Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

As romantic as it was, sometimes I wondered why she’d been stupid enough to trade a safe and happy life as a farmer’s daughter for this. It’d been foolish and risky, and it had gotten her killed. I wouldn’t share her fate, and neither would Diego.

I had to find a way to free him from the chains of the cartel so he could come to the States and start a life with me. I would convince my dad to let us go and live in peace rather than war, looking over the Pacific instead of over our shoulders.

Diego had been in my father’s grip too long, and I was the only one who could ask a favor like this.

Father sat back behind his desk. “Tonight, we celebrate. What’re your plans while home?”

“I thought maybe you, me, and Diego could have dinner tonight,” I said.

He picked up his folded glasses and tapped them against his temple. “I’ve already arranged a feast in your honor.”

“Tomorrow then, or sometime this week.”

“What for? I’d rather just the two of us,” he said. “Anyway, my annual party is Thursday night as you know. I’ll have my hands full with that, and so will Diego.” He frowned. “Why don’t you visit the stables? It’s been so long since you’ve ridden.”

Eleven years to be exact. I would go see the horses, but I hadn’t gotten on one since Mom’s death. It’d been our thing, an activity we’d done together almost every day. I nodded so as not to start off my visit with an argument. “Maybe, but it’s hotter than Hades here. I’ll go to the beach, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” He patted my hip. “How was the trip?”

“Barto took great care as always. No attempted murders.”

“A joke,” he said. “I’m glad you see the humor. I don’t.”

It was important to remember to laugh when traveling with three guards and in bulletproof transportation.

“I need to get back to work,” he said, opening his laptop. “Dress well for dinner.”

I stooped to kiss his cheek. Out of habit, I glanced at the computer screen for clues as to what he and Diego had been discussing, but I forced my eyes away. I didn’t want trouble. I just wanted to get Diego and me the hell out of there before someone else I cared about got killed.

On my way out, Papá called me back. “One more thing. Don’t let me catch you trying to sneak into the ballroom again this year. It’s no place for a young girl.”

“I know many girls who’ve been to your parties.”

“None of which is my only daughter.”

My mom had hosted a legendary annual affair for clients and friends of the Cruz cartel in a ballroom on the property. I’d never made it into a party and had been forced to settle for hearing the music from my bedroom across the lawn, followed by weeks of gossip and folklore. Papá had tried his best to keep me isolated from this world since birth, but that’d bred curiosity.

Now that I knew better, I appreciated his intent. But it hadn’t saved me from witnessing my mother’s murder.

“I’m not a young girl anymore,” I said with a shrug. “I’m twenty.”

I left the room and tried not to think about the party. I’d once harbored a morbid curiosity about the life my parents led—until I’d learned firsthand the senseless violence, corruption, and evil that came with it. Since then, I’d been trying to tame the little girl in me who’d been fearless enough to draw a weapon on a man three times her size. The girl who’d equated danger with fun. The one who’d listened to the devil whispering in my ear that there was no escaping this life, not now, not ever.

I had run away from all this, but the devil still tempted that stupid little girl. She knew better than most what could come of that.

After all, she’d ended up locked in a pitch-dark hole for hours, senseless and defenseless, covered in her own mother’s blood.

2

Natalia

In the corridor on my way to the library, a figure sprang from the shadows and seized me from behind. I gasped, but the moment I caught Diego’s familiar scent, I relaxed in his arms.

“Buenas, princesa,” he murmured in my ear, stealing me toward the library.

As children, Diego and I had scoured almost every inch of the house with the exception of my parents’ bedroom. We knew it better than any member of the security team, likely better than my father himself, as he couldn’t fit in some of the spaces Diego and I had been known for folding ourselves into back then.

The library was one of the only surveillance-free spots. Papá had built it for my mother’s ever-curious mind, but hardly anyone went in it anymore. My dad claimed he wasn’t intelligent like my mother and had no use for books, but it was simply too painful for him to spend time in here.