“It’s the only way to be.”
He snorts.
“You disagree?”
“No one in this world is one hundred percent honest. As for loyal . . .”
“Who told you about me? Kylie? Declan?”
My question causes him to smile. Yet it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll share a little secret with you, Madelyn. There’s very little my operatives do without me knowing about it. Take your sister, for instance.”
“What about her?”
“Like I said, you’ve been occupying my time for quite a while. First your sister neglects to inform me of your existence—as if a town the size of Shelby can keep secrets. I’ve been aware of your existence all along. I simply didn’t see the need to share this information with her, or anyone else.”
“She kept your secret safe. She never told me about you or what she was doing.”
“Then there’s Diego, my oldest, most trusted man,” he adds, holding up a second digit, like he’s using his fingers to matter-of-factly check off their wrongdoings before continuing, “who helps you flee Mexico.”
My sister warned me he was manipulative. Am I just another pawn on this man’s chessboard?
“Declan took you to California and dropped you off at school. Cleaned house first, if the bodies of those local cartel members were any indication.”
Holy crap. And I was hoping I could reason with him?
“Am I missing anyone?”
“Missing anyone from what?”
“The list of people willing to betray me for you.”
“Whatever you may think, reconsider. I’m nobody.”
“I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you if that were true. No one else?
“No.”
“Liar.”
I scowl, wondering who else he could be thinking of.
“Despite your sister’s betrayal, I left you in peace. Until, like I said, you resurfaced in Shelby, got Franco’s men all riled up—just when the dust from your sister’s treachery was settling—and offered me no choice but to force that traitor’s hand.”
“Shelby. It’s always comes back to Shelby,” I whisper, hoarsely. Because if I wasn’t already completely afraid of this man, I am now.
“Why do you suppose Declan did that? Disobeyed me? Went behind my back when I sent men in to teach your sister a lesson? Stopped them from their assignment? He thinks I don’t know about Cabo.”
“What about Cabo?”
He searches my face. “Ah, lover boy didn’t explain to you why he was in Mexico. Do you believe in coincidences, Madelyn? My man has never taken a vacation in his life and suddenly he decides to take one in Cabo. It leaves a person wondering why.”
“Why?”
His lifts twitch, and he waves his hand toward the bedroom. “I think you already know the answer.”
“Are you saying Declan was in Mexico because of me?”
“Initially, yes.”
I gasp as he leans forward and lightning fast closes the distance between us. “How deep were the cuts?” he harshly demands, completely surprising me. Not your cuts but the cuts. Luciana’s cuts.
“How deep? The two across her lower abdomen we treated with lanolin but both will likely scar. The others were deep enough to cut into her dermis but, judging by the way they bled and how her body immediately shifted into the healing process, I don’t believe they’ll leave permanent marks.” I frown. He didn’t ask me who was hurt instead of me. If Diego works for him . . . does Luciana?
Is Luciana the reason why he suddenly seems . . . furious?
I resist asking him, not wanting to drag her into this if she isn’t already involved. And he’s furious. Positively, one-hundred-percent livid. Like he cares.
“A person’s body has a miraculous way of recovering.”
Silence follows my explanation until I can’t take it any longer.
“It’s clear you’re a man who doesn’t like mistakes.”
“It’s not a matter of liking them. I don’t tolerate mistakes. Or lies.”
I stiffen at the chill in his tone. But I’m still at a loss over what this is really all about. “What exactly does your organization do?” Besides spying on people, like Kylie admitted to doing? Like killing people, like Declan has done?
“We deal with the nuisances of society.”
“Like rodents or pesky insects?” I murmur.
“Precisely. Threats to our sense of well-being.”
“Our?” I swallow hard. “Or your?”
“Both. One goes hand in hand with the other. I run a tight ship. There’s no room for mistakes. My organization’s existence demands our secrets be kept secure. It’s the nature of the beast I’ve built.”
He sighs, sits back in his seat, and studies me. Until once again, I find myself squirming in my seat.
“Your sister singlehandedly ruined a year’s worth of work. She exposed my organization. She acted as a double agent, spying for me while squealing on me. Everything I’ve done is at risk.”
I swallow hard. Kylie did say she’d been spying on DiCapitano. “Kylie is as loyal as they come,” I insist.
He straightens and leans back in toward me. When he speaks, it’s in such a low tone, I strain to hear him. “You’re intelligent yet naive. Far too loyal for your own good. You take everything at face value, black or white, don’t you? A shame our world operates within the in-between. No one knows we exist until it’s too late. Admirable qualities, loyalty, optimism, love. Be careful or they’ll ruin you.”
I flinch. He’s summed me up perfectly. “At least we agree on something. Love’s brought me heartache,” I say truthfully. “Even friendship has . . .”
“Friendship has gotten you somewhere. You just don’t know it yet.”
Before I can wonder about his comment, his manner abruptly changes. “What did Kylie say? All of it this time.”
Great. Here we go again. “She told me who killed our father. A Prick named Novák—her exact words, not mine. She kept saying how she meant to find him . . . before . . .” I close my eyes, remembering how DiCapitano’s men dragged her out of the hotel room.
“Go on.”
“She plans on tracking the man down and making him pay for what he did.”
“Did she say where she’d find him?”
“No.”
“Out of the country, perhaps?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t elaborate.”
“Damn it.”
“I’m promise you, my sister is trustworthy.”
“Then why did my enemies show up on my doorstep?”
I shake my head, not understanding.
He slowly polishes off his beer. I get the impression he’s waiting for me to speak. And with every sip, my hope that I’ll be able to resolve my sister’s issue fades.
“What can I do?” I still manage to prompt.
I study his face, hidden behind those damned mirrored glasses. Would I recognize him on the street without them? Without his hair slicked back and his expertly tailored suit?
“I haven’t decided yet.” He rolls his empty beer bottle between his hands. “Who chose Rome?”