her. Now!”
“The car coming will take you straight to her,” Guzman told him in his thickly accented English, unaffected by the wildness in the drunk man’s eyes. “Alone. Vitucci is to go to the house. Obviously, he needs to sleep off the case of vodka he’s drowned himself in.”
“We stay together,” Jet argued.
“Then you won’t see your wife until later tonight,” the head of security said with a shrug. “But you came in search of the lovely Mrs. Hannigan, yes?”
“Where the fuck is she?” Jet demanded, twisting his fingers in the man’s shirt. “Did you take her from me? Did you take away my life, you bastard?”
Guzman sighed heavily. “I didn’t take anything from you. Come to the house and see your wife tonight. Or go with my men and see her now. The choice is yours.”
I grabbed Jet by the shoulders, pulling him back. Reluctantly, he released his hold on the other man and turned to face me. “Go. See Felicity now. I’ll be fine. If Garret trusts him, then we should too.” Not that I fully did. I didn’t know if it was because my brain was still swimming around in all the vodka I’d drunk on the flight or I just didn’t like Guzman, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he knew something I didn’t and it amused him. It set me on edge, but I could handle the man with or without my guards. “Nardo, you are with Jet. Otto and I will go with Guzman.”
Jet seemed torn, but in the end, his need to see Felicity won out. When the second car pulled up, he climbed into the back with Nardo. I waited until the driver pulled away before motioning Otto toward the Jeep. The entire time, Guzman had stood back, watching us with hooded eyes. His gaze clocked my every move, assessing me, and from the way he shook his head every now and then, I figured he found me wanting.
My head was pounding by the time we got to the house. I’d been to the Ramirez house twice before, once when I was fifteen and again when I was twenty. If Guzman had worked for Matias either of those times, he hadn’t been head of security because I didn’t remember seeing him during either of those trips.
His attention stayed on the road as he chauffeured us up to the mansion-sized home that had once belonged to the biggest cocaine runner who ever lived. Now that honor had been placed on me and my family, but I still had to give Matias his due. The man had been business-savvy and invested his millions well. It was Manuel who’d fucked everything up, leaving the Ramirez empire with only a fraction of the funds and power it had once held with pride.
Guzman parked in front of the sprawling house and got out without speaking, dismissing me and my guard as if we were no longer worth his time. I nodded for Otto to exit first then followed, keeping my eyes on the Colombian at all times until he disappeared.
Inside, a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked dark hair and a kind smile greeted us welcomingly in front of a grand staircase. “You must be tired after such a long flight,” she said in Spanish. “I am Maria. Come. I will show you to your rooms and bring you a breakfast tray.”
Even as warm as she was, I couldn’t bring myself to smile in return. I didn’t even think my facial muscles worked like that anymore. They, like my heart, broke the moment I’d found Nova in pieces. But I didn’t argue with her as she led the way upstairs. Otto was given a room two doors down from mine, and then she opened the door to my own room.
With the promise of bringing food, Maria left me in the luxurious suite that overlooked the back gardens of the estate. The sun was barely peeking above the horizon, but it cast a soft glow over the shrubs and flowers while a fountain bubbled gently in the center. Turning from the sight, I gave the room a once-over. A huge, four-poster bed with white sheets, comforter, and pillowcases. A small desk with a chair, a wardrobe, a simple dresser with a mirror on top, and then the door to the ensuite. It felt like a hotel room. Clean, but boring. Lifeless.
Much like myself.
Except for the cleanliness. I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, wanting to wash away the stickiness of the flight and the alcohol I had started to sweat off. The jets of the shower were powerful and beat against my sore, tired muscles as the water poured over my body.
On autopilot, I went through the process of washing myself before turning off the water and grabbing a towel to wrap around my waist. Taking another out of the cupboard, I used it to dry off as I walked into the bedroom.
A tray was sitting on the small desk. A glass of orange juice was beside a plate with scrambled eggs, lightly browned toast, and slightly crispy bacon. I frowned at the texture of the meat and the color of the bread. They were exactly how I liked them. Even the eggs were perfectly scrambled the way I preferred.
Figuring Garret had informed the housekeeper of how I liked my breakfast, I pushed down the sudden restlessness that filled me and picked up a slice of toast. For months, food had tasted like ash, and I’d had to force down each bite I took. I was surprised when I actually tasted the lightly buttered toast and perfectly salted eggs.
If Maria was the one who’d cooked my breakfast, I might have to take her home with me just so I could eat and Mom would stop worrying so much about me.
Once all the food was gone, I drained the glass of juice before picking up the tray and placing it outside my door. Turning toward the bed, I flipped off the lights and dropped down onto the mattress, tossing the towel aside.
The softness of the sheets made me groan in appreciation. Pulling the covers up to my waist, I bunched up the pillow under my head and closed my eyes. The vodka was still lingering in my system because sleep took me in no time.
And with it…Nova.
49
Ryan
Silky, petal-soft fingertips brushed over my cheek. I knew that touch. Craved it. Would give anything for it to be real and not a memory. But if dreams were all I could have, I would take it.