Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

I’d have to find another way.

When I heard the screech of duct tape, my fraught nerves settled slightly. Of everything he could’ve chosen, that was on the easier side to escape. I might even be able to do it with him in the room.

I made two fists to give myself more wiggle room as he taped my wrists good and tight.

But not tight enough.

“I’m sorry if that hurts,” he said, his green eyes meeting mine as he frowned. “It’s partly for show, and partly because I’m not sure I can trust you right now.”

A genuine apology. In his voice, I heard the boy I’d once loved. I tried to see Diego the way I had before—as a creative, smart, level-headed man I’d aspired to spend the rest of my life with. He’d said he’d loved me, and I still believed he’d thought he had. Perhaps selfish love was the most he was capable of, but Cristiano’s selflessness and had taught me love’s true meaning.

His words came back to me now.

Love is, “I’d die for you.”

Not, “Would you die for me?”

A lump formed in my throat. Not for myself, but for what Cristiano must be going through. For me to disappear from right under his nose, he’d blame himself. He’d suffer. I had to survive this, fight back, and go home to him.

If I could manage to tap into better times during a situation like this, then Diego could, too. “How’d you do it?” I asked as he ripped off the tape and patted it into place.

“Do what?” He came around to stand in front of me, surveying his work. He held up the tape. “I won’t bother with your mouth, but don’t scream. The only people who’d hear you would enjoy it and might come sniffing around. I’m only one man to defend you.”

I refrained from shuddering. Again, his words were intentionally chosen to rattle me. I wouldn’t let them. “How’d you look me in the eye every day?” I asked. “You watched us bury her.”

He set the roll of tape on the desk and took the small white envelope with my sonogram from his jacket pocket.

“It’s in the past, Tali. No point in reliving it. Just know, I’m sorry it happened the way it did.” Diego sighed, as if truly regretful. “And for Cristiano to be accused of violating a woman who’d acted as a mother to him? A man like him, a known rapist? It must’ve torn him apart. I can’t imagine.”

My breath caught in my throat. He could imagine, and it pleased him. Maybe Diego had known his older brother had tried to shield him during his youth from their parents’ business. Yet, somehow, he saw that as betrayal. “How can you say that so cavalierly?” I asked. “She was abused because you let the sicario in.”

“There’s no way I could’ve known it would happen that way.” Diego stared at me. “Bianca didn’t deserve it, but your father did. And he deserves what’s coming even more.”

My throat dried. Diego could easily rip out the hearts of the two men who’d killed his parents—because he had me. “What’s coming to him?” I asked so softly, I wasn’t sure he’d heard.

He came and squatted in front of me. The fact that he had the nerve to look me in the eye told me that he’d convinced himself he was the hero of this story.

“My problem is only with Cristiano and Costa,” he said.

“Then it’s with me, too. They’re mi familia.”

“They can’t walk away from killing my parents and destroying my family’s business,” Diego said. “I’m going after what rightfully belongs to me. Can’t you understand that?”

I tried with everything I had. If I could not only understand but love Cristiano after years of loathing him, it shouldn’t have been difficult to see the point of view of the boy I’d worshipped. My father had made both of them witness their parents’ murders as a warning—loyalty would be rewarded, dissention would cost them their lives.

Cristiano and my father had decided Diego’s fate for him. Instead of inheriting the legacy his family had built, Diego would forever be a charge, second in command, “just another worker” as he’d once bitterly referred to himself. He’d lost his family and his empire, as had Cristiano—but at least Cristiano’d had a say in it.

But all of that was erased by the deliberate, calculated betrayal that had cost my mother her life. Diego’d made that choice when he could’ve easily gone to my father and saved her. So no, I couldn’t understand.

My jaw ached, molars grinding together. “You should’ve known, no matter how much I loved you—I would’ve never stood by your side and played with people’s lives.”

“You would’ve. You will,” he said resolutely. He held up the small envelope, then tucked it into the neckline of my dress, over my left breast. Close to my heart. “Just remember this if you’re tempted to do anything stupid.”