Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

Cristiano took my anger without flinching. “I had suspicions—”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“They were baseless,” he said. “All I had to go on was the fact that the door had been unlocked. And when I had him alone at La Madrina, I could see firsthand how angry he was with Costa—”

“For?”

“For killing our parents.”

The answer went down easily, because I’d been over this scenario a million times in my head. Only, it was never kindhearted, gentle Diego who’d been nursing a grudge. It’d been his menacing, ruthless brother.

My body shook so violently, tears almost fell. I bit them back. Vengeance against my father for killing the de la Rosas. I’d been right all along—but I’d never been so wrong.

My limbs weakened with the churn of my stomach. I reached out to steady myself on something, worried I might vomit.

“Come, let me hold you,” Cristiano said, stepping forward as he reached for me.

Instinctively, I moved back, my eyes on the ground between us.

I’d once thought him incapable of experiencing pain, but I didn’t have to see his face to know I’d hurt him.

He dropped his arm to his side, walked to the bar cart, and poured himself a drink.

Why was I shutting him out? Cristiano was not to blame for this. He was a victim of Diego’s machinations, too. I urged myself to go to him. His body, words, and tenderness held comfort.

But so had Diego’s. I’d found a home in him more times than I could count, and each time, I was more the fool. Diego was the reason my mother was dead; that made every single touch of his, every word from his mouth, a lie.

My judgment couldn’t be trusted.

I’d been emotionally vulnerable when Diego had helped me pick up the pieces of my shattered life following her death. He’d advised my father in his darkest hour and molded me into the girl he’d wanted me to be. Who was to say Cristiano hadn’t done the same, purposely severing my relationship with Diego so he could be the one to fill the void it’d left? So he could turn me into his queen, as he often said?

My past had been a lie.

The foundation I’d built my life on had been nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

And it was crumbling under my feet.

My mind replayed one of the few conversations I’d had with Diego about his parents. Maybe the only honest conversation we’d ever had.

“Did you ever think of taking vengeance for their death?”

Diego didn’t answer right away. As seconds ticked by, I grew uneasy. There was only one person he would take revenge on. My father.

“In my darkest moments, yes,” he admitted.

Diego had played me.

Cristiano was suddenly in front of me, holding out a tumbler with a few swigs of neat, amber liquor. “You’re in shock. Drink this. It will help.”

I took it from him. Sniffed it. Sipped it, holding it in my mouth. Brandy. I swallowed and handed it back. It would ease the pain for a while, but I didn’t want that. I had to feel the mistakes I’d made.

“I know you’re hurting. And if it’s the last thing I do . . .” He slugged back the liquor and gripped the glass as he said, “Diego will pay for that.”

“He said he loved me.” The words tumbled smoothly over my brandy tongue. “I loved him back.”

“If that’s all it takes, I will love you too. More than he ever did. More than he ever could.”

My heart reached for him. It was incomprehensible how much I wanted that after hating Cristiano for so long. And that after all the ways I’d pushed him away, he was still standing here. “How?” I nearly choked out. How had he not run for the hills yet? “You manipulated me, too. You forced me into this marriage, locked me up in this house, and made me fall for you.”

“Natalia. My darling.” He took my jaw in his free hand and pulled my face to his. “I fell for you first.”

“Then why did you almost die on me?” I gripped his t-shirt to push him away but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d lost too much already—but with Cristiano, why did it feel as if I had more to lose than ever? I pulled him closer as my chin wobbled. “I hate him. Help me forget. You promised you’d make me forget his name.”

Cristiano’s expression hardened as he set his jaw and looked away. “And I told you never to come to me again if he was the reason. I will not fuck you to make you forget his name.”

“Then fuck me so I know only yours. I am willing. And I need this, Cristiano.”

His chest heaved with an inhale. What was he waiting for? He had his permission. Not that he or anyone needed it. If I could be tricked into sleeping with the man who’d deceived my family in the worst way, and if my mother could be forced by a stranger, then really—what the fuck did any of this matter? What was so special about it?