Blood Money (Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 1) Page 6

  “I knew you were a dumb cunt, Ada-Maria, but I didn’t believe that you were ever that goddamn foolish.”

  He’s already storming toward another part of the terrace. Belatedly, I realize that the chain is still in his grasp. I watch the pool of gold on the paving stones unravel, growing smaller and smaller until…

  I’m tugged forward, forced to scramble to my feet to keep my airway clear. The ability to breathe is a luxury he makes me chase him for. Eyes streaming, throat burning, I nearly gasp in relief as he finally comes to a stop before an area I recognize with chilling familiarity.

  “Your father didn’t rescue me from some barrio with the promise of cash and freedom in America, Ada-Maria. Do you want to hear how we really met?”

  His hand swings out, shoving me onto the nearest couch. I fall back, nearly sliding off the surface entirely. Panicked, I realize that my dress rode up my hips as a result, exposing everything from the waist down. I snatch at the hem, yanking it into place, not that he seems to notice.

  Or care.

  That piercing gaze is fixated in the distance. In the past, I suspect, far beyond me.

  “That bastard got himself in deep with a particular cartel,” he murmurs. “One of the many he toyed with. They sent an assassin to cut off his dick and return it to the boss on a silver platter. Until someone took the liberty of cutting off the bastard’s head and rescuing dear old Don Roy from certain death.”

  He cuts his gaze to me expectantly, and the chain rattles against the stones like a drumroll to herald the question he deliberately left for me to answer.

  “Y-You?”

  He nods. “Si. I rescued that crooked motherfucker, and he welcomed me back with open arms. Hell, he practically begged me to ensure his safe passage back to his dear wife and loving daughter. I hadn’t planned on that, you see. I didn’t expect worming my way into his life would be that damn easy.”

  I flinch. It’s such a callous admission. He sought out my father. Earned his trust. For five years, he worked for him diligently without a word of complaint, as far as I knew.

  “Why?”

  He laughs again, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “Why? Because the best revenge, dear Ada-Maria, is done slowly, over time, so that it ripens nice and sweet. Slowly enough so that when the time came, and I finally looked that bastard in the eye as my true self, all would become clear. How blind he was all along. How he trusted his wife and whore of a daughter to a snake. For a man who prided himself so damn much on his honor and his vigilance, he didn’t even realize that the man he entrusted his life to had introduced his precious daughter to cocaine, and ensured that his wife found out about every little dalliance and indiscretion. Every cheap, desperate secretary or intern that he’d fuck in the cabana on the estate. Don’t look so surprised, Ada-Maria,” he scolds, eyeing me from over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believed yourself the tragic little heroine of your own fucked-up fairy tale? No. God himself isn’t anywhere near as malicious as I am.”

  The worst part is I don’t even know if he’s lying or not. My mind is a blur as the past and present meld. A million little things I never inspected in full, now seem woefully important.

  I took drugs at the first party I snuck into on my own. Daddy had been too absorbed by his new campaign, and I convinced myself that a small act of rebellion would secure his attention. I only wanted him to hear me, for once. To truly consider my request to study abroad—everyone else with less money and even fewer brains than I had was already pledged to some prestigious university or the other.

  No one else had been destined to die in Terra Rodea because their father thought they had more use as a prop to sell his political career than as a human being with an ounce of self-determination.

  My way of reclaiming a shred of that control had been to find the most dangerous man I could and let him do whatever he wanted…

  As long as he gave me a little sliver of freedom to hold onto, all I had to do was shove it up my nose.

  “Did you think you were so unlucky?” Domino asks, his tone mocking once more. “You were always a pawn. Though I will give you some credit—you were never as easy to predict as your father. Don Roy was a smart motherfucker.”

  A genuine hint of admiration in his voice breaks through the hate.

  “It took effort to outsmart him. Years of patience, and research, and waiting. But you? You were like a fucking rabbit born without an ounce of self-preservation. So desperate. So weak. At every turn, I found myself overestimating your sheer stupidity.”

  “What did you want?”

  The way his eyes slice through me reveals a hint of irritation he usually conceals. As he clenches his jaw, I think I know why—I had the nerve to interrupt him.

  Hiss. The sound of the chain plays like an ominous soundtrack—a constant reminder of the power he holds in this situation. The ability to choke me should he choose to.

  To kill me.

  And yet, I sense that I’ve contradicted his very statement. I’ve unnerved him.

  So, I keep talking. “Why pretend? Why play the puppet master. Why kill…”

  I still can’t admit out loud what my eyes—and my nose—confirmed to be true. Papa is dead. And so much of the person I’ve strived to be dies with him. All of the secrets I’ve kept. All of the lies I told. Maybe Domino Valenciaga is my punishment for all of it…

  “I’m rethinking my decision to spare you.” His tone is so blunt. The sheer implications of his words land a second too late. I wince, clenching my teeth together so violently they clatter.

  His decision to spare me…

  At the expense of someone else.

  “You killed Tristan.”

  His death isn’t as easy to doubt. I saw him. I heard the impact of his body hitting the floor. I tasted his blood and felt the heat of it bathe my skin. I saw the bloodied socket where his head used to be.

  “You’re a monster. You’re sick. You’re—”

  Cling! The musical chime echoes as he whips his arm through the air, gathering up another loop of the chain. Due to the shortened length, I’m pulled upright, forced to sit on the edge of the couch.

  “There will be plenty of time for hysterics later,” he says, his tone devoid of anything but ice. “You want to prolong your pathetic, worthless life, Ada-Maria? Then it’s time for me to ask the questions. Just one, to make it easy for your little brain to handle—where is the file?”

  I blink.

  His eyes cut to slits, and the chain becomes taut between us. I gag, my eyes watering. Helpless, my hands fly to the base of the chain, tugging to lessen the pressure on my throat.

  “Don’t play dumb now.” He takes a step, then another, winding the chain all the while until he’s standing before me within arm’s reach. “You may help him win the horny bachelor vote when it comes to political prospects, but you and I both know that he’s kept you close all this time for more than that. Think, Ada-Maria. Where is the Inglecias file?”

  Inglecias. I haven’t heard that name in so long. Just that particular arrangement of syllables triggers a reaction in me—I gag, hunching over, in case there’s anything left in my stomach to bring up.

  There isn’t.

  I realize he’s watching, but I’m not faking being the dumb blond for once. He’s served my father long enough to know more about the Inglecias incident than I do. I barely remember it, let alone a file. Though honestly, I’ve spent the past decade trying to forget.

  The past.

  Pia.

  Everything.

  “Where is it?” Domino demands.

  I look up, eyeing him through my tousled hair. He looks different, his head cocked expectantly, his eyes practically glowing with interest. This isn’t a random request. He’s desperate for it, this file on one of the vilest periods in my family’s history.

  My heart races with dread as to why he’s interested in that particular incident, but—physical reaction aside—I don’t hesitate to say, “I don’t know any
thing about a file.”

  He frowns, his brows furrowing.

  Cling! He jerks his fist, and I’m crashing onto the floor, dragged toward him by the force he easily applies to the collar. It hurts. Fire lances through my windpipe, and I fear that he’s crushed it this way. I’ll die slowly, suffocated by the damage.

  Somehow, I manage to sputter down spurts of fresh air as he finally relents.

  “You’re lying.” His voice is a chilling array of deep, resonating notes—but I’m beginning to pick up on the rare hints of emotion when they do peek through. It’s easy, in a sense, given how flat he usually sounds. Anger adds color to the rich baritone. It will haunt my nightmares forever after this.

  If I live…

  “Pia, Navid, and Rosa Inglecias. Don’t tell me your father didn’t keep a record of what he did to them.”

  Because Roy Pavalos kept records on everything. From political rivals to the names of the lowest-ranked reporter who might be brazen enough to publish an obscure blog post about him. He knew everything about everyone.

  Except, it seems, Domino Valenciaga.

  “You would know,” I whisper, and he raises an eyebrow, flexing his wrist.

  I tense in anticipation of more pressure, but he merely tugs. Just a tease.

  “One might think I would,” he says softly. With his free hand, he captures his chin, stroking the dark stubble there.

  Of all the times to have this thought, this is the least advantageous. It creeps in regardless, the biting, underlying truth that I always considered him attractive. Repressed, rebellious girls have repressed, rebellious thoughts. Like fantasies of seducing their father’s trusted bodyguard and convincing him to steal her away. I’ve always consoled myself with the caveat that if I truly wanted him, I could have him. After all, I could land any man I wanted with a bat of my eyelashes and a wink.

  It was a lie. No matter how many times I tried to meet his gaze in the past, Domino barely paid me any notice. And every taste of his indifference just fed my little private hunger more. There’s something alluring in being ignored. Especially when the whole damn world seems to crave being inside your body. Or your head.

  He never seemed to want either.

  Now I know why.

  “What did my father ever do to you?” I ask, my voice hoarse and broken.

  “That is a tale for another day.” Abruptly, he releases my chain and snaps his fingers. “Ines?”

  The woman takes just seconds to appear. “Yes, sir?”

  “Take Ms. Pavalos to her room. See that she bathes and rests—” His attention returns to me, his tone far more cutting. “You’ll need it, Ada-Maria. Later tonight, we will discuss your transgression and how you may make amends. Adios.”

  He walks away, leaving my chain untethered. Dazed, I stare after him, barely aware when a small figure stoops to grab the chain and gently winds it around her fingers.

  “Here, Miss—” I jump as Ines appears by my side, pressing something cool against my hand. When glimpsed on my palm, it’s unsettling just how small and delicate the golden chain appears. So light, I barely feel the pressure when held, and yet my throat is on fire. I can only take a few breaths at a time before needing to swallow just to relieve the burn, wincing at the sensation.

  “This way,” Ines calls, reaching for my hand.

  I find that I can’t tear my gaze from the man pacing the balcony with his back to me. I get the sense that I’ve confused him somehow. I’ve irritated him further.

  Everything—from his behavior to the violence I’ve barely let myself relive—feels like I’m only seeing part of some elaborate puzzle. Or a game.

  My father was known for them. When other men invited their guests to the strip club or lavish parties, my father hosted chest tournaments fueled by liquor and bets.

  If one of you can beat me, he’d say to preface the event, I’ll give you whatever you fucking want. Anything. My house. My money. My ass.

  A harsh laugh would trigger everyone else to join in, lightening the mood despite the thrill of competition he loved to foster.

  I’ll let you have it all, he claimed. You only need to beat me once.

  Suffice to say, no one ever could.

  Chapter Six

  The second Ines leads me back to that white room; I fixate on the bed. I lunge for it. Crawling beneath the covers is a coping mechanism I’ve retained from childhood, but I indulge it, even now.

  Buried beneath the fine, silken sheets, I feel invisible. Smothered. Silenced. If I close my eyes and slam my hands over my ears, I can almost pretend that I’m beyond this place, as insignificant as a snail buried in mud, unnoticed by all, wanted by no one.

  That used to be my most fiercely wished-for dream—irrelevance.

  Ines, however, is not my usual maid—who learned early on not to bother me when I’m in this state. Fearlessly, she flips back the blankets, her voice persistent enough to seep into my skull no matter how hard I press my hands against it.

  “Please, Miss, Mr. Domino requested that you—”

  “Please, leave me alone!” My voice echoes back to me, wild and hysterical. “Please. I just need a minute, please?” I sense her withdraw though I don’t know if she ever leaves. I just burrow beneath the sheets again, wrestling with the part of me that wants to ignore, and the faint whisper of instinct warning me to get my bearings and find a way out.

  The inner voice is harder to smother without drugs or alcohol. Combined, they’re enough to silence that feeble thread of my conscience, but this time, it lives on, seeping through the chaos of my mind, presenting the reality I can’t hide from.

  Domino killed my father. He killed Tristan, and trapped me here. All for what?

  Something to do with the Inglecias family.

  It’s funny how you can spend nearly every day in someone’s orbit. For that fragment of time, they become the center of your universe. You know everything about them. You’ve tailored your entire life to reacting to their voice. Their smell. Their laughter.

  And then one day, they’re just gone, leaving no choice but to cope with their absence—but it’s hard. Like adjusting to life with an amputated limb. Only you have no idea how or why it went missing in the first place.

  Pia Inglecias was my best friend. We did everything together. We shared secrets, clothes, and even our beds, spending nearly every night in my room or hers. She was one of the few people my father ever allowed into his coveted world.

  Until she vanished without a trace, and I went from talking to her every single day to not being allowed to mention her name.

  Good, Catholic girls never question their parents. That’s what my mother cautioned, anyway. Pia was suddenly taboo, and I was a cruel daughter to mention her around my father. Or any of the Ingleciases, for that matter.

  Maybe it’s a testament to how damn sheltered I was—or how selfish—that I never really questioned it after the first few days. I pushed all thoughts of her, my best friend, to the back of my mind, and I did what we Pavalos do best.

  I wore my brightest smile and conveyed to the world that I had no real care or thought in my head. I was happy, innocent Ada-Maria. The only skeletons in my closet were those literally written in the Holy Bible. I was an upstanding girl who never feared that her father raped and murdered her best friend and disposed of her family the way one would plastic utensils after a barbecue.

  Because Pia is still alive, of course—she has to be.

  Even though I know full well that my father is capable of the worst.

  Somehow, Domino is connected to everything… Is blackmail his aim? Though, who is left to extort if he’s killed Papa and has me captive?

  I dwell on the thought, and I let the fear consume me. I sob openly and loudly, rocking myself against the mattress as tears fall hot and fast from my eyes to wet the sheets. I shiver, feeling every bruise and scrape throb at full force.

  And with every cry, I’m reminded of the danger lurking beyond my thin white shroud. The colla
r is a constant presence, and I’m aware of the length of chain dangling from it always. Especially when it’s suddenly yanked by an unseen hand.

  Mid-sob, I’m silenced, forced to crawl toward the source of the pulling. From beyond my realm of blankets looms Domino Valenciaga. He stands at the foot of the bed, the chain in hand.

  Panic sets in as I take in the room’s interior. It looks different. No longer is the sunlight a bright golden hue, but a sultry orange glow paints the man before me bronze.

  He’s changed as well, switching the all-black ensemble for one of all white. Wearing a loose dress shirt and a pair of white slacks, he embodies my prior religious comparison to a fallen angel. This man is Lucifer himself, here to condemn me to hell.

  On second thought, the devil comparison is too easy. Too simple. This man is something far, far worse. He is vengeance incarnate, as elusive as his supposed motives.

  “You are ungrateful, you know that?” He doesn’t sound angry. Not even when he turns his back to me to stare from the nearest window.

  I didn’t notice before, but this room has a breathtaking view of the terrace gardens from another angle. Here, the sunlight bathes the fields and fountains in varying hues of soothing ochre. It would be a vacation spot most would die to inhabit during the summer months. Overall, a beautiful prison.

  “Selfish. Spoiled. None too bright. I knew this all, of course, even after all the time I’ve spent watching you from afar. Still, Ada-Maria, your complete lack of self-preservation astounds.”

  He’s insulting me. The worst part is that I don’t truly understand about what.

  “Ines was to prepare you a nice bath, feed you a filling lunch, and allow you ample time to sleep. But you’ve wasted it.”

  He shrugs, turning to face me. “I was going to issue your punishment now and deny you those little comforts, but luckily for you, I am not as punitive as your father. Unfortunately, however, Ines is off for the evening, so she will be unable to assist you.”

  He pauses. I sense that he wants me to parse over his meaning. That I’ll have to wash myself? Objectively, I haven’t bathed without a maid in years, but I’m more than willing to make an exception now.