Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

But where was Natalia?

Hiding? Taken?

My throat began to close, and I struggled for air.

I turned to resume searching the warehouse when my eyes snagged on a pair of bare feet sticking out from behind the desk.

Toenails the color of the polish Natalia had waved in front of my face two days ago, begging for a pedicure. I hadn’t been able to say no. I’d do anything for those toes.

I took a step forward.

Anything for the slender calves I ran my mouth along any chance I got.

For the hips that swayed against me when we danced. That kept my gaze whenever she left a room. That would bear my child.

A buzz started in my ears. My boots grew heavier with each step. Pressure weighed on my chest. No breath entered or left my body as I rounded the corner.

Arteries of black hair over the concrete ground reached from her pale, heart-shaped face. Eyes shut in peaceful rest. Slightly parted lips—pink and smiling that morning, now an alarming, icy blue.

My handgun clattered to the ground. I dropped to my knees and shook her by the shoulders. “Natalia. Wake up, mi amor.” I’d just held her in my arms as we’d celebrated Bianca’s life. She’d been warm. Glowing and beautiful. Growing with life, I now knew.

“We have to go. Get up!” I gripped her hand in mine. Cold. Limp. I held it to my collapsing chest and pressed my other fingers to the pulse under her jawbone.

No heartbeat.

That wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be right. I was just too panicked to find her carotid artery.

I forced myself to exhale. Slid a hand under her head. Pulled her delicate frame into my lap, put my ear to her chest. Listened.

But she’d fought. She’d won. I’d seen it with my own eyes.

Natalia would not lose this battle. She was too strong, too good, had too much left to offer.

I waited with my cheek against her chest. And waited. Her body vibrated under me. Her heart or mine? My own beat so strongly, I couldn’t hear anything else. Just silence.

Dead silence.

I couldn’t breathe. Air became water, thick and slow, drowning me. “Wake up, Natalia.”

But her body didn’t lie. Her chest was a cavern. Mine hollowed out. My ribs caved in as my heart struggled, pounding hard and full of rage. “No,” I begged her. “No, no, no.”

How? I ripped off my guns and bulletproof vest, kneeled back, and drew her body against me. There was a new gash on her head, but it’d barely even bled. No strangulation marks. No other wounds.

I choked back an angry sob and yanked up her dress but only found smooth, untouched skin everywhere. No gunshot, injury—nothing had killed her. Why wasn’t she breathing? Why didn’t her heart beat?

The useless muscles I’d built to protect, defend, and support held her up but could do nothing else. Hope drained from my body.

Clenching my aching jaw, I placed her on the ground, put the heels of my hands between her breasts, and pushed on her chest once, twice, three times—over and over, then stopped to check for a pulse. Cupping the top of her head, I tilted back her chin and put my mouth to hers, breathing into her, willing her to life, calling her back from death’s doorstep.

I should’ve never let her leave the float. I’d let my guard down. I’d turned my back, thinking Diego was dead. That Belmonte-Ruiz had moved on. I hadn’t trained her how to fight in case she ever got pregnant—why hadn’t I thought of it? Why hadn’t I gotten here faster? What had happened between our call and now?

“Come on, Natalia.” I returned to chest compressions. “You promised to come home to me—”

Nothing. No soul left in her. I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d known it the moment I’d seen her.

She was gone.

My unborn child gone.

My life . . . gone.

Boots pounded the pavement of the warehouse, drawing closer until they stopped behind me.

“Cristiano,” Max said, his voice breaking as his footsteps resumed. “Come on. We can’t stay.”

I sat back, staring at her. I couldn’t move. I’d rushed into this warehouse certain I’d come out with Natalia—not in my arms but by my side.

“Cristiano.”

I ignored Max. Someone had to pay for this. Now. Today. “Where are they?”

“Belmonte-Ruiz isn’t here anymore. They must’ve found the bodies and left. But they could come back any minute—”

I gritted my teeth. “I want to be here when they do.”

“Then you’ll leave in a body bag.” Max had my shirt in two fists before I knew it, yanking me to my feet. “Put your vest back on.” He shook me as his eyes burned with—what? Fear? Anger? Grief? “Pick up your wife and take her home. Give her a proper burial. You owe her that and so much more.” He shoved me away. “Do you want them to carry her corpse out of here with yours?”