Manipulate (Deliver 6)

It was a snapshot of Hector in his late-thirties or forties with his arm around a beautiful young woman with black hair.

With a baby on her lap.

The woman.

The baby.

She knew those faces, but her brain struggled to process what she was seeing.

“That’s my mother.” Her voice cracked, and her heart pounded in her ears. “That’s me. We’re… We’re in a photo with you? How are we—?

She glanced up at his affectionate eyes. Brown eyes like hers. A narrow face like hers. Small bones, petite height, bronze skin… He looked like her. She looked like him. How had she not seen it?

“Oh, my God.” She swayed as the strength in her legs deserted her.

“Sit.” He guided her to a chair, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he examined her expression. “Are you calm?”

“I’m a little freaked out.”

She had a father.

Hector La Rocha.

The notorious crime boss her mother warned her against all her life.

Her mother had sex with him?

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

He was her father.

He took the seat beside her and stared at the photo in her trembling hand. “When I saw your name booked in Jaulaso, I had a prison guard bring you to Area Three.”

That prison guard had watched her kill a man. Then he offered to take her to a nicer part of the prison. His timing had been impeccable.

Because Hector had orchestrated it.

“When he brought me here, Garra raped me.” Her throat closed. “If you knew I was your daughter, why did you let that happen?”

“I made it happen.”

Her heart collapsed, and a surge of anger raised her voice. “Why?”

“My enemies go to great lengths to try to kill me, including sending a woman by the name of Petula Gomez into my territory. I had to confirm your identity. So I sent Garra to collect your DNA.”

“I don’t understand.” Her hands flexed on her lap. “He could’ve stolen a strand of my hair or taken my saliva from a cup.”

“Vaginal fluid has a high DNA content.”

The condom.

Garra had taken it with him after he…

What the fucking fuck? It had all been a setup?

She felt sick to her stomach.

Hector tugged on the forgotten paperwork in her hand, drawing her attention to it.

She stared down at a paternity test. It listed her name as the child and Hector La Rocha as the alleged father. Beneath all the columns of numbers and medical explanations, she read, Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%.

Her chest squeezed as she flipped to the header page and found the date.

Two years ago.

He’d known for two years.

Her jaw set. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Just because you’re my daughter doesn’t mean you’re on my side. I didn’t trust you.” He huffed at her scowl. “Don’t give me that look. You didn’t trust me, either. Maybe you still don’t.”

“I feel manipulated.”

“Because of the Garra thing?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “Because you had Garra rape me.” She leaned back in the chair and stared at Hector with new eyes. “I can’t believe you were with my mother.”

“For only a couple of weeks.” His expression turned wistful. “She was extraordinarily beautiful. But she hated me. Hated the cartel life. She forbade me to come around when she discovered who I was. I only saw you once after you were born.” He nodded at the photo. “The day that picture was taken.”

“What about Vera?”

“She’s not mine. You’re my only daughter, and I have four sons.” He smiled sadly. “I miss them.”

She had four brothers she’d never met, a missing sister, and a father, who had felt like a father since the day she’d met him.

Because his name was written in her genetics.

She looked down at the paternity test, and the sight of the record album beside it clicked another clue into place.

“You named me.” Her eyes snapped to his. “After your favorite singer.”

“Yes.”

The signs had been there all along.

Her mother had hated Hector La Rocha with a seething passion. It was the hatred of a scorned lover, and over the years, that hatred transferred into resentment of the daughter who shared his DNA.

Hector, on the other hand, had doted on her from day one. He’d opened up his protective circle to her, the only woman in Area Three, and kept her safe.

But he was still Hector La Rocha, a cartel boss who didn’t think twice about sending his only daughter to seduce his potential enemies, Martin and Ricky.

That didn’t sit right with her. Did he know more about them than he was letting on? Did he want her to spend time with them, not to gather information, but to distract them from something? But from what?

She felt used, deceived, manipulated. At the same time, she felt connected to Hector in a way that finally made sense.

He protected her because she was his blood. He was kind to her because she was his daughter. He cared for her, but did that mean he would never hurt her?