Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

Cristiano had taken my fate into his hands once. He’d changed my life in moments. I wouldn’t afford him that kind of power again. If he stood between Diego and me, if he deigned to think he could lay a hand on my father, then I had to do something.

I wouldn’t lose anyone else I loved to him.

Ever since I’d fallen in a puddle of blood at his feet, our every interaction had been a mind game. Somehow, he’d known who I was at the costume ball and instead of keeping his distance, he’d danced with me. Toyed with me. Touched me. I couldn’t deny the rush that had accompanied his hands on me. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.

He wanted to play. I could play too.

The deep distrust Diego had for his brother was most likely reciprocated. That day eleven years ago, Cristiano had denied any part in my mother’s death, yet Diego had chosen truth and honor over his own blood. To many men in this world, that was an unforgiveable sin.

And if Cristiano had considered my parents family, then I’d committed the same offense against him with my own accusations that day. But could there be any trace left of the man my mother and father had trusted? Was there more to Cristiano than a ruthless killer?

If so, then there was a chance I could scratch his cold exterior and find the warmth beneath. “I’ll talk to Cristiano.”

“Jamás. Never.” Diego frowned. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t.” I took a breath, hugging myself as the night began to cool. “I need to know for myself why he’s here, and what he’s planning.”

“How? He’s not easily cracked, Talia.” Diego bit his thumbnail. “And yet . . . I sometimes wonder if he holds a soft spot where you’re concerned. Like maybe he cares about you.”

That was a stretch. If there was anything between Cristiano and me, it was more carnal. More savage. A thirst for power and a knowledge that the most effective way to hurt my father would be through me. I was a tool for him. After so many years, it likely ran deeper still—an obsession with my family, and maybe even my mother, that had been fostered and stoked to the point that not even an eye for an eye would be enough. Perhaps he longed to defile me while my father stood helpless. I didn’t doubt Cristiano possessed a craving for me, even if it was just as simple as a man desiring a woman. But a fondness? No. The only soft spot between us was whichever part of my body he held in his grip. My girlish bicep years ago. My defiant gaze. My arched back as a woman, my hair tickling his forearm during our tango.

My breath sped thinking of the possibilities. Instinct alone had told me as a nine-year-old girl that being the subject of Cristiano’s attention was as thrilling as it was dangerous.

I didn’t know what exactly tied me to Cristiano, but I understood I could tighten the knot between us if I wanted. If I had the courage. “I think I can get in his head.”

“You probably could, but I won’t let you.” Diego flipped the blanket off himself and stood to pace. “It’s too risky.”

“I want to,” I said, following him with my eyes.

He glanced over at me. “But you’ve always feared him, and with good reason.”

What I knew about Cristiano scared me as much as what I didn’t know. Somehow, the more I learned, the more mysterious he grew. A perverse side of me wanted to test that fear to see if I could glimpse what he never seemed to show anyone.

Nobody ran toward a man like Cristiano de la Rosa. How would he react if I did?

“I have as much reason as anyone to want to bring him down,” I said.

Diego raised his eyebrows at me. “I know, but—”

“What other choice do we have?” I asked. “You were right. My father wants my head in the sand. He won’t respond well to me asking questions. And Cristiano doesn’t trust you.”

“You think he trusts you?”

He’d handled me like I was a child once but had spoken to me the opposite. He’d warned me of loyalty and justice and hadn’t shielded me from the reality that he could kill me if I didn’t help him. “He has no reason to trust me,” I answered, “but I think he did once.”

Diego ran his hands over his face and looked up at the sky. “I’m corrupting you.”

I wrapped myself in the warmth of the wool and got up to stand in front of him. “It’s a means to an end. Let me see if I can figure out why he’s back, and what he knows about the Maldonados.”