Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

Part of me wondered not just about Cristiano . . . but also what I was capable of in the name of revenge, especially for those I loved.

“Diego’s a liar and a coward who’d commit any sin to serve his own best interests,” I said. “He killed mi madre to avenge his parents, yes—but he also knew it would cripple you and give him the opportunity to stay by your side as you grieved.”

I let my father work through the equation on his own until his head bobbed up and down. “To gain my trust. To advise me. To infiltrate the Cruz cartel—so he could someday make it his own to replace the legacy he feels he’s owed.”

Cristiano stuck a toothpick in his mouth and sat back. “I’ll let Valverde fill you in on the rest,” he said. “How Diego ruined and exiled them, and how he’d planned to turn Natalia’s love against you—until I came along.”

“Qué cabrón,” Papá uttered. “I’d never have allowed that fucking bastard to do it.”

I wished I could agree with him and promise my father he would’ve always known my deepest loyalty. But if Cristiano hadn’t returned, I’d still be under Diego’s spell. After everything I’d already fallen for, would I have allowed him to eventually oust Papá?

I glanced at my hands. “I thought I loved him, and it blinded me.”

“You did love him.” Cristiano lifted his eyes to me as he struggled to add, “It’s okay to say. It was real for you.”

For me. That made things all the worse. Pretending I’d been tricked into false feelings would be easier than admitting I’d opened my soul to an enemy.

“You see now the man Diego is,” Cristiano said. “That’s what matters.”

“I warned you I’d have to kill him if he broke your heart,” my father said.

I nodded. “You did.”

One corner of Cristiano’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a grin.

“That gives me two reasons to put his head on a stick and send it down Main Street on a parade float,” Papá said, rising from his seat and towering over the table. “Now tell me where to find him.”

“I wish we could,” I said.

“Nowhere is safe for him now. Barto!” Papá called.

Barto entered the dining room at once.

As Papá debriefed him, I met Cristiano’s searching eyes. His hungry gaze followed me around the table as I went to him. He pulled me into his lap before sliding my cake in front of him. “You didn’t finish your dessert.”

I put my arms around his neck. “I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another thing. If you want it—”

He stabbed his fork in it, picking up nearly half the slice, and shoved it in his mouth.

I blinked at him. “A full-course dinner and dessert wasn’t enough?”

“Never turn down food,” he said through his chewing.

I hadn’t seen him devour anything with such fervor since he’d eaten my panocha on this very table. The man was insatiable—and he’d been right about taking my virginity. Anything I’d experienced up until meeting Cristiano’s rooster was forgettable.

Papá cleared his throat, and we each turned to him. “I take it the marriage has been consummated.”

“Papá.” My cheeks flushed as my arms tightened around Cristiano’s neck. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business,” he responded, his eyes on Cristiano. “I promised I’d make your husband pay if he harmed you.”

“Does she look harmed?” Cristiano asked. “I said she’d be loved, treated well, and protected here. I’m doing my best on all fronts.”

I was treated well, and I was protected as much as anyone could be in our circumstances. But was I loved? Warmth pooled in my tummy as I studied, up close, Cristiano’s dark, angry stubble, the hollow of his cheek, and the fine lines around his devastatingly shrewd eyes.

Was love something he could voice when he felt it, or would he need time?

“Things have obviously changed between you,” my father said. I turned back to find him staring at me. “I guess knowing the truth has made a difference in how you view your new husband, mija. Yes?”

“Sí, Papá,” I agreed. “Surely there were better ways to go about making me his wife . . .” Cristiano had the decency to like contrite—even though he’d made it clear he had little to regret. “But I have a lifetime to punish him for it,” I added.

Cristiano’s mouth slid into a sinister grin. “A sentence I will gladly serve.”

“I expect grandchildren soon,” my father said in a good-natured tone that made Cristiano and I raise our brows at each other.

I turned my head to Papá. “Why . . .?”

“Do I need a reason?”

A surprised laugh escaped my lips. I tried to stand, but Cristiano’s arms tightened around my waist.

“With this news about Diego,” my father said, “I can’t help but think of family. Of what he cost me. Of how Bianca would’ve loved a grandchild, especially since it would be from Cristiano, whom she cared for.”