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  Milo stood. If water had run off Ana like a delightful, tinkling fountain, it poured from Milo like a vengeful waterfall. The kind that drowned people who got too close.

  “What announcement?” Milo asked.

  Javier’s wife gave a dry laugh. “We’re all waiting to hear, young man. Have patience.”

  Javier gave her an indulgent smile and then turned her around with him. They headed toward the stage, and the people on the roof began moving toward it as if they’d been caught in Javier’s gravitational field.

  Fuck, maybe they had. The man had the gravitas of fucking Jupiter.

  When he turned back to Cora, she’d already slipped a slinky cocktail dress over her head and was toweling dry her hair. Damn, and he’d missed it. He clicked his tongue and went for his clothes, dressing hurriedly as Javier took the stage.

  The fucker even had a microphone.

  He tapped it, sending feedback through hidden speakers and making a few of his guests wince. Whatever soft jazz music had been playing through the speaker system faded as he began speaking. Waiters carrying trays of champagne glasses began circulating, and every guest who didn’t already have something in their hands took one.

  He found it strange that someone would travel all the way to this remote compound for Javier’s announcement, whatever the hell it was. Did that mean all these people stayed here? Had they been flown in by goddamn helicopter? Blindfolded, of course, so they could never find the place again.

  That wouldn’t have surprised him in the least.

  “Evening, friends,” Javier said. Over the PA system, his voice sounded even more sonorous than it did in person. “I know my invitation may have arrived suddenly, so I thank you all for making the effort to be here.”

  Milo made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t like this,” he murmured.

  “You’ve never been one for social engagements,” Lars quipped, and received a glare for his trouble.

  “Eleodora,” Javier called, beckoning her up to the stage. “If you care to join me, please.”

  “Fuck,” Lars muttered.

  Cora walked past them, a touch unsteadily, and turned to look at him and Milo over her shoulder. Her golden eyes were wide and uneasy. Lars gave her a reassuring smile, and she gave him a feeble lift of her lips in return.

  When she came closer to the stage, Javier held out his hand for her. She took it hesitantly and joined him on the small stage, looking at her feet.

  “Come on, bunny,” Lars murmured. “Don’t show him you’re scared.”

  Milo shifted his feet, but didn’t say anything. As if Cora had heard him, she lifted her head and stared over the crowd. When she found him and Milo, she smiled.

  The lights on the roof seemed to dim in the wake of that smile. Lars cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to his feet. When had his boots gotten so scuffed? When he looked up again, Cora was staring at Javier, her smile now a touch nervous again.

  “It’s my honor—” Javier touched fingertips to his chest. “My privilege, to introduce to you Eleodora Rivera, the daughter of Antonio Luis Rivera.”

  Lars couldn’t breathe. Milo surged forward beside him, and he had just enough sense of mind to swipe out his arm to hold the big guy back. “Wait,” he murmured, his arm straining as Milo pushed forward.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Milo grated.

  “I’m sure we’re about to find out.” Lars patted Milo’s chest, and he reluctantly backed down, settling into a stiff stand beside Lars. “So let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Milo growled through the last smattering of applause.

  “Now, it saddens me greatly to be the bearer of bad news…” Javier took the mic off the stand, whipping the cord behind him like he’d spent half his life on the stage. “But if you haven’t already heard, Antonio Rivera is presumed dead at the hands of Plata o Plomo.”

  Cora’s already wide eyes turned to saucers.

  “Keep your shit together,” Lars murmured.

  Her hands went to the skirts of her dress. It was chilly up here on the roof, and he could see she was trembling even from where he stood. Hopefully from the cold and not because of Javier’s insensitive speech. God, the guy was such a fucking asshole.

  “But, as the saying goes, ‘Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window.’” Javier turned a fond smile on Cora, and slid his arm around her shoulders. Then, as if realizing she was cold, he shrugged off his linen jacket and slid it over her shoulder. He bundled her against him, turning a sympathetic smile on his audience. “Through that window, flew this little bird.”

  He turned to her, held her at arm’s length, and said, “Eleodora…I know you will make El Calacas Vivo proud.” He spun to the crowd, lifted Cora’s wrist like she’d won a boxing match, and yelled, “Let’s welcome our newest capo!”

  The crowd, small as it was, roared.

  Milo surged forward again. This time, he knocked Lars’s arm aside as if it was a twig. So Lars caught the lapel of his shirt and tugged the man around into a bear hug. This close, he could feel Milo’s heart slamming against his chest. “Relax,” he whispered urgently. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Milo struggled, but only for a few seconds. The man tensed under Lars’s hands, and then relaxed. “He’s just signed her death warrant,” Milo said, his voice hoarse in Lars’s ear. “If she was a target before—”

  “I know, Milo. I know.” Lars released him, gave him a wide smile, and then turned to the stage and clapped. He could feel Milo’s icy gaze on him until he nudged him hard in the stomach. “Now clap like your fucking life depends on it,” Lars said through a toothy smile.

  Milo didn’t clap. He shoved Lars away and headed for the stage, as if he was planning on throwing Cora over his shoulder and fleeing the scene. He probably could—until one of Javier’s cronies gunned him down and fuck Cora’s protective aura.

  “Now, I thought at first I would wait…but it seems such a waste to have you all here without something more to celebrate.”

  Milo froze a few paces ahead, both hands clenching into fists at his side. Lars surged forward, sliding his arm around Milo’s shoulders and giving him a playful punch in the kidneys. “Can you try and relax?”

  Milo inhaled so hard that his ribs pressed into Lars’s. Lars squeezed the man’s deltoid, and then whispered in his ear, “Chill out, or I’ll squeeze your ass in front of all these fucking people.”

  Milo threw him such a deep frown that he chuckled. “Glad that got your attention,” Lars murmured. “Now let’s see what else this fucking jackass has up his sleeves before we play our cards. Okay?”

  He slapped Milo’s chest, and the man let out a grunt.

  “Neo, if you would join us, please?” Javier stood to the side, accepting a champagne glass from a servant he’d beckoned closer.

  Javier’s son climbed the steps, looking almost as confused as Cora. Javier drew him to the side, murmured into his ear, and slid something into his hands. Neo’s eyes widened, and he gave his head a hard shake, saying something inaudible to Javier before the man stepped past him. Javier addressed the crowd with a wave that took in Cora and Neo.

  “The fuck…?” Lars murmured, releasing Milo. His heart began an insistent drumming in his chest.

  Cora looked from Neo to Javier, a confused smile springing onto her mouth. Shit, how drunk was she? Maybe it was a mercy; if she’d been sober she would have lost her shit big time after Javier talking about her father like that.

  “We have a second reason to celebrate tonight,” Javier said. “As you all know, my son Neo’s been traveling overseas. But he has returned, and he is now joining El Calacas Vivo as capo.”

  This time, the crowd’s roar was near deafening. On the other side of the roof, someone threw their glass to the floor as if they’d forgotten they were Mexican, not Greek.

  “See?” Lars murmured to Milo. “Now not all the heat’s on her. Maybe—”

  But Javier’s voice cut him off. �
�And, finally…” Javier stepped aside again, and waved Neo closer to Cora. The guy went grudgingly, a brittle smile on his mouth. “Tonight, it turns out, is a very special night indeed. We have two capos joining our ranks…but I’ve left the best for last.”

  “Jesus, what fresh hell is this?” Lars muttered. “He’s got a royal flush already.”

  Milo threw him a look, as if telling him to calm down, and he sneered at him. He had to keep his shit together? He was cool as a fucking ice cube.

  “In less than a week, we’ll be holding a very special celebration here.” Javier fisted his hand. “A cartel is only as strong as its foundations. And there is no stronger foundation than marriage.”

  Neo dropped his head, closed his eyes as if uttering a silent prayer, and fumbled with the box in his hands. Cora’s wide eyes and open mouth gave her a shell shocked look as the guy drew out her hand. He went to one knee, staring up at her with his back to the crowd.

  Javier was ready with the mic when Neo spoke.

  “Eleodora Rivera,” Neo said, sounding like the words were being dragged out of him by the devil himself. “Will you be my wife?”

  Cora didn’t answer. But Neo shoved that fucking ring on her finger anyway. And the crowd roared and applauded like she’d gushed out the most enthusiastic ‘Yes’ they’d ever heard.

  When Neo rose and pressed his mouth against hers, Lars almost couldn’t grab Milo in time. “Down, tiger,” Lars muttered, turning Milo around with difficulty. “It’s just for show. It’s got to be. You want to hit something, let’s go find this guy’s gym. Gotta have a gym right? Nice big punching bag. You can hit that. Please, god, don’t try and punch a fucking drug kingpin when he’s surrounded by his entourage.”

  Surprisingly, Milo didn’t fight him. Most likely, the guy was as eager to get away off this rooftop as he was. Was he also trying to wash out the sight of Cora’s pale face as Neo pressed his lips against hers?

  And that ring? Its dull red flash when it had caught the light had left an afterimage behind his lids.

  Who the hell gave a ruby as an engagement ring?

  12

  Queen Cora

  It felt like the stage had given way under her. Cora gripped Neo’s arm, blinking hard to keep her balance, even though she hadn’t moved a hair.

  Had she fallen asleep? Was this some kind of dream? Perhaps she lay passed out on her bed, open mouthed and snoring.

  That would make sense. This...this didn’t make sense.

  The ring was ice around her finger. Javier’s jacket had warded off the cold while she’d stood so exposed on this small stage, but it was as if the linen turned into chiffon. An icy wind whipped through her, ruffling her soul. Neo got off one knee, and his face zoomed in toward her. Cool, dry lips pressed against hers. Just for a second before they were gone. He stepped aside as the crowd in front of her roared.

  A hand touched her shoulder. Guided her from the stage. Neo’s, or Javier’s? Did it matter? Javier’s smell encompassed her completely, wafting up from his jacket.

  She tore the jacket off, and tried to pull the ring from her finger, but there was a warning burst of pain—it was on too tight. She whimpered, whipping her hand away as if she could somehow flick the ring off, and then fingers closed over hers.

  Big, warm hands engulfed her.

  “Yeah, we’ll take it from here, buddy.” Lars’s voice, edged with steel. “Seriously, you’ve done enough.”

  She looked up into Milo’s eyes. He looked so confused, so betrayed. “I didn’t—this wasn’t—” but her tongue tangled.

  “He knows,” Lars said, cupping her face in a hand. His hand was so long and slender compared with Finn’s. “He’s just being a dick.”

  Finn tugged her hands, and she stumbled after him.

  Javier’s voice boomed out. “It seems our new capo has had too much to drink.” There was a laugh in his voice. “Let’s hope she doesn’t start her first day with a hangover!”

  Laughter trailed her down the stairs. She realized her face was wet, but she wasn’t crying. Then water trickled down from her wet hair and she began laughing at the absurdity of it. Of everything.

  “Did I just get engaged?” she asked, stopping in her tracks.

  Finn’s eyes were blue ice when he looked down at her. He swiped a hand through her wet hair, gripped the back of her neck. “No.”

  But it was the same time as Lars saying, “Yes.”

  She looked from one to the other, and then burst out laughing. They shared a concerned look, which just made her laugh harder. She sagged down, her legs giving way as her stomach began to ache. She grabbed at the ring, trying to yank it off despite how hard she laughed.

  “No, no, no,” Lars muttered, catching her wrist. “You’ll pull your fucking skin off.”

  She struggled against him, letting out a breathless, “Get it off, get it off!”

  Finn hoisted her up and cradled her in his arms. For a moment, the world spun and she thought she’d puke. Then everything settled and he was thumping down the corridor of the villa. Carrying her to her room and over the threshold like a newlywed bride.

  The thought of which made her start laughing again. And, this time, it was a while before she could stop.

  13

  That was no dream

  The sun shone like a white coin in a sky so clear, it was as if last night’s shit storm had literally washed clean the air. Cora lay on her side, snoring softly. Lars was behind her, an arm draped over her waist. Finn ran his hands through his hair and got up stiffly, cracking his back. He couldn’t sleep last night, so he’d sat in the chair and watched Cora and Lars sleeping instead. Luckily, Lars had slept like the dead instead of trying to feel up Cora. And she’d down right passed out…after she’d stopped laughing.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door. Finn got up, catching Cora and Lars both jerking awake from the corner of his eye.

  “What?” Cora asked sleepily, and Lars mumbled something incoherent.

  Finn held out a hand to them and strode to the door, opening it a few inches. “Yes?” he asked the armed man standing outside. Santino, wasn’t it?

  “Jefe want you three at breakfast,” Santino said, with a leer as he tried to lean past Finn to see into the room.

  Finn closed the door to a crack. “We’re busy.”

  Santino’s leer vanished. “He insists.”

  “Tell him to go fu—”

  “Finn!” came Cora’s voice. “It’s fine. I need to speak to him anyway.”

  Finn grimaced at Santino, who beamed at him. “¡Que les vaya bien!” The man adjusted his assault rifle as he strode away down the corridor, whistling. When Finn had closed the door and come back inside, Cora and Lars were sitting up in bed; Cora with a palm pressed to her temple, Lars with his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d had a quick roll in the hay.

  “Headache?” Finn asked, heading for the dresser.

  “Lucky guess,” Cora replied, squinting an eye at him as he handed her the bottle of aspirin. There was no water on her nightstand, but she dry-swallowed the pills like a pro. It made him wonder how often she’d been waking up with hangovers the time they’d been apart. He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t drink so much, but he held his tongue. Fuck, if he was her…?

  “I had the weirdest dream last night,” Cora said, glancing between him and Lars. “I dreamt I got engaged.”

  Lars laughed and fell back on the bed, running his hands through his mussed up hair. “That was no dream, bunny. Although—” Lars sat up again, pointing at her. “Technically, you didn’t say yes.” He glanced at Finn. “Does that still count?”

  “Think Javier cares?” Finn said. “This is all part of his fucked up scheme.” He sat on the edge of the bed, and grabbed Cora’s thigh through the sheet. She looked tired and disheveled; still wearing last night’s dress, her makeup smudged. “Listen, we have to get you out of here. After last night, you’re a sitting duck.”

  Cora slid out of bed and
went to the bathroom. She left the door open a little, and called out, “There’s nowhere to go.”

  “Canada?” Lars called. “People seem polite. You good with cold?”

  “Non-extradition country would be best,” Finn said. “God knows the FBI will want to nail Eleodora Rivera the moment they hear about this shit.”

  Lars slapped him with the back of his hand, throwing him a meaningful look. Finn shrugged. “It’s true, and you know it.”

  “How am I going to board a plane?” Cora called out.

  “Fake documents.” Lars got up and went over to the bathroom, leaning against the wall. “We can hook you up. We know a guy who knows a guy.”

  Cora flushed the toilet, and the water started up in the shower. Lars sidled into the bathroom, and then hurried out again when a shampoo bottle bounced off the wall.

  “Privacy!” Cora yelled.

  “I needed to piss,” Lars muttered at Finn’s glare, and then grabbed his clothes from the bed. He’d always maintained he couldn’t sleep in anything but a pair of boxers; Finn watched him pull on his clothes as he chewed on a knuckle. He shook his head. “How we going to do this?”

  “Don’t know. Right now, don’t care.” Lars hurried out the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Finn sank into the armchair, rubbing eyes gritty with lack of sleep. Cora could talk to Javier all she wanted but he doubted he would be willing to negotiate. Why marry off his son and Cora? He’d said something about strong foundations, but it didn’t make any sense.

  “Fuck.” Finn pressed this eyelids closed. “Fuck.”

  14

  Strike two

  Cora looked better after she’d put eye drops in, washed her hair, and slipped into a pair of black jeans and a dark off-the shoulder sweater Gabriella had bought her yesterday. There was nothing she could do about the dark circles around her eyes. And she still felt like shit, even after another aspirin.