“Then why didn’t you? That doesn’t make any sense.” Pilar’s face contorted with concern. “Talia. If he’d force a tattoo on you, he’d do much worse. Believe me. Can’t Diego get you out of here somehow?”
“Diego’s all talk, Pilar. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m done with him.” I went to the pool’s infinity edge. On the horizon, the ocean seemed to touch the clouds. “He used to promise he’d come to California with me, but he was never going to.”
Ever.
It was hard to believe he could’ve been so convincing. That I’d never questioned him.
Looking back with fresh perspective, though, there’d only been excuses, delays, and Diego entangling himself more and more in cartel life while promising me he was getting out.
Cristiano, on the other hand, had wanted what I had to offer so much that he hadn’t let anything stand in his way. It was a twisted way of looking at things, but there was some comfort in it, I supposed. Diego and Cristiano had faced off. Cristiano had fought for me, and Diego . . . hadn’t. So, if fate and fortune demanded I be with one of the brothers, maybe I’d somehow ended up with the right one.
I looked up at white-cotton clouds wondering what the future had in store for me. “Cristiano says he never would’ve done what Diego did . . . and he never will. That he’d never let me go, let alone give me to another. Apparently my prison sentence is his wedding vow.”
“Dios mío,” Pilar said.
At the small tremor in her voice, I swam back, hoping I hadn’t frightened her. “Cristiano takes all this very seriously.”
“I can see that.” When I caught her looking at my ring, she lifted a slender shoulder. “It’s blinding me, Natalia. But it’s just jewelry. Don’t let diamonds blind you from the truth. That’s probably what he wants.”
I spread my fingers, frowning at the rings. “I could care less about Cristiano’s wealth.” If anything distracted me about them, it was that he’d put actual thought into the design. It was such a kingpin move, matching my rings to a gun, but in its own way, it was sweet.
Sweet?
Cristiano?
Never before had the word been used to describe him, I was sure. He was rough around the edges, weather-beaten, a man who’d seen and done too much to have any sweetness remain intact. And yet with me, and only me, there was something there. He yielded. He showed vulnerability. He considered me where others hadn’t . . .
I pushed the thoughts away.
That was dangerous thinking about a man who I could never care for.
“I’m getting out of this marriage,” I said resolutely, as much to Pilar as to myself. “Without Diego, and without my father.”
“What about Barto?” she asked.
“Nope. He’s under Papá’s control. I’ve got to do it on my own.”
She leaned in, speaking softly. “How can you? You might be crafty enough to get by the guards, but it’s not as simple as that.”
“No, it isn’t. Running away isn’t an option.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Cristiano can hurt me the most without even touching me.”
“So how do you escape a man who has the means to find you wherever you go? You need help.”
“Nobody can help me,” I said. “I’m on my own, and I have a plan. The more I know about Cristiano and the Calavera cartel, the more power I have.”
Admittedly, the plan didn’t sound like much of one. Getting to know Cristiano had proved to be a wild ride. It seemed like every time he opened his mouth, something I didn’t expect came out. And his actions were even more unpredictable.
But it all formed a bigger picture, and I had to believe once that revealed itself, I would understand what was best for me. That was my goal now—taking charge of my life as much as I could.
“I’ve learned so much already,” I murmured. Not just about him, but about this world. And maybe even myself.
“Like what?” she asked.
“The Calaveras are nothing like they seem.” I scratched my chin on my shoulder and glanced at my mariposa. “To be honest, this isn’t the worst tattoo I could have. Calavera represents the opposite of what you’d think. The wings are almost symbolic.”
Pilar’s forehead creased—she looked like she was going to blow a gasket—and I realized how backward all of this sounded. I opened my mouth to clarify, but that would mean I was defending Cristiano. Explaining his actions. And the way Pilar looked at me, I felt like a sucker.
“Cristiano, unlike anyone I’ve known around here, evens the score,” I said carefully. “He does good things as well as bad.”
“The arms trafficking?” she asked.
“No, that’s legit, but the profits he earns from that—and they’re considerable—he puts toward other . . . endeavors.”