“You shot a man in the head,” I cried. “I saw it.”
Even as his color drained, he straightened up. “Cristiano has proven his loyalty, Talia. For the last decade, he’s done more than built himself a strong, successful cartel—”
“How can you say that?” I fell onto a breakfast stool. “I’ve heard the kind of ‘business’ he runs, and it’s vile.”
“His business isn’t anything you should worry about. All you need to know is what Cristiano has done for your mother. For us.” Birds chirped outside, and a sparrow landed on the sill. Papá shooed it away. “When Cristiano left here,” he continued, “he ruthlessly and relentlessly hunted your mother’s murderer. He made it his mission to find the motherfucker who entered my house—my bedroom—and took almost everything from me. I’ve had dark moments since learning this. I question Our Lady for letting this stranger into my home, but I thank her you didn’t come into the room any earlier.”
With my elbows on the counter, I put my head in my hands. I didn’t know what to think. “Who—”
“Let me finish. Cristiano delivered the sicario, forced him to his knees, and made him beg me for his life. It took a lot of time and resources to find that man you saw up there. Shooting him in the head in front of everyone was probably the kindest way to kill him.”
If Father believed that, I didn’t doubt a lack of mercy had been shown behind the curtains. It explained his battered hand this morning—and the man’s swollen face and blood-soaked clothing. “And you believe it?” I asked.
“I heard it from the rat’s mouth.”
“Of course the hitman would say anything Cristiano told him to if he thought it might save his life.” I nervously pinged the tab of my soda can. “Cristiano wants to clear his name and stop running.”
“He doesn’t need to be protected from me. He’s built himself a cartel that surpasses my own. He has his own success, money, and status now. His network spans the world, and he could’ve built his business in Colombia, Russia, Bolivia—anywhere. But he returned.”
He could’ve been anywhere, but he was here, turning my world upside down. I gritted my teeth, wishing he’d stayed lost. “Why?”
“Because this is his home. There’s greater risk for Cristiano to return than to stay hidden. Dios mío, me duele la cabeza.” As he grumbled of a headache, he went to the fridge and removed leftover tostadas and a small talavera bowl of salsa. “If I hadn’t believed Cristiano about the sicario, I wouldn’t have hesitated to execute him on the spot. I almost did.”
“Why even stop to let him explain?” I asked. “And what lies could he have possibly given to change your mind?”
“Cristiano managed to track down some of your mother’s stolen jewelry. Each piece told its own story, and each ending eventually led him one place—to this sicario.”
“It was jewelry Cristiano took,” I said, not bothering to keep my cynicism from my voice. “He didn’t need to look further than himself.”
“If he’d taken the jewels, he would’ve sold them to survive, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “No question he did.”
“And then tracked all of it down again?” Papá shook his head as he stuffed his face with chicken and refried beans. “They were one-of-a-kind pieces,” he said as he chewed and swallowed. “The diamonds, rubies, and other precious gems Cristiano returned to me have unique settings I designed for your mother myself. He wouldn’t have kept them when he had nothing and could sell them.” He wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “The hitman was hired, Natalia. Someone wanted my wife dead.”
Hearing it in such certain terms, I touched the base of my neck. At the time, Costa Cruz had been a feared drug lord. It would’ve been no small thing to hire a hit on a family like ours. I only knew of one other cartel who’d tried that, and the de la Rosas no longer existed, considering the leaders were dead. There was something as sinister about that as there was Cristiano killing the woman who’d acted as a second mother to him. “Hired by who?”
He massaged his temples with one hand. “A rival cartel, apparently.”
“But why? Who? And how did the man get in? How would he have disabled the—”
“Slow down, Tali.” He shut his eyes and took a breath. “Your old man can’t drink like he used to. I have a hell of a hangover.”
I went to a junk drawer, found painkillers, and tossed him the bottle. “Which cartel?”
“They’re no longer in existence.” He fiddled with the childproof cap until it popped open. “I’d deal with them if I could, but they’ve disbanded already.”
“How convenient you can’t confirm Cristiano’s story.” I got him a water bottle from the fridge. “It could be an elaborate scheme.”