Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

“I have to make as much money as I can before I leave,” he said adamantly, imploring me with his eyes. “When I get to the States, I’ll be back at square one. What will I do for work? I need a bank account with enough zeros to take care of you.”

“Diego.” I squatted in front of him, set his hat on the lip of the fountain, and took his hands. “That’s not how I need to be taken care of. I could have that life if I wanted it, but I don’t. I chose to leave, and I thought you wanted the same.” I swallowed, searching his eyes. “Do you not want to come to California?”

“I do. I want that so much, but I have to know I can provide for you first. Whether you ask me to or not, it’s my responsibility as a man, and I won’t be happy anywhere if I can’t do it.” He moved some of my hair behind my ear and tilted up my chin. “It’s not just about the money. This first run will net me enough to come with you, and then you and I will be set until I get on my feet. But if it goes well, it’ll also secure the most profitable deal your dad has ever made. It’ll prove to your father that he can bring his business into the present, and . . .”

“And?” I asked.

He looked at me with cinched eyebrows, as if in pain. Diego felt everything. I hated arguing with him, but it was important that he see that money and status meant less to me than being with him. I was tired of living a country apart.

He glanced toward the house, avoiding my eyes. “It’ll show your dad what I’m capable of. That I’m more than some lackey on his payroll. That I’m good enough for you and can care for you—not just financially, but in every way.”

“Oh, Diego.” I cupped his jaw, and he leaned into my hand. “He doesn’t doubt what a strong, smart, skillful man you are. He just doesn’t want me near any of this. It wouldn’t matter who you were.”

He put his hand over mine, turning his face into my palm to kiss it. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“All of this. Worrying you about Maldonado and Calavera. I’m sorry you had to see my fucking pinche brother.” He brushed his lips up my wrist and forearm, smiling against my skin when I shivered. “I know how those memories of Cristiano affect you,” he said softly, “but I’m not going to let him anywhere near you.”

Diego didn’t know. Not entirely. My nightmares were not limited to the horror of finding Mamá in a pool of her own blood. Cristiano had taught me that the gilded fortress I’d grown up in wasn’t as secure as I’d thought. He’d robbed me of my carefree childhood. I’d sat in the dark, my nine-year-old mind growing more and more paranoid I might never be found, trying to think of how I could reach the last rung of the ladder without the height or vision I needed. Even if Cristiano hadn’t killed my mom, I didn’t know if I could ever disassociate him with the fear he’d inspired or the lessons I’d learned too early in life.

Trust no one.

Never draw a weapon unless you meant to kill.

Loyalty didn’t guarantee loyalty, even to your own blood.

Anyone, even the most loyal disciple, could turn.

And I had danced with him tonight, aroused by a possessive touch and menacing words that should’ve sent me running into Diego’s arms. I could’ve screamed like I’d threatened—but I hadn’t. What was wrong with me?

I stood, pulled Diego up from the fountain’s ledge, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank you for protecting me,” I whispered as I brushed my cheek against his. “For wanting more for us. For taking a bullet for me all those years ago. I love you.”

“I only wish I could do more.” He slid his hands down my back, lowering his mouth but pausing before our lips touched. “I would erase that day for you.”

I hugged him more tightly, breathing him in as he pecked me once. Twice. His tongue slid between my lips, tasting me. “My sweet Natalia,” he said on a moan.

I loved how he said my name. Even as Diego and I had changed, as our relationship had grown and our devotion to each other had solidified, he continued to say my name the same way—as if he owned it. As if nobody else knew it like he did.

I deepened the kiss. The world fell away, and we were just two people in love who hadn’t had enough chances to show it.

His hands moved everywhere—searching, finding, claiming. He cupped my ass and pulled my hips against his, and I groaned.