Adriana
Cristiano Vergara sat behind a sleek black desk, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair and his fingers steepled together under his chin. He looked older. Colder. Iniquitous with a razor edge that sent a chill down my spine. His eyes, the same ones that hypnotized me as an impetuous young girl, now held me immobile in the open doorway as a grown woman. Blue as the ocean with a depth that hid just as many secrets, they ripped back the layers of time as if they never existed.
Forcing my body to relax, I cocked my hip against the doorframe and shrugged the opposite shoulder. “I like to make an entrance.” My confidence sounded weak, but there was no turning back now.
Cristiano raised a dark eyebrow. “You always did. But a man has his limits, Mari. My patience isn’t infinite.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to cringe at that name.
“Well, you know what they say, good things come to those who wait.”
“Do you also know what they say happens when a woman keeps a man waiting?”
I flashed him a wicked grin. “She holds all the cards?”
“He reflects on her shortcomings.” His familiar eyes flashed, sending an unspoken message. Our past granted me certain privileges, but my silence set limitations.
At the end of the day, a Carrera was still a Carrera.
My name was a ticking time bomb, and that was why I pushed past his blatant intimidation and walked into his office with conviction, closing the door behind me. Standing in front of his desk, I glanced down at the wingback chair beside me with disdain. It was just a chair but lowering myself in front of him created uneven ground. So instead, I braced my palms on the edge of his desk and slid on top of it, crossing my legs with a wink.
The permanent scowl he wore in response to my defiance was remorseless and calculating. He looked decades older than his twenty-four years, and that was what made him so dangerous. Tall, muscular, with skin dark enough to earn a rank but light enough to raise an eyebrow. Men let their guard down around him because he didn’t look the part. He looked more like an underwear model than a ruthless killer. Underestimating him was always their downfall.
“It appears good news travels fast.”
He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “They’re looking for you,” he said, lowering his hands. “It took balls to come here.”
“Yet, you knew I would.”
That earned me a ghost of a smile. “A tiger doesn’t change her stripes. It doesn’t matter what ambush she belongs to.”
Underestimating Cristiano was both a mistake and an asset. No one on Earth knew me like he did, which gave him the unique ability to anticipate my moves before I made them. Five minutes ago, I would’ve sworn on my life he’d never use that power against me, but now, I wasn’t so sure.
My hands clenched the edge of the desk, and I looked away. “Am I that predictable?”
“No, you’re that proud. And a fighter. I knew you’d come to clear your name eventually.”
It was time to address the elephant in the room. Twisting around, I braced a hand behind me and held his stare. “Speaking of which, I go by Adriana now, not Marisol.” I held my breath, bracing for the storm to roll across his face, only to find an indecent smile.
“So I’ve heard.” Leaning forward, his smile widened. “Kind of scandalous to know I slept with the enemy for so many years.”
“Nothing about this is funny, Cris.”
“I know.” His voice lowered, his smile fading. “I told you, I’ve heard.” A sudden rustling drew my glance down to a stack of papers mangled in his clenched fist. “If I ever get my hands on the man who touched you—”
I laid my hand over his fist. “You won’t do a damn thing. This is my fight, not yours.”
Cristiano’s eyes went unfocused, and his face pinched together. For a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. But as soon as they opened, the icy blue flooded with warmth, and the lines in his face turned downward.
Moving his hand out from under mine, he pushed out of his chair and paced. I couldn’t help but smile as he dove a hand in his hair, tugging at the brown strands until they pointed in every direction except the ones they were meant to. The ritual was so familiar that it was almost comforting. This was the Cristiano I knew. This was the one who would help me.
I watched and waited until his frantic pacing came to a stop right in front of me. Pulling back, he studied me. “How are you?”
I snorted. “Oh, just great. Escaping certain death by my own men kicked off one hell of a summer but kissing a man’s ass who I was groomed my whole life to hate really enhanced the excitement.”
“Mari…”
“But the biggest thrill has come from fighting an invisible man who’s decided to stir up a pot of shit soup and slap my name on it.” I clapped my hands together for dramatic effect.
He engulfed my wrists between two strong inked hands and gave me a pointed look. “I’m not talking about that, and you know it. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
I dropped my head back. “If you don’t believe me, then why ask?”
“Stay with me.”
I laughed out loud. “Yeah, okay.” Sliding off the desk, I tried to pull away from him when his grip tightened, his serious expression taking me off guard.
“I have connections. People who can get you to the top of—”
“No!” I yelled, jerking away from him, his eyes narrowing at the force of my outburst. Shit. He’d taken this conversation to a place I refused to go. I needed to redirect it back on track before he forced me to sever what little connection we had left. Palming my forehead, I let out a frustrated breath. “Look, Cris, I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
“I know.”
“Then stop arguing with me and help me stop this pendejo.”
He crossed his arms, his stare evasive. “Even if I know something, what makes you think I’ll tell you? After all, El Palacio is still a Muñoz front.”
“Because a lion doesn’t stop protecting his mate just because she left the pride,” I said, throwing his own metaphor in his face.
I waited. For what, I wasn’t sure. For an argument? For vindication? For the door to be slammed in my face? What I got was a genuine smile as he shook his head in concession. “This is new,” he said, running a lock of my red wig through his fingers.
I grinned. “Do you like it?”
“No, but it definitely matches your temper.” Tapping me on the nose, he leaned against the edge of his desk. “So, what do you know so far?”
Now it was my turn to pace. “His name is Ignacio. I know he has hijacked at least three Carrera shipments worth over thirty million. I know the Carreras captured one of the men who pulled the Chicago job.” Stopping to take a breath, I turned on my heels and launched into more word vomit. “His name was José Rojas, and yes, that’s in the past tense because he’s dead. He was the asshole with my name in his mouth who set this whole thing in motion. I also know this Ignacio fucker scared the shit out of Leo Pinellas enough to put a gun in his own mouth right in front of me.”