Something in her voice triggered an instinctive response, and I cradled my belly. At the same time, Adriana looked up, the familiar gold-flakes in her dark eyes glinting with something that sent a cold shiver down my spine.
“And?”
“And what if all this perfect is just a false calm?” she whispered. “What if at the end of the aisle, all that’s waiting, is the eye of the storm?”
Sliding my hand off her shoulder, I grabbed hers and entwined our fingers. “I don’t have all the answers. I walked into this life blind and naive. But you said it yourself; you grew up in a cartel. You’ve seen blood on your birthday, and blown out candles to the sound of bullets. I could sit here and say nothing bad could happen today, but we both know it’d be a lie. Every morning the sun rises, we take a risk we’ll never see it set. That’s our reality, and it fucking sucks.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Yeah, it really does.”
“However, either we accept it, or we live in constant fear.”
Shaking her head, Adriana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “You don’t sound so blind and naive to me.”
“Cartel crash course.” Winking, I added, “Discounted with the price of abduction.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “You’re fucking insane.”
“And you’re late for your own wedding. Go find your shoe, Cinderella.” Giving her hand one last squeeze, I took the glass out of her other hand and rose to my feet. I promised to stand by her side, but I also knew when to back off. She needed time alone to process this before facing what waited for her downstairs.
I made it halfway across the room before I came to a complete stop and sucked in a sharp breath, the glass slipping from my hand and shattering on the marble floor.
Adriana shot to her feet. “Eden? Are you okay?”
Forcing a smile, I waved a hand, motioning her away from the mess. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little too much ‘physical exertion’ earlier, I guess.”
She made a gagging noise after catching on to my innuendo. Which was good, since it was physically impossible to make it any more obvious. “You know, you can tell that manwhore brother of mine no once in a while.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I said, wiggling my eyebrows. “If you think Val’s dominant with his men, you should—”
Adriana’s face contorted as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. Leaping to her feet, she pointed toward the door. “You’re disgusting. Get out.”
“Fine, fine,” I laughed, holding my smirk until she turned her back to me and limped on one bare foot and one stiletto into the adjoining bathroom. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding, gritting my teeth as I white-knuckled the edge of the dresser.
Fine, fine…” I repeated, lifting my chin and staring at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s going to be fine.”
If only I believed my own words.
Chapter Eight
Valentin
My father never hid who he was or what he did. Every aspect of his life revolved around the cartel, and he didn’t give a shit if it made its way inside the gates of our estate. I was a young boy who watched as his father returned home covered in blood and then sat quietly as dozens of men filed into our house for closed-door meetings. My mother did everything she could to try and make our existence seem normal, but she failed. Even if she’d lived, she was always going to fail.
Once a man brought violence into his home, it was stained.
Soiled. Cursed.
That was why only three people were allowed to cross the threshold of my home with a gun in their pocket and business on their tongues: my sister, my underboss, and my first lieutenant. For anyone else, I secured a place close enough for access, but far enough away to ensure my mother’s failure wasn’t repeated.
My men called it Cámara de Senadores or simply Senado. The Senate. Named not so ironically after Mexico’s corrupt legislative branch of government—the one with the power to pass laws, impose taxes, or more importantly, declare war.
A branch I controlled along with every dirty politician inside it.
Every important Carrera decision was made inside the walls of Senado—a single room building tucked in the far west corner of the estate. Away from the prying eyes of wedding guests and suspicious wives.
So that’s where I stood right now, outside the thick steel door of Senado with my most trusted men and allies behind me, preparing for a modern-day clash of the titans.
Mateo unlocked the door, and the Miami Bratva queen and I filed in, side by side. However, after only two steps, Ava’s confident gait faltered.
“Why the fuck is he here?”
It took more effort than I anticipated to contain my amusement.
One useful thing my father instilled in me was the importance of keeping both enemy and ally on their toes. “Never become predictable to either,” he always said, “or you’ll fall to both.”
Well, this was about as unpredictable as it got.
Welcome to Mexico, muñeca. Doll.
I followed her heated glare toward the bombshell perched at the far end of the long rectangular table situated in the middle of the room. I wasn’t surprised to find our guest of honor half-drunk, stuffing his face full of churros. In fact, I counted on it. Left to his own devices for damn near half an hour, Ronan Kelly was just how I wanted him: on edge, unsettled, and primed for the impending show.
I offered a conspiratorial wink. “Trust me.”
Ava’s stoic expression faded into pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “I don’t trust anyone, Carrera. Especially you.”
I fought a smirk. “Words hurt, Ava.”
“Not as much as my blade if you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re trying to pull.” She lowered her voice as Brody, Niko, and Mateo dispersed around us. “We had a deal.”
“And we still do. This has nothing to do with our agreement. In fact,” I whispered, ignoring Niko’s iron glare as I took hold of her arm and maneuvered us toward our seats, “play along, and you’ll find I’m throwing in an added bonus free of charge.”
Jerking out of my hold, Ava flounced into the seat next to her husband, clenching her fists so tightly, I was surprised her red nails didn’t snap. Noticing the dramatic shift in his wife, Niko’s watchful gaze turned lethal.
Which, of course, I ignored.
After taking my rightful place at the head of the table, I held up the slender amber bottle in front of me while nodding to the other three lining the table. “Have a drink, Gaheris. You look like you need it.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Too bad.” Pouring myself a glass, I egged him on by taking my time swirling the liquid around inside it. “It’s Don Julio 1942. Sweet and smooth. A gateway tequila if you will. Añejo for the beginner palate. Something to wash away all that shit vodka you Russians drink.” Smirking, I tipped the glass back.
I had nothing against Niko, Russians, or their vodka. He simply needed a reminder that this was Mexico, not Miami, and while I respected his integrity and our alliance, his presence wasn’t needed or wanted. It was tolerated as a courtesy to his wife.