“Siéntate,” Eduardo ordered.
“You were expecting me.” Diego sat on the edge of the chair. “Why not show up at the warehouse like a man to face those you ruined?”
“I had something to attend to at Costa’s.” I held out the tequila to him. “Here.”
He waved off the drink. “Costa was with me.”
“Seguro?” I asked, offering it again. “It’s top-shelf. A special edition sent especially from a tequila bar in Guadalajara.”
“I’m sure what’s ‘special’ about it is a dram of poison,” Diego said.
I gave Eduardo the glass. “Enjoy, compadre,” I said.
Ed nodded as he accepted it. “Gracias, señor.”
I returned in front of Diego, picked up my drink, and sat back against the edge of my desk. “Costa left his poor, trembling daughter alone in that big house this morning. And during such a dangerous time.” I frowned into my drink. “I took it upon myself to offer her my protection. And my comfort.”
Diego narrowed his eyes on me. “What’d you do to Natalia?”
“Nothing she didn’t enjoy—don’t worry.”
“Vete a la chingada,” he said, jumping out of his chair. “Fuck you, pinche puto pendejo.”
As Diego released a string of curses, I held up a hand to stop my men from drawing their weapons. Had I hit a nerve? When it came to Costa and his family, Diego put on an admirable performance, but today, we had no audience. Could it be that his feelings for Natalia were genuine? I smiled. That would make this even more interesting. Diego was about to lose more than I could’ve even planned for.
“You almost killed her this morning,” Diego said.
She wasn’t supposed to have been at the warehouse, nor was he. It was a fuck-up on my part, but I wouldn’t let him see that. “Tranquilo,” I said, keeping my tone light to calm him. “I simply bandaged her up.” Bandaged her up and resisted my every urge to fuck her until she forgot my brother’s name. If waiting years for this moment with Diego wasn’t evidence of my unrivaled self-control, removing my hands from Natalia’s smooth, firm thigh was.
A round with me and she’d question everything she knew—including her devotion to Diego. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that she might actually mean something to him.
“She was trapped on the roof of the warehouse with no way out,” I said. “Luckily, I was there, or she’d have been burned alive.”
“You say that like it was a coincidence,” he said. “You planned it that way.”
“Planned it? No. I was supposed to watch from a distance as your hopes, dreams, and livelihood went up in smoke.” I took a sip. “I hadn’t intended to risk my own life for your Natalia.” Despite the silky vanilla-almond flavor the tequila had left, ‘your Natalia’ tasted bitter on my tongue. My Natalia sounded better, but I couldn’t entertain that thought.
After this, she’d never forgive me.
“You did this, Cristiano,” Diego said evenly, taking a step toward me. “The hits on the safe houses. The tunnel explosion. The warehouse fire. You’re responsible for all of it. And now, I have nothing to offer the Maldonados but ashes.”
I stood to meet him. “I warned you one shot was all you’d get it,” I said. “You missed. That was your mistake.”
“I’ve never taken a shot at family. That was you.”
“You put me in front of the firing squad, which is worse,” I said, holding his stare. “First, by accusing me of Bianca’s murder, then years later when I reached out to you for help. You sent men to kill me as soon as you knew where I was, and they came home empty-handed. Never take aim if you can’t hit the bullseye. You missed both times.”
“You went to Costa, our family’s enemy, with information that you knew would get our parents killed,” he said, balling his fists. “I tried turning you over to Costa, yes, but that’s no different than what you did to our mother and father.”
“It’s completely different. The victims of my crimes are never victims—they know exactly the risks of the life they lead.” I picked up the tequila bottle in the likeness of a smiling golden sun and pulled off the top. “Our parents were getting deeper and deeper into trafficking innocent children and women,” I said. “I went to Costa for help because you and I were too young to do anything, and they had to be stopped.”
“Nothing breaks the bond of family,” Diego said. “Costa might’ve pulled the trigger, but you murdered them. Their blood is on your hands.”
I made a show of checking my knuckles. They were callused and scarred from years of defense, offense, and survival. But there wasn’t a spot of blood on them. “You’re one to talk about breaking family bonds.” I refilled my drink. “Do you know what tomorrow is, Diego?”
Diego took my drink off the desk and gulped from it. “Holy Saturday.”