“No one checked in—not Max, Daniel, or Cristiano. They’re dead.” Her small, pointed nose twitched. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What?”
“They killed your husband. Not just any man—the leader of a powerful crime syndicate. Our savior. Our protector.”
I lifted my head. She expected me to take on Belmonte-Ruiz? No. She expected me to cower and fall, or to run away. Maybe that would be wise. If Cristiano de la Rosa couldn’t beat them, neither could I. Then again, I’d just taken down an attacker who’d had every advantage against me.
But I couldn’t think of something so daunting now. I rubbed my elbows, the newest, but not only, aching spots. “Did you bandage me up?” I asked Jaz, noticing the open first-aid kit by her side.
“I woke you up to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” she answered. “I don’t think you do.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve done this lots of times for Cristiano and the guys. You’ll probably be fine.” Jaz pulled her knees more tightly to her chest. “Which is too bad. It would’ve saved me some trouble. I told you the price of Cristiano’s life.”
Mine.
Pilar sat up from her makeshift bed in the corner, rubbing her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Your fate is linked to his.” Jaz looked to Pilar. “Yours too.”
“Cristiano put himself in danger for me,” I told Pilar. “According to Jaz, it’s my fault if he dies.”
Pilar raised her unsteady hands to her mouth. “And they’ll kill us?”
I had always tried to protect Pilar, but if Cristiano had taught me anything, it was that no weapon could match the truth. The more she knew, the better chance she’d have of making it out of here alive. “They’ll try.”
I held Jaz’s gaze. She didn’t scare me. Her threats only came from concern—I knew, because we were both afraid of the same thing.
Losing Cristiano.
And she wanted what I did—his survival.
The question was why I cared? I’d fought Cristiano at every turn. Stripped down, with no indignation to hide behind, only my basic, unadulterated, inexplicable hope remained.
That he’d live.
That he’d come back to me.
That I’d get the chance to tell him I wasn’t the same girl who’d arrived here. And that I didn’t see him as the same man.
Time passed differently in the vault. I had no concept of how much of it had gone by when Alejandro finally reappeared.
I jumped to my feet, steadying myself on the wall when I got woozy. “Well?” I asked.
“A chopper is inbound. It’s not one of ours, but we’ve made contact.” Alejandro looked from Jaz and the women waking up on the floor to me. “Cristiano is on it.”
I covered my mouth and released an unexpected sob. “He’s alive?”
“No sé.” Unsure, Alejandro shook his head. “But we’ve got great doctors on hand to receive him.”
I’d get to lay eyes on him. Touch him. Tell him I wanted him to stay. That I no longer wanted to leave. “I should be there when he lands,” I said, pushing through a sore throat.
Alejandro hesitated. “Respectfully . . . you’d probably be in the way. We have it under control. Might be best if you stay down here.”
“Might be best if I don’t,” I shot back.
Alejandro arched an eyebrow. Up until now, I hadn’t given him—or anyone—reason to believe I’d want Cristiano to return alive. But despite my best efforts, my feelings for Cristiano had been building. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but now, I had no choice. I had nothing left to hide behind. My soul ached to my core at the thought of losing him, of never hearing his deep, solid voice again, of things left unsaid.
“You said yourself Cristiano will want to know that I’m safe,” I said. “Maybe having me there will—will give him hope.”
Alejandro nodded behind him. “Come on, then.”
Outside the metal box, my chest loosened. I could breathe again. I was taking action. We made our way briskly upstairs to the garage.
Alejandro drew his gun as we entered the house through a back door. “Stay by my side.”
Though some of the lights had come back on, my skin crawled with the eerie stillness, as if the house had been deserted for months. Alejandro stayed close to me, his posture stick-straight.
“I thought you said the coast was clear,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond. According to Cristiano, a hundred percent confidence in anything was a death wish.
We entered a wing of the house I’d rarely had a chance to explore on our way to an elevator I’d only heard mentioned in passing.
Once we were inside, I asked, “Where does this go?”
“To the helipad on the roof.”
We exited the elevator and stepped onto an open, brightly lit landing pad. It wasn’t even the roof—the top floor of the house was well below us. It was just the endless, black night on the top of a mountain. I had looked up into the same sky earlier and reveled in the array of stars. Now, they were in hiding, drowned out by floodlights.