“Kill me later. I’ll be fat and pregnant, fully helpless, Dario.” My body rattles with laughter. “You’ll learn how a momma bear is willing to fight for her baby.”
“Like yours fought for you?” His eyebrow cocks.
Laughter consumes me. “I don’t mind dying, Dario. Never did. But for my child, I’ll give you a run for your money, bitch!”
Chapter Eighty
Dominic
Jesus—that roams through my mind while moving stealthily across the room. I’d found Carlotta’s dead body stuffed in a tin can while sneaking through the lot. Now, I’m exhaling relief as Aria dangles along a row of chains at the furthest wall. She’s barely alive. The undertones of honey beneath the surface of her brown skin have hollowed out. Near Dario’s feet, Yasiel is curled into a fetal position.
I stop moving, eyes blazing over to confirm the slightest movement. Had the kid died, I’d regret it my entire life.
I’d arrived with a crowbar in hand and exchanged it for a hefty wrench. Clutching it tightly, I’m about five yards from Dario when Aria asks if a saint would murder his baby.
Adrenaline stalls in my veins. Taken aback by her explosive revelation, the weapon lowers in my hand. She’s pregnant for my hermano?
Though weak, Aria’s sudden outburst sends an unhinged Dario spiraling. Hoisting the wrench as if it were a bat, I strike the side of Dario’s face. He stumbles to the side, clutching his ear. The air buzzes as I swing again. Dario scrambles back on his ass, and I lunge forward but am toppled over by Yasiel.
“It’s me, Yasielito!”
“Lie!” The kid tumbles over me. “You murdered the nurse. Now, you have Aria!”
Damn, he must’ve seen Carlotta too. I push Yasiel off me, giving him a firm smack. When I start up from the ground, Dario stands at the side of Aria. A scalpel is a fraction away from her rib. With his other hand, he fists her head up. “She’s fading, hermano. One little nick, we’re even.”
“Fight me like a fucking man for once, Dario!” I grit. “No baseless accusations or backhanded manipulations. This isn’t about a woman. It’s about you and me.”
“This is about Alejandra.”
“Alejandra’s fucking dead, Dario, and Aria’s pregnant,” I sneer. “What are you doing?”
“Eh, could be my baby, could be yours. I’d slit her throat this second if I knew.” He moves the scalpel to her neck.
“Why do you hate me, hermano?” I ask.
“Stop talking to him,” Yasiel mutters under his breath.
I’m not close enough!
The kid growls. “Kill the pendejo.”
It would be nice to let the hothead out. I’ve spent years creating the perfect image for myself, being the man Mami was proud of. Heart torn right out of my chest, I stare at Aria, searching for any sign she hasn’t bled out. I’ll tear Dario limb from limb if she dies. And Dario knows that. He lifts the scalpel. It floats down the center of her chest, beneath the curve of her breast, and back to her rib again.
“Which one did you love more, Dominic? My Alejandra or your—”
A multitude of bright, red beams zero in on his forehead and chest. Glowering straight through me, Dario drops the scalpel.
“Aria.” I snarl. The love I have for her becomes so real in this second. “Oh, and I had one of Yasiel’s friends call for backup on my own fucking hermano gemelo!”
Dario lifts his shoulders and lets them fall. He then holds his hands high into the air as a stampede of steps echoes. SWAT moves Dario to the ground, binding his hands and feet. I step toward Aria, tears burning my eyes. Fingers shaking, I remove the wires around her wrists and bring her body to the ground into my lap. Maybe Alejandra was a beautiful face, and the sex was mind-blowing, but Aria has that and then some. Although Alejandra died, it took until this very day for my heart to be snatched out of my chest.
Loving Aria Jones has changed my life. What the fuck will I do if heaven decides it can’t wait to claim her?
Chapter Eighty-One
Dominic
Four Months Later
The Feds swarmed my house before first light one hundred and twenty-four days ago. I’d dragged myself into the house with Aria’s blood staining my suit while evidence was carried out in boxes. The dog Dario had mentioned in the past had been a woman who had almost gotten out of his closet. He’d brought a rabid dog home to cover his tracks. Then he’d used the same excuse for Angelica Garces, who was found stuffed beneath Carlotta.
With the media surrounding the place in the coming days, I left the city for a few weeks. Papi finally caved and accompanied me to visit some of his family in New York.
Since then, I’ve processed the stages of grief—rum for breakfast, lunch, dinner. No matter how intoxicated, the poison fails to erase Aria.
My life was almost fucked by my hermano gemelo. But with investments and connections, I’ve kept focus. Now, I offer Dario a satisfied smug smile through plexiglass. “Cop a fucking plea.”
“Plea for what! Admit guilt? C’mon, hermano. As much as it pains me to admit, you’d make a worthy attorney on my team. Why the fuck do I have such a lousy attorney? I’ve been told you aren’t so busy these days.” His slits for eyes soften, and he adds a devilish grin, “With the firm closing, you have time for me, sí?”
The smartest thing I ever did was creating an LLC for the law firm. A name change and other attorneys on the team gave it the new start it needed. Also, I took Chico up on his offer and spread my time working on various music contracts for him. I still can’t keep my mind off Aria.
I toss back a question. “Who’s your source of information?”
“Lot of chulas on the outside like to send me letters, come see me. So, you gonna help a brother out? Your fucking brother?”
“Would keep me busy, like you said.” I shrug. “The evidence against you is staggering.”
“Like how I pounded LeAnna’s pussy, marked her cunt walls with my name? That evidence?”
I shake my head. “I’m ashamed to be your blood.”
He chortles. “The love of our life still won’t see you? Did you mail my letter to her?”
“No and no.”
“Why not? My sources tell me all the paintings she ever created of you were dropped off at the house. Did you ask the messenger where she moved?”
“No,” I scoff.
“Tsk. You back to your old ways? Or are you afraid she chose—”
“Papi’s here.”
The reflection of myself in an orange jumpsuit falls silent. Dario shifts in his seat, asking, “Here—The States? Or fucking here, here?”
“Right here.” I rise as his palms slam into the glass. The speaker blares his cussing and threats as I walk out of the room. I stalk past the metal detector into the waiting area.
Grabbing the hat hanging from his knee, Papi gets up without a word. He pats my shoulder and heads toward the guard for another security check. At the end seat, I stare at a familiar, pretty face and walk over.
She stands, crossing her arms over her chest. “Dominic.”