Which did nothing but make him look like he’d snorted a box of glazed donuts.
Finally, Val spun around, presenting us with clenched fists and a tuxedo-layered view of the tightly coiled muscles in his back.
“Go,” I whispered under my breath. “Now.”
Clearing his throat, Brody, walked as nonchalantly as he could past my now seething brother, pausing only to nod his head. “Val.”
Please don’t make a scene.
Val stopped him with a hard hand across his chest. “This isn’t over, asshole,” he growled.
Damn. So close.
Brody didn’t acknowledge the threat; instead, he kept walking, leaving me alone with a man who just saw way more of his sister than any brother ever should.
Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose in an attempt at warding off the headache brewing behind my eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looked.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to face me, the deep timbre of his voice deceptively calm. “Did he lose his boutonniere in your underwear?”
Remembering Eden’s post-fuck face from earlier, I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to fight back. Instead, I attempted to reason with him. “Okay, so we got carried away.” Bending down, I scooped my abandoned shoe off the floor and slipped it back on my foot. “But it is my wedding day. Besides, you could knock once in a while, you know.” Preparing for round two, I glanced up to see Val staring at me, a grainy, unfocused look in his eyes. “What?”
“That dress...” The two words grated out of him like raw sandpaper. The unfamiliar sound stilled the room as I watched my brother, a man who took exceptional pride in showing little to no emotion, falter before my eyes.
And then it hit me.
She didn’t tell him.
“It was mamá’s.” Running my hands down the intricate lace, I spread my arms, offering a timid smile as the cascading flutter sleeves turned me into a colorless butterfly. “How does it look?” Val didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare, painful nostalgia sinking deep into the lines framing his mouth.
My smile dropped along with my arms and my heart.
Oh God.
“I knew it,” I breathed, wishing the room would swallow me whole. “Eden gave it to me, but I told her it was a—”
Two fingers against my lips silenced me. “Bichito.”
The word caught me off guard. Pulling away, I frowned. “Little bug?”
His stare was more guarded this time, but a cool mist of nostalgia still lingered in his gaze. “It’s what I called you when you were a baby. Before…” His nostrils flared as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Well, just before. I didn’t think I’d ever get this moment.”
Before our mother was murdered, and I was raised by our family’s worst enemy.
We were headed down a dark path that would only destroy this day for both of us, so, turning the wheel, I redirected his focus. “You’re about to have your own daughter, Val. You’ll have your moment.”
A slice of clarity cut through the haze. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Even after you came back, I didn’t think you’d come back.”
Again, he let the unspoken meaning of his words hang in the air. He didn’t think I’d successfully flip the switch and swear loyalty to the family I was raised to hate. After all, in our world, a father’s wrath burned eternal.
“And now you do?”
“Yes, I do. You’re a Carrera. Deep down, I think you always have been. I’m glad my daughter will have you to learn from.”
“She has Eden,” I reminded him.
His lips quirked. “Yes, and my wife is an amazing mother. She’s embraced this life and this culture better than I could have ever hoped.” Coming from any other man, the words would sound patronizing, but from Valentin Carrera, they were reverent. “But as much as she could learn or live, she’ll never know what it’s like to grow up as a Latina child in a warzone. You do. You can teach my daughter survival skills Eden can’t.”
He was right. I could, and I’d do with it honor. My niece had a strong, loving mother, but only the daughter of a drug lord could understand one. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
He smirked. “Why do you think I waited until she wasn’t around?” I laughed as the thick tension from before eased into a fresh calm. Val’s eyes darted to the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table, his stern expression settling back into boss mode. “Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this if you’re not.”
“I’m sure,” I said with more conviction. “I love Brody. I want to be his wife.”
“Then what is it?”
How did I tell my brother, the man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, about the constant vortex of colors? About the streaks of white, red, and black that spun in a violent hailstorm until there was nothing left. About the conflicting emotions that had been churning in my stomach all day.
Happiness and grief.
Laughter and tears.
Joy and pain.
Life and death.
How did I tell him the “too perfect bubble” I’d just told his wife about had already started to collapse? How did I tell him every piece of my soul knew his actions today would leave a stain on our family we’d never erase?
“Val?” I asked, the words hedging on the tip of my tongue. However, the moment he turned toward me, I knew the answer to all those questions was...I couldn’t. Retrieving my bouquet from the dresser, I tucked my shaking hands behind it and forced a smile. “Got any last-minute advice?”
Furrowing his brow, he considered my request as seriously as he would any strategic business decision. “Treat every day as if it’s your last.”
“That’s all?”
His eyes flashed, the scowl from earlier planting itself across his face. “And always lock the fucking door.”
Despite everything, I laughed. “Well, I guess that’s it.” Tucking my arm in his, I let out an unsteady breath. “Let’s go, big brother. I have to see a man about a ring.”
Chapter Eleven
Valentin
Tradition had its place. A small place tucked away within the confines of my inner circle, but a place, nonetheless. It involved blood oaths, a hierarchy of respect, and for one tense hour, the holy baptism of my children.
Weddings, however, were not included.
Weddings were an unnecessary risk. All the extravagance and forced joy were just a careless distraction, affording a man’s enemies the opportunity of a lifetime—free and clear access to his greatest weakness.
His family.
I married Eden in an untraditional private ceremony at the estate encircled by a fleet of AK-47s. Besides Mateo, the only witness to our union was my trusted secretary from Houston—my single concession to my Cereza.
Yet, as I kissed Adriana’s cheek at the altar and passed her hand to Brody, the air crackled with an ominous spark. The heavy hand of judgment weighed on my shoulders. My sister had been robbed of many “traditional” things in life: her name, her family, her health, and until recently, love. Four months ago, a traditional wedding with all its traditional customs felt owed to her.