“What about Marcus Rinaldi. Did he act outside of your authority too?”
“Marcus is a fool. Diego and Angel made a deadly mistake working with him. I wouldn’t do it. Bad for business.”
“The business of selling women and girls?”
“Bad for any sort of business. He’s a hothead. Unpredictable and too fucking emotional. Just take what he did to your family.”
My hand tenses around the phone and I have to drag in a deep breath.
“I’m going to ask you this one more time. Did you have anything to do with my wife’s kidnapping?”
“Then I’ll answer you one more time. No. Why would I? What purpose would it serve for me to fuck with you? You’re my potential business partner, after all.”
“I’m putting you out of business, Féfé.”
It goes silent for a moment and I almost have to laugh because he’s bothered by it. Fucking idiot is bothered by a nickname a child gave him.
“You won’t be trading in flesh in territories I control.”
“Well, aren’t you a man of high morals. Incorruptible. Your father’s son. It got your family killed, remember.”
“I will continue my arrangement with the cartel on other goods because of the other families, but this is non-negotiable. Although I have to say I’m starting to wonder if the De La Cruz Cartel isn’t more trouble than it’s worth. You are replaceable.”
“Everyone is replaceable.” He’s flippant and I dislike him even more.
“I want Rinaldi’s location.”
“Sadly, I don’t have it to give you. Did he hurt her?” he asks, and I’d almost say he is genuinely concerned. Almost.
“What do you think?”
Silence. “Will she be all right?”
“She’s a fighter. Stronger than any in her family that I’ve met.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I hope you are. If I learn you had a hand in this, I will kill you. Slowly.”
“Then I’m in no danger.” I hear him take a puff of his cigarette. “You want an act of good will? Trust building?”
“Fuck you. You’re wasting my time.” I’m about to hang up when he calls out my name.
“Cristiano.”
Something in his tone makes me stop.
“I will give you Rinaldi’s location once I have it.”
8
Scarlett
I wake to the smell of coffee. I move, rolling onto my side, but wince and stop as soon as I do. I remember instantly why I’m sore. Everything that happened comes flooding back to me at once.
“Good morning,” Cristiano says.
I open my eyes. Deep orange light, the first light of morning, filters into the room washing it in its warm glow. I watch Cristiano get to his feet from the armchair he was sitting on. His clothes look rumpled, his hair like he’s been running his hands through it all night.
I’m back on the island. Back in his room. In his bed.
“Morning,” I say, slow to push myself up to a seat.
“Easy.” He’s by my side in an instant, lifting me gently.
I suck in a breath and he draws back. Even the lightest touch hurts.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay.”
He adjusts the pillows behind my back.
“Is Noah okay? Did anyone—”
“He’s fine. Safe. They only hit the house you were in.”
“The soldiers are dead.”
He nods.
“Alec. Is he…”
There’s a momentarily shadow that crosses his features but he hides it quickly. “He’ll be okay. Took two bullets, but nothing fatal.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.” I adjust the blankets, just wanting to feel their softness, their warmth. Almost not believing I’m here and safe. I look back up to find Cristiano watching me. “Did I dream your brother in the water?”
He smiles. “No. He went in after you.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really.”
“How did my uncle know I was there at that house? That I was alone?”
“He was tipped off.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know that yet.”
I nod, look down to find I’m wearing a negligée in dusty pink. I don’t remember it, but it must have been in the things Cristiano bought for me on our shopping trip. It’s meant to be sexy but with my striped, bruised skin beneath it, it falls short.
“I don’t remember coming back here,” I say. It’s true. I don’t remember much after my breakdown in the shower. The thought of that makes blood rush to my face. I’m embarrassed.
That person breaking down, that woman who couldn’t hold her own, that’s not me. I don’t lean on people. I don’t trust people. Not even him. I can’t.
And I’m embarrassed about it.
“You were pretty out of it,” he says.
It’s silent for an awkward minute and I watch him turn to the side table to pour me a cup of coffee from the small pot.
“Have you slept?” I ask.
He returns, cup in hand, eyebrows raised.
“Sleep. Did you sleep?” I repeat only to get the signature grunt as he hands me the cup. I take it. Sip the burning-hot liquid. It feels good after all that cold. The memory of the ocean, of being dumped in, sends a shiver through me. I’ve never been afraid of water. I don’t know that I am now, but I was scared then. The vastness of it. The depth. The dark.