Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

When Cristiano had woken up, it had hit me as we’d come face to face—up until that moment, I’d been terrified he wouldn’t survive. That I’d lost him. That I’d be left on this earth to defend myself against Diego, Belmonte-Ruiz, and even my father. The relief I’d felt had been palpable but equally scary in a different way.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t still the man who’d forced me into this marriage. Who’d stood over my mother’s dead body, and who’d left me, a grieving child, in a dark tunnel for hours. But he’d also once protected my family and had made sure my every need had been met since my arrival here in the Badlands.

On our last call, I’d wanted to ask him to stay but hadn’t been able to find the words.

And I’d almost lost him. Time was precious, as he’d said, and it shouldn’t be wasted.

Instead of trying to tell him all that, I put my arms around his neck and hugged him to me.

He pressed his lips to my skin, working his mouth up my chest before tilting up his head. “Por favor,” he said slowly. “Please—don’t deny me anymore.”

I could bend and kiss him for the first time since the night he’d left La Madrina. And this time, I could admit that I was willing. I wanted that. I wanted him to heal. To have what he needed. That meant I cared. But I had cared for Diego, too. I’d overlooked warning signs and had believed anything he’d said or done. After my horrible judgment, could I trust myself? Could I trust Cristiano?

Suds dripped from his hair into his face, so I reluctantly peeled his arms from around my middle. “You need to rinse.”

“You don’t know what I need, Natalia.”

I sighed as I got down from the bench and led him under the stream of water. He took my face in his hands, staring into my eyes. When I moved closer, his erection pressed against my stomach. I wanted to give in. To soothe him.

Maybe he was right to believe that I was the one thing that could heal him.

“Remember the last time you saw me, before all this?” I asked.

“I was stabbed, not hit over the head.” He brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “My memory’s as sharp as ever. It was the night I caught you with the cell phone and punished you at the club. Are you still angry with me?”

I shook my head. “That’s not the last time you saw me.”

“You’re right,” he said. “You were asleep as I packed a bag.”

“I’m not talking about that.” I took him in my hand. “I mean when I looked up at you from my knees.”

“Christ, Natalia.” He inhaled a breath, his fingers digging into my cheeks and inspiring a thrill that ended right between my legs. “Be careful talking like that.”

Last time, we’d been in the dark. Now, I could see everything. He was nearly as thick as my wrist, even more veiny than his brawny forearm, and his pink velvety skin stretched as he grew against my palm.

His eyes turned anguished as I stroked him, and I’d never had such an urge to chase someone else’s demons away.

“We can’t kiss—you know where that will lead,” I said. “But will this help? You have to promise to stand very still and not strain yourself.”

“I could never stay still with your hands on me.” Water dripped down the bridge of his nose. He caught my wrist, and I released him as he laced his hand with mine at our sides. “That’s not what I need anyway.”

“What then?”

He tilted my chin back with his other hand, lowering his face to mine. “Have your feelings changed now that you’ve almost lost me?”

“Yes.” I held his gaze. “But you can’t expect our relationship to transform overnight.”

“I don’t. But if there’s anything you want to say, say it now.”

As determination entered his voice, a warning alarm sounded in my head. “Why?” I asked, my shoulders tensing.

“I have to go, Natalia.” He pressed his lips together. “I can’t let Max stay with Belmonte-Ruiz any longer.”

Goddamn it. Frustration flared in me, and I stepped back to cross my arms. Cristiano had almost been killed a few days ago. What would it take to get him to pull back? “I know you can’t let them get away with this—it’s the nature of this world. But you can’t go. Make a plan, and send Alejandro and your men after Max.”

“I’m the one who put Max in danger.” Lines deepened in his forehead with a frown. “I can’t send others to do my job. I’m done playing games with those cabrónes and understand me—I’m going to blow the motherfuckers up.”

He couldn’t do this. Not now. I was finally letting myself see Cristiano for all he was, and he was going to put himself back in the line of fire. Wasn’t this all he’d asked of me the past few weeks—to open myself to the idea of us? To stop fighting him? And now that I was ready, he was going to go back out there when he wasn’t even at half capacity and get himself killed? “You’re not ready.”