I wished to God I could. But she asked the one thing of me that I couldn’t give her.
Fuck this space between us. Taking her face in my hands, I forced her eyes on mine. “Cereza, I love you. I fucking need you—by my side and in my bed.”
Her tears rolled harder as she held onto my wrists. “I know you do. And I’m trying, Val. I really am. But I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“What if my memory never comes back? What if all I’ll ever have are these momentary flashes of a life that belongs to someone else? Would you still love me? If I can never truly accept who and what you are, would you still want me by your side, or just in your bed?”
It was another question I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think about that. Not thinking about it was the only thing keeping me from sinking completely into the pit of hell.
Kissing her forehead, I released her face and retrieved my pants from the floor. “You need some sleep,” I said, putting them on while avoiding her eyes. “I’ll have Luisa attend to the children tonight.”
Just as I turned to leave, she called out to me.
“You never answered my question.”
Standing there with my back to her, I spoke the only truth I could. “My love for you is unconditional, Eden. Even if you can’t return it, that will never change.”
“And the rest?”
“You’re my wife, and my wife will always belong by my side.”
“I feel that, Val. I feel it so deep in my soul I can’t even explain it to you.” Her words choked in her throat. “My heart knows it loves you, but what if my head never believes it? What if I can never say it back?”
I stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. Whether or not you ever remember what we had together, I’ll win you back. I’ll make you fall in love with me again. A new me. A new us. I already told you I won’t give you a divorce, and your only other option expired five minutes ago. Besides, you have nowhere else to go.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You’re dead, Eden. According to a piece of paper filed away in the Harris County court of records, Eden Lachey met an untimely death in an unfortunate house fire after being kidnapped by yours truly. Your brother and father are dead, and as far as your mother goes, well, Santi would have a better guess as to where she is than you. So, you see, my love, you have no option. I’m your family. I’m your home. And like it or not, I’m the man you can’t make yourself stay away from. Even now.”
“I’m a prisoner of my own mind and now one in your house?”
For some fucked up reason, I smiled at that. “Not this time, Cereza. You’ll stay because we’re destined. You’ll choose me again, and finally, there will be no question as to why. You belong with me, Eden, and I promise on my mother’s grave I’ll not only spend the rest of my life making you believe that, but I’ll also spill blood for every tear you’ve shed.”
A week consisted of seven days. Not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but when living with a woman whose mood changed as dramatically as night and day, it felt like a lifetime. One day she remembered long stretches of her life and we spent hours in bed fucking like animals, and the next, she hid in her room, avoiding me like I was the antichrist.
Which, to be fair, I suppose in a way, I was.
Semantics.
It didn’t matter. I’d never give up on her. Even if it took the rest of my life, I’d find a way to break the walls inside her mind. A man never stopped fighting for what was his.
However, I didn’t forget the promise I made to her. It was only the fourth promise I’d ever made, and like the third, I’d keep it or die trying.
Revenge for her tears.
Revenge for our suffering.
Revenge for being denied the life she promised me.
In seven days, I’d determined revenge wasn’t a raid of a border and simple execution. That was too simple. Too quick. Too painless. If there was one thing I’d learned from my bastard of a father and the sadistic fuck who raised my sister, it was that true revenge was a disease that infected an entire bloodline, ripping it apart at the seams.
The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.
After Eden left for the day with Leighton, I made my way into Santi’s room, where, as usual, I found him playing with his firetruck. The moment he saw me, his eyes lit up.
“Hi, papá.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I just smiled and sat in the white rocking chair tucked away in the corner of his room. With a simple pat on my knee, Santi dropped what he was doing and crawled dutifully into my lap.
Obedience was a strong trait. He’d learn quickly.
I stroked his dark hair as he tugged at the buttons on my shirt. “Remember everything I told you nine months ago, Santi?” I didn’t wait for a response. “I was wrong. Not about the empire. I’m still building that for you and your sister. But your hands are going to be stained, son. We aren’t good men, and we’re not made to be fair. We’re not descendants of the devil; we are the devil.”
“Debil,” he repeated with a toothy grin.
“Carrera men don’t rely on fate,” I continued. “No one in this world is innocent. We punish everyone. You are a Carrera, Santiago. I build for you. I kill for you. I steal for you. And I will die for you. One day, you will be El Muerte, and you will claim revenge in the name of your family. You will spill blood. And you, my son, will avenge what Dante Santiago did to your mother.”
Epilogue
Santiago Carrera
Sixteen years later
“Please don’t fucking sing.”
I didn’t even get the words out of my mouth before I was pelted with a very off-key rendition of Feliz Cumpleaños. I didn’t know why I bothered. This family did whatever the hell it wanted. It always had. Case in point, the triple-layer chocolate cake headed my way with an inferno of fire blazing on top of it.
I stopped caring about birthdays years ago. Sixteen years ago, to be exact. Having your nanny write your birthday on the calendar just so your mother knew when it was kind of did that to a kid. Not that she didn’t try. Mamá busted her ass to ensure Lola and I didn’t feel the trickle-down effect of what happened to her.
But it was inevitable. No family went through that kind of battle without it leaving some major scars. Birthdays just happened to be a big fat, jagged one of mine.
“Blow out the candles, fuckface.”
“Lola!” Mamá scolded her from behind the flames, but I heard the laughter in her voice. Typical. My little shit of a sister got away with everything. Contrary to what she thought, being born thirty-six thousand feet in the air didn’t give her ego a free pass to hang out on a damn pedestal.
I guess I couldn’t blame her. She was a product of her environment. Another manifestation of Carrera guilt. Mamá almost died having her, so she got to be a mouthy bitch.
Sure. Made perfect sense to me.
I flipped a middle finger at her, and in return, she flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and smiled.
Yep, bitch.