We locked eyes. “The Muñoz name,” he growled.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Turning toward the middle of the table, I placed both palms down and leaned forward. “The Muñoz name died with Manuel. You’re not a Muñoz, Ignacio. You’re just Pablo’s bastard son, and Esteban’s little bitch.”
I barely saw him lift the back of his hand before my head snapped over my shoulder. “I would be careful what I said if I were you.”
I should’ve walked away. I should’ve run out that door, got in the car, and never looked back. But I was done running, and I refused to spend the time I had left looking over my shoulder. So I braved the consequences and faced him.
“Was being accepted by a brother who hated you worth killing two innocent women? Destroying a family? Ruining a child?”
“You know nothing.”
“I know he lied to you. Esteban used you to satisfy his vindictive jealousy then sold you out. He never had any intention of giving you a rank. That would’ve forced him to acknowledge his family’s dirty little secret.”
Ignacio raised his hand again, and damn it, I flinched. A sick smile broke across his face as he traced my face with the back of his hand. “Little Marisol. Never fear the knife to your throat as much as the one in your back.”
I knocked his arm away. “I didn’t escape before. You let me go.”
He laughed. “Why chase a rat when you can set the kitten free and wait for her to drop it at your feet?” Pulling the cigar back to his mouth, he took a long puff, blowing out the smoke in a cloudy haze. “You think this is about you? Puta, you’re nothing but my puppet. I barely did any work. I just stole a few Carrera shipments and put your name out there. You and your new boyfriend, Brody, did the rest.” The orange end of his cigar zigzagged as he pointed it at me. “Gotta admit, that one took me by surprise.”
“You set me up.”
Tucking one hand in the pocket of his dirty black pants, he rounded the desk with a confident swagger. “I simply put cheese on a plate. You’re the one who gobbled it up and got your fucking neck snapped. You did exactly what I thought you’d do, which was to try to save your ass by selling mine out.” We stood face-to-face, the low laugh he let out slithering down my spine. “You thought you were so smart, getting revenge on Brody Harcourt and shutting me down, all while using that new name to work your way into the Carrera family. You didn’t count on that being exactly what I wanted you to do.”
“You think you can take him down from the inside?”
“No, but you can.”
“Fuck you!” I exploded, but my outburst only seemed to amuse him.
“How do you think Valentin Carrera and Brody Harcourt would react if they knew that you were behind all this from the beginning?
I clenched my arms by my side so as not to take a swing at him. “They wouldn’t believe you.”
“No, puta, they wouldn’t believe you,” he sneered. “Not when they find out you were engaged to my son.” His words sank low and hard in my stomach. “Not when they find out you gave him El Palacio to launder all Muñoz money. Not when they find out you lured Harcourt to his club and tried to get him killed.”
Brody was right, and betrayal hit hard with a vengeful hand.
“Cristiano.” I stared at him, silently watching as my misguided thirst for vengeance stole every trace of the fragile humanity I’d reclaimed.
I was trapped, a pawn in my own game, with death at both ends of the board. Ignacio Vergara’s blind ignorance might have changed my fate, but in a cruel twist of irony, it was my own that sealed it.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
“I want Alejandro Carrera’s son to kneel before me. I want him to beg for my mercy, just as his pinche cabrón father expected me to do.”
“Val kneels for no one.”
The glowing tip of his cigar magnified the hatred in his eyes. “He would for his son.”
My body stiffened, blood roaring in my ears as I made the connection between his cat and mouse game and his end game. “No.”
No. The ironclad will that moments ago looked my mother’s killer in the eye shriveled behind that one word. He told the truth. This was never about me or claiming either of our birthrights. This was retaliation twenty-four years in the making.
He warned me. I heard him say the words. I just refused to listen.
“Putting a bullet in your brain would be such a waste. Especially when your powers of persuasion could be put to much better use.”
“Against who? According to you, I’m public enemy number one.”
“There’s no truer revenge than an eye for an eye…is there, Adriana?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no.” The same word fell from my lips over and over, my voice breaking with finality.
Ignacio grabbed my chin, his calloused fingers digging into my bruised skin. “This sanctimonious act is getting old. Don’t lie to yourself, puta. Santiago Carrera is the heir to the throne. You’re nothing but an afterthought. A useless inconvenience. Without him, Valentin and Eden Carrera implode. It’s what you wanted, remember? Reclaim who you really are and stop pretending to be this pathetic shell of a queen. Besides,” he added, his knowing smirk sickening me as he loosened his grip to trace the traitorous dark circles shining under my eye. “I’ll put you back on top and make sure you live to see it.”
“You can’t want me to—”
“I want Valentin Carrera to remember my name,” he hissed, his grip tightening as he stalked forward, forcing me backward toward the door. “So you go back to Mexico City, Adriana Carrera, because I have a task for you. Don’t fuck it up, or I’ll kill you. But first, I’ll make you watch everyone you love suffer—including Brody Harcourt. I’ll enjoy the look on his face when he sees how blind he’s really been.”
I had to stop four times on the way back to Chapala to throw up. The rest of the drive was a never-ending blur of cars, trees, houses, and static. By the time I pulled into the driveway and around to the back of the house, my head felt as empty as my body.
That’s how I felt as I stumbled toward the house.
Empty.
“Adriana!” Brody stormed toward me, his green and brown eyes blazing with deadly fire and the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
“You’ve been drinking again.”
“You’re damn right I have. Where have you been? No, don’t answer that. I already know you confronted Ignacio alone. You don’t—” His hand flew to my chin and turned it to the side. “Is that a bruise? Did that motherfucker hit you?”
I didn’t know what to say. The truth would send him into a drunken rage, but lying was pointless, so I said nothing.
“He’s a dead man.” He spoke the words with such cold malice, I shivered. Diving both hands in his hair, he pulled at the roots as he paced. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Adriana? I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t answer to you, and you sure as hell don’t get away with stealing from me! I’m a goddamn Carrera!” His voice boomed, rage pouring out of him as he hauled me against him. “Do you hear me?”