Like spilled drops of blood.
Red never lied.
Chapter Twelve
Valentin
Act Two had begun.
The curtain had risen, and the key players unknowingly crowded the stage in what would prove to be one hell of a plot twist. Only this particular production was an improvisational puppet show and the strings looped around my fingers.
My conversation with Mateo earlier today sifted through my mind as I tipped my wineglass back, grimacing as the nauseatingly sweet cherry tannin hit my tongue.
“This is supposed to be the start of an alliance, Val. A roomful of Santiago’s men, our men, the Russians, and the Sinners—what you’re proposing could make a statement, or—”
“Or what?” I challenged.
“Or it could start a war.”
I never wanted war. War came to me.
I just chose the battleground.
Two footsteps shuffled in behind me, and even with the growing unease brewing in my stomach, I smirked. “What part of we’d talk after the wedding did you not understand, lieutenant?”
All movement stopped, and Brody let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head now?”
“You walk like you have lead in your shoes,” I snapped, taking a drink from my glass while my gaze settled on the cluster of snipers over the rim. “You couldn’t blindside the dead. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”
“You could at least pretend to be happy. It’s a party.”
Still scanning the perimeter, I hummed my agreement around the glass. “Yes, one I just spent over a million dollars on, yet somehow I’m still forced to drink Rioja Grand Reserva instead of añejo tequila.”
I slid a sideways glance out of the corner of my eye, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at my mouth as Brody’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. My first lieutenant was no pussy. He’d proven his loyalty too many times for me to question which side of the moral line he stood on.
I just liked fucking with him.
Plus, reminding my men they were invaluable but not irreplaceable was simply good business practice. Whether that man was my new brother-in-law or an unranked street dealer, as the head of one of the most powerful cartels in the world, it was my job to never allow complacency to fuck us over. Predictability was a dangerous thorn.
Thorn.
Settling my gaze back on the strewn carnage of crushed flower petals, a familiar scent hit me. However, it wasn’t the sweet aroma of roses that lingered in the air. It was the metallic tang of blood.
Men like me didn’t forget the smell of it. It was sickeningly dry. A vile, pungent stench capable of smothering senses and stealing breath. A burn that, even long after it had dried, became a part of him, tainting his memories and driving his actions.
But this was different. Taking a deep breath, I tasted it on my tongue.
Salty.
Familiar.
Brody cleared his throat. “It’s after the wedding.” I remained silent, keeping my eyes forward, and my expression neutral as he expelled his frustrations in a low curse. “You said we’d talk after the wedding. Well, Adriana and I have said our vows and exchanged rings. The justice of the peace said some shit in Spanish, I poured thirteen gold coins in your sister’s hands, gave her a box, and then he announced us as Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt.”
Clenching my jaw, I met his stare. “That ‘shit in Spanish’ is called trece mondas de oro, and it’s my culture you pinche cabrón. Giving Adriana the box to keep the coins in symbolized your promise of equal wealth.” When he didn’t say anything, I rolled my eyes. “To give everything that is rightfully yours to her.”
“Hidden prenup, huh? Adriana left that part out.”
Shrugging, I downed the rest of my wine. “You fucking married her.”
I thought he’d let it go. I should have known better. The man spent most of his life arguing for a living.
“Regardless,” he pressed, gesturing around us. “We’re now at the reception. It’s after the wedding.”
“Dios mío, you don’t give up, do you?”
Lifting his own glass, Brody’s lips curled back in a smirk. “I married your sister, didn’t I?”
There was only one thing I hated more than losing and that was losing to Brody Harcourt. Very few men had the balls to talk back to me, and even fewer got away with it. A year ago, I might have retaliated to prove a point, but the man was family now.
Besides, the former prosecutor in him knew damn well he’d proven his case, so he didn’t bother following up with a closing argument. Instead, his eyes scanned the decorated grounds of my estate until they landed on their destination.
Adriana stood off to our right, poised and regal, greeting guests as they offered their congratulations. My sister played the game with pinpoint accuracy. Smiling graciously, she accepted gifts and kisses all while keeping her eye on her surroundings.
Falling in love didn’t blind Adriana to reality. In our world, intentions were rarely pure, and everyone had an agenda. Our allies may have earned an invitation, but it didn’t include our trust.
Brody stiffened as our newest New Orleans port ally wandered away only to be replaced by the source of his irritation: a woman dressed in an elegant white dress who had approached Adriana and placed her hand gently on her arm. Physically, she was as out of place in Mexico as my wife, but like Eden, her pale skin was just an illusion. Only a trained eye could see the invisible armor coating it with a deadly mix of vow, loyalty, and oath.
The two women engaged in what I assumed to be small talk, each of them no doubt keeping the pleasantries simple and mundane.
Brody raked a hand over his blond hair and let out a harsh breath. “What the hell is she saying?”
“Why do you care?”
He swiveled around, the muscles in his jaw twitching with restrained anger. “That’s Eve Santiago.”
“Correct.”
“The wife of Dante Santiago.” When I didn’t respond, he slammed his wineglass onto a nearby table and turned to face me, his eyes blazing. “You know, the asshole who strolled into Senado and shit all over your hospitality? Why the fuck is he still here?”
Why, indeed. If he were anyone else, I would’ve shot him in the face fifteen minutes ago and waltzed with my wife on top of his corpse. However, a man’s power didn’t lie in his steel; it rested in his restraint.
Tick-tock, motherfucker.
“Because it’s customary to cut the cake before firing a bullet.”
“I’m serious, Val. This bullshit silence stops now.”
Again, I said nothing.
Brody bared his teeth, frustration rolling off his tuxedo like a black fog. “Am I, or am I not your first lieutenant?”
“Is that a real question, or—?”
Taking a step forward, he lifted his finger and cut me off. “And as of an hour ago, am I not your brother-in-law?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then what the hell are—?”
Before he could say anything else, I grabbed that fucking finger he’d shoved in my face, and holding it low between us, bent it back until his eyes watered. “An hour ago, I walked in the room I share with my wife to find your face buried between my sister’s legs. Your rank in my cartel or the fact that you’re now family is inconsequential. If you ever interrupt me again, I’ll cut off your balls and stuff them in that goddamn box along with those coins. ¿Comprendes?”