Warm sunlight caresses my skin, rousing me awake. Dominic usually favors my favorite pillow, but, today, his arms encircle me instead. Snuggling into him, I almost beg God for us to become one. The feelings I have for him are borderline psychotic. Something is different today. Like we awoke on the opposite side of eternity, and nobody in this world exists but us. Intensity surrounds him, us, and I’m captivated.
Is this truly love? This feeling like I’m drowning in him, and he’s drowning in me. I’ll have to ask Roslyn if I should associate love and suffocation.
“What’s running through your mind, chula?” The depth of his voice, so heavy, laces around me. Even though his eyes are closed, I’m his core. All his attention is for me.
“That maybe you drugged me.”
His eyes pop open, like fresh green earth. I swear I can scent earthiness on him. I straddle him, grabbing the camera I keep by my bed, taking a candid. “It’s a good thing. I’ll show you.”
“No . . .”
“Yes. We’re not out, baby. You only refuse for me to take your photo when we’re out.”
“From this day forward, take all the pictures you’d like, Aria.”
“You said you loved me, so I was gonna do it anyway.” I wink. “You’re mine now.”
The shutter clicks on his beautiful face. I take a few more pictures to preserve this moment. My hands run along Dominic’s abdomen, and I trace the line above his pelvic bone, dropping kisses wherever my fingertips caress. I climb down, sliding the sheets with me. He grips the sheets, pulling them back up.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Dominic if he’s hiding me beneath the sheets due to my unruly tresses. I start to tug the sheets again.
“Damn you, Dom, you usually like to watch.” I joke. “But what the—are you hiding hickeys from another—”
My cellphone goes off.
“Damn, that’s my alarm. It must be almost afternoon. I have a meeting to attend.” I start to climb from bed when he clasps my wrist.
“C’mere, mami. Forget the meeting. Let’s make a day of you and me?” He doesn’t let go. “Turn off your phone. I want all of you like our first weekend together.”
But we’ve had so many weekends together since then. Nights, days . . . More tasks dart through my chaotic brain. “Yasiel has a geometry quiz this afternoon. I’ve been tutoring him once a week. I also had a chat with Jack about a potential client we should pull.” I sigh, letting my head fall back. Pre-Dominic, Roslyn had to damn near abduct me to leave the house. “Actually, it sounds good to have a ditch day.”
I shoot a quick GIF text to Yasiel, a reminder of the Pythagorean theorem. On second thought, I message Siobhan to check in on Gramps later today. Before my phone can fade to black, I’m beneath the covers with the love of my life.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Aria
Two evenings later, it’s officially the weekend when I’m compelled to plug back into reality. Water runs in the background as Dominic showers. Holding a towel around my frame, I meander along to the opposite side of the bed.
A stream of notifications pops up. One of which is from Siobhan airing her frustrations about our good-for-nothing cousin who lives the closest to Gramps. She complains about how she had to convince him to check on Gramps. She ended her rant, praising me for focusing on myself. I read another message from Yasiel, who was elated about his C+ in geometry.
But the brunt of my many texts come from Roslyn. Clutching the towel to me, I dial her number. Worry surges through my veins while waiting for her to connect.
She answers at the last second. “Aria, damn. I called you a bazillion times!”
“What is it?” I settle at the edge of the bed.
“El Santo was taken in!”
Mouth open wide, I strangle on shock.
“Turn on the news, chica! Now!”
Fingers shaking uncontrollably, I grab the remote, and the television flicks on. Finger glued to the button, screen after screen shows images of breaking news. I remove my finger, stopping on a local channel, bottom lip dropped. “Wow.”
A black reporter is on the scene. Dressed impeccably in a pressed dress shirt and slacks, he fists the microphone in his hand. In the background is the very steps where I argued with Antonio and Dominic. The Miami PD crest displayed farther back.
After a few beats, the reporter says, “We are on-site at the Miami Police Department. A male, whose identity is being withheld, was escorted into the police station earlier today.” The image of a man appears. Something covers his head as detectives on each side hold his arms, leading him into the station. “He’s being questioned as arguably the most infamous serial killer of the decade.”
The sound of rushing water has stopped while I gawk at the screen. The reporter on the scene segues the story back to the main broadcaster at the news station.
“Authorities were understandably diligent in withholding the alleged murderer’s identity. However, we’re told two victims shared the same significant other, and the alleged serial killer has been identified on TMZ as—”
I glance over at Dominic, who’s staring intently at the television. Drops of water cling to his caramel chest. A bath sheet wraps around his waist, stopping at his feet. Another drapes over his shoulders, cascading down his back. The animosity radiating from him fizzles on the surface of his taut muscles. A full range of emotion flashes across his face then flickers back to neutral. It’s as if he’s attempting to settle a volcanic fury.
“They got him,” I whisper.
Jaw working, he glares in silence.
“I remember you saying how you knew one of the young ladies. Dom? They got him.” Eye ducts prickling, I head over to him, ascending on my tippy toes to loop my arms around his neck. “Those bastards finally got him.”
Dominic’s gaze latches on to me with an intensity at odds with his demeanor. What is it? Shock? Has to be. Miami is diverse, filled with various divisions, but not when it comes to El Santo.
“Bueno,” Dominic murmurs against my lips. “All I can think of is your safety. No more chasing after bad pendejos, sí?”
Clarity curves my lips into a smile, and he mirrors it. Sheepishly, I nod. “You had some idea I was still searching . . .”
“You’re invested, mami. You searched for him as a dedication to your sister. Your convictions were admirable, but that pendejo was . . . He was a plague who got chopped the fuck down.”
Dominic crushes me against the protection of his massive chest. An abundance of emotion radiates from him, funneling through me.
I should feel complete, right?
Although I vowed to El Santo’s women to not fail them like I did with ReAnna, a small piece of me swims against the currents, full of doubt.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
El Santo
LeAnna is my crux, the cornerstone of my sanity. The media failed me. All this time, they were on my side. She clings to me, and I focus on how the hair on the crown of her head is tickling my chin. I cling to the delicate feeling. I have to focus on something to devour the fire in my heart as to how the media fucked me over. Those idiotas had given some random motherfucker credit for my efforts. All my time invested. My dedication. My loyalty to my ángeles.