Nothing to worry about, my ass. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Cereza. You’re seeing the doctor, and that’s final.”
“Danger!” Cradling her belly, she held tight to my arm, pulling me back. “I don’t want the damn doctor; I want the truth!”
I’d give this woman anything her heart desired. I’d steal the moon and stars from the sky, gift wrap them in gold, and lay them at her feet. But I hated the one thing she asked, I couldn’t deliver.
“And you’ll have it. Just not tonight.”
Watching me silently for a moment, she gave a curt nod. “Fine.” Gathering her long red dress in her hand, she spun around, taking one step before I caught her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going”
“To introduce myself to our Miami guests,” she deadpanned over her shoulder while pulling away. “There are a few trade caveats I’ve been dying to discuss with Ava Chernova.”
Caveats.
Fuck, she knew. I had no idea how, but it didn’t surprise me. However, having her compare notes with Ava was the last thing I needed. The pakhan queen knew how to keep her mouth shut, but Eden had a way of loosening even the tightest of lips.
The woman was the damn truth whisperer.
“Eden, wait!” I called after her. “Eden, goddamn it!”
A dark shadow circled us, appearing in front of Eden and blocking her path as if he were a towering inferno.
Fucking Santiago.
“Eden Carrera, I presume?” Her name slid off his tongue like a goddamn snake. “I was beginning to wonder if you existed, or if you were a part of Mexico’s folklore.”
This motherfucker wants to die tonight.
In half a heartbeat I was by her side, ready to pull my gun and turn this wedding into a funeral. However, instead of being intimidated, which I assumed was his goal, Eden folded her arms over her chest and tossed a disinterested gaze up at him. “I could say the same about you. You’re quite the recluse these days, Señor Santiago. Is business slow?”
I laughed...loudly.
Dante’s face remained stoic. “On the contrary, I’ve built a reputation that affords me the luxury of pulling strings, not tying them.” Catching my gaze, he shot me a chilling smile. “You’ll understand one day, Carrera.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. His insults meant nothing to me, but Eden wasn’t so generous. She curved those supple red lips into a venomous smile, her Texan drawl coated with arsenic laced molasses. “How sweet. And what do you do with all your free time? Basketweave bamboo lampshades on the beach until your lovely wife whistles for you?”
Santiago’s expression froze. “Carrera, control your wife before I do.”
The harder he stared at Eden, the hotter my blood boiled.
Nobody—no fucking body—glared at my wife like that, much less threatened her. Not in this lifetime, not in any lifetime. Fuck the trafficking ring. Fuck the port. Fuck the alliance. And fuck the truce.
Santiago’s invitation had expired.
“Cereza, I believe the bride needs your assistance.”
She spun around, her mouth gaping. “Val, I’m not just going to stand here and let this asshole—”
“Eden, I always allow you free rein to fight your own battles, but not today. Not this battle.” My dark gaze found Santiago’s again. “Not with him. Now go!” Seeing her flinch, I softened my tone and added, “Please.”
Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard before reopening. “This isn’t over, Danger,” she whispered in a low tone. “You have secrets? Well, guess what? So do I.” Her gaze shifted toward Ava. “And once I verify them, you and I are going to have a very long talk.”
We both followed her disappearing form as she stormed off.
“Let’s get one thing very fucking clear,” I said with a growl, closing the distance between us, my palms clenching into tight fists by my side. “This is my house. I give orders; I don’t follow them. More importantly, if you ever threaten my wife like that again I will decorate my lawn with the inside of your fucking head.”
Lifting his drink to his mouth, a look of dark amusement crystallized on his face. “Then make damn sure the first shot hits, Carrera. Because you won’t get a second.”
There was too much red.
It stained the wine in my glass. It spilled out of the middle of a perfectly white iced cake. It covered the shoulders of a newly married bride. It wrapped around the rustic canopies and lay draped atop scattered tables. It set me on edge, and I didn’t like it.
I was at my own home, tense as hell, and there was too much damn red.
Red was a complicated color. Ask most people what it represented, and their eyes usually glazed over stars as they went on and on about passion and love.
That was their world. It was full of hearts and flowers and goddamn rainbows. It was a world where everyone followed the rules, worked honest jobs, loved thy neighbor, and fucked missionary style every night of their miserable lives.
Then there was my world. One where red symbolized anger and hatred and ruled kingdoms. One where every shade signified punishment, consequence, and blood.
Red was the sound of war and the smell of death.
It thrived in a world those cabrónes pretended didn’t exist. The one that broke the rules and created its own. The one that owned all the jobs and their neighbors. And the one that had no problem bending his woman over a wedding reception table and fucking her raw.
Their world gave. My world took.
Over the years, I’d coated myself in many shades and layers. I’d built an empire on all three, long ago accepting the permanent stain into my life.
Until today.
Today, we said the vows, made the promises, and pretended to be part of their world. The hearts and flowers and passion and love world.
Today was meant to be white.
But it wasn’t.
It was stained with red and the black cloud of Dante fucking Santiago’s presence.
I ignored Eden and Ava’s mosh pit of red hair as they huddled together and made my way over to the bar, avoiding the attendant’s plastic smile as I grabbed a bottle of red wine and a glass. Try me, bitch. She quickly backed up, and no one said shit as I walked away. My gaze shifted across the estate grounds to where my sister stood on a raised platform, commanding everyone’s attention with her back to a herd of incessantly loud women.
I rolled my eyes. Thank God, I didn’t miss the fucking bouquet toss.
Adriana glanced over her shoulder with a wide smirk. “Ready?” Lifting her arm, she dangled her bridal bouquet like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of hungry wolves.
It worked. The pack let out a collective howl and bared their fangs, ready to rip each other to shreds over some fucking roses.
Red roses.
I clenched my hand around my wineglass, my gaze trained on that damn bouquet. Thirty-two years of instinct sharpened my eyes as I watched Adriana count down from three and then toss the bouquet over her head. I stared as the pack of wolves leaped forward, claws ripping everything in their path.
And in the end, I saw destruction.
I sensed anger and hatred. I heard war. I smelled death.
Adriana’s bridal bouquet laid in tatters, petals scattered across the grass.