I catch his eyes as he lifts his head. “Why not?”
“Guillermo got word that the sicario is looking around Lantía for me, wanting to plan an ambush. They’re getting close.”
“Hmm.”
He slides a hand beneath me, cupping the back of my neck, tilting my head so our lips meet. He presses his warm, supple lips to mine.
He kisses me once. Twice.
“This will never end, will it?” I ask, holding his gaze.
“What?”
“This. Going to different locations. Always on the go.”
He chuckles. “As long as there is breath in my body, Patrona, it never will. Are you willing to go through that with me? With the baby too?”
I smirk. “Have you forgotten what I told you yesterday? I fucking love you. I want you. Para siempre.” Forever.
He chuckles, low and deep and perfect. “Hearing that shouldn’t turn me on so fucking much.”
I grin. “Jefe y Patrona. The most wanted couple in the world.”
“Mmm,” he groans, gripping his cock, pressing it at my entrance. My lips part as he slides in inch by savory inch. When he’s fully inside me, he says, “Mí reina. Eres tan perfecta.” My queen. You are so perfect.
It doesn’t take much for me to shatter again. My body still hasn’t come down from the first powerful orgasm of this morning. I break into a million beautiful pieces, just as he grunts his release.
Just as he finishes, there is a bang on the door.
“Jefe!” Patanza shouts. “We have trouble!”
He pulls out of me and climbs off the bed. Picking up a pair of boxers and sliding into them quickly, he walks to the door and grips the door knob. She speaks before he can open the door.
“Someone talked—claimed they saw you coming to this area. Guillermo just called, said he saw the colonel in the city. They’re on their way here. We have to go. Now.”
“Shit,” he rasps.
I climb out of bed, rushing to the closet and yanking down the first dress I touch—a red maxi dress. I tug it over my head, no bra, slide into my sandals and open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out Daddy’s pistol.
Draco is already dressed in his jeans and white T-shirt from last night. He picks his gun up from the nightstand and tucks it behind his back.
“Boat is running?” he calls over his shoulder at Patanza.
“Sí. The maids and butlers are out of the apartments, and Mrs. Molina is already being taken down to the boat. They’ll be here soon. We have to go.”
“Everything else already set?” he questions, taking my hand and leading the way out the door.
“Sí,” she answers over her shoulder, a pistol in one hand.
“Good.”
Clark comes running out of one of the bedrooms with a gun in hand and his bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m not getting caught after all that shit. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says.
We rush down the hallway, down the many stairs and through the corridor. Past his infamous paintings and the dining room he loved to feast in.
When we get outside, behind the house and past the pool, Patanza and Clark rush to the right as Draco and I bustle down the stone steps.
I glance back as she and Clark crowd around something black on one of the walls. She presses buttons on it as he keeps watch and then they’re making a mad dash our way
We’re on the sand, the cold ocean water wrapping around my ankles as we splash through it and toward the speedboat that’s already waiting.
Draco lets me up first and I climb the ladder, taking Sebastien’s hand, letting him haul me up. Mrs. Molina is already waiting on board with a life jacket on, knitting away like she has no cares in the world.
Draco steps on board, Patanza and Clark coming on shortly after.
Patanza huffs, placing her gun down on the bench and then pulling a black device from her pocket. Clark and Draco keep watch of the mansion.
It doesn’t take long for us to hear sirens wailing in the distance. To hear a loud thud as they barge into Draco’s so-called castle. Men in black and some in green surround the house at all angles. I see one who’s tall, sharp, sunglasses on. He looks toward the speedboat as we take off and shouts, pointing at us.
But it’s too late.
Patanza presses a red button on the device, and the mansion explodes, bursting into flames, and burning with it, the sicario.
I hear Draco release a small breath, but I’m not sure if it’s a sigh of relief or a sigh filled with sorrow. His arm wraps around my shoulders, heavy, tight.
We watch his favorite home burn down, the distance growing, putting us further away from the history of that place, good and bad.
I picture his paintings, how they hang on the walls, melting. The beautifully furnished rooms being licked by the flames. Everything in that home will soon be gone—everything, including the memories. All because of a single bomb.