Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

The elevator dinged, and we boarded. “Maybe it’s better you let us handle the business side of things,” Natasha said to me. “It isn’t pretty.”

I’d own the ivory tower, and I’d rule from it. Cristiano had told me that once our vows had been exchanged. If I didn’t believe I could take over in his absence, nobody would. “I need to be included in any discussion.”

She looked to Alejandro as if for permission. “Cristiano trusts her,” he said. “With all due respect, you’re the stranger here, Natasha.”

The elevator stopped at the house, and the doors parted to the top floor. “Call me Tasha. Cristiano does,” she said, walking out.

I tried to keep up with Alejandro as he strode down the hall to my bedroom—until he stopped abruptly at the doorway and turned back to me with a frown.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You can’t let her or anyone intimidate you.” He glanced at the ground. “If Cristiano doesn’t make it . . . you’re in charge. All this is yours. And I don’t mean that figuratively—he was adamant that your marriage be legal.”

To torture me, I would’ve once thought. Now, I wondered if Cristiano’s reasons ran deeper than that. A need to connect with me on some level when I’d wanted nothing to do with him. An attempt to protect me, even, if something should happen to him.

“You have my loyalty, Natalia,” Alejandro said, reading my mind. “Cristiano would’ve wanted that.”

I swallowed, glancing through the doorway. The broken mirror was gone. I assumed the body on the beach had disappeared as well. Alejandro and his team moved fast.

My gaze moved to Cristiano as he was transferred from the gurney to the bed. “We shouldn’t speak of him like he’s gone. Not yet.”

* * *

The team of doctors worked so swiftly, I could hardly keep the four of them straight, much less get closer than a meter from his bed. In no time at all, Cristiano had been hooked up to a heart monitor that’d appeared out of nowhere, irrigated, prodded, and injected. White patches dotted his torso as IVs branched from his chest, arms, and hands.

His dark, disheveled hair had fallen over his clammy forehead, and I resisted the urge to push the strands out of his eyes. “What happened?” I asked anyone who might respond. “Was he shot?”

Tasha turned to me with her slender arms crossed. “Stabbed.”

This close, I could see Cristiano’s blood had stained her red dress. She’d helped saved his life while I’d been accused of putting it at risk.

If I had the energy, I’d hate her for having information about my husband that I wanted. And for a pointed chin that gave her a markedly heart-shaped face, her sultry, Eastern European features, and a smooth indistinct accent that made her sound exotic.

Alejandro beckoned us toward the fireplace and away from the doctors. “Tell us what happened,” he said to Tasha.

“Cristiano pissed off the wrong people with his little operation,” she said.

She knew the truth of what went on here in the Badlands, then. She and Cristiano were close—but how close? Enough to have discussed my marriage, but not enough for her to know it wasn’t a complete sham.

“Cristiano’s operation is anything but little,” I said.

She lifted a manicured eyebrow. “You’re aware of it?”

“My husband’s business? Yes.” Across the room, masked doctors convened near Cristiano’s head. I spun my diamond around my finger and added, “We’re already aware Belmonte-Ruiz is behind this.”

“They hit us here, too,” Alejandro explained. “You said he’s alive because of you?”

“Cristiano’s attacker is dead,” she said. “I didn’t have time to double-check, but my father’s men have confirmed it, and they’re taking care of the body now.”

“I have men en route to look for Max and Daniel.” Alejandro glanced at his phone screen. I’d lost count of how many times he’d checked it. “Did you see them at all?”

“Only at the event,” she said. “One of them guarded the door while Cristiano and I spoke privately on the balcony.” She licked her bottom lip, keeping her eyes on Alejo. “Cristiano left before I did. When I came out, I saw a valet attendant standing over him with a knife. Cristiano had been stabbed several times. The valet was about to finish him off.”

“And?” I asked. “Then what?”

Tasha took her time unsnapping her slim, snakeskin clutch. She pulled out a tiny handgun that just fit in her palm. “Elena. Named after my late grandmother. Neither lady has ever let me down.”

“You shot him?” I asked.

She tossed her chestnut-colored curls over one shoulder. “Wouldn’t you, darling?”

My cheeks warmed. Cristiano wouldn’t even let me carry a gun. Where was the White Monarch now? Still in his office at La Madrina? I had the next best thing. My silver, gold, and pearl wedding ring, modeled after the elegant 9mm, had acted as a weapon hours ago.