He slapped his hand over my mouth just as the front door slammed downstairs. “Fuck,” Cristiano said. “Tell them I didn’t do this, Diego, or they’ll kill me on the spot.”
“Release Natalia,” Diego begged. “Please. Try to remember who you were before all of this—you wouldn’t have hurt an innocent girl.”
Cristiano started left then shifted to go right, as if trapped. Finally, he released my mouth but kept me against him like a shield as he one-handedly wrestled the White Monarch from my grip.
He was going to kill Diego next.
Diego.
The boy who’d not only watched me grow up, but had protected me like an older brother. Who’d never treated me like a little girl despite a seven-year age difference. Who brought me stinky marigolds when I was sad and never complained that we could only ride our horses up to and along the fence Papá had built to keep me in, even though Diego could go anywhere he wanted.
Diego’s eyes widened as Cristiano got the gun from me. It would devastate Diego to kill his own brother, but for Cristiano to shoot Diego, it would mean nothing. Cristiano took lives all the time.
“You’re caught, brother,” Diego said. His nostrils flared as his anger finally seemed to override his confusion. “Don’t make this worse than it is. Put her down and face them.”
Boots pounded up the staircase with a chorus of shouting men. Cristiano carried me toward the door, his back to the wall, eyes on Diego. He switched the gun to his other hand to lock the door.
In that split second, Diego lunged forward.
Cristiano whipped around and pulled the trigger.
I screamed when the shot rang through the air, covering my ears as I hit the ground. Diego crumpled, clutching his bloodied thigh.
Men pounded at the bullet-resistant door Papá had specially installed. Fists hammered the wood, followed by what sounded like the butts of their rifles.
Cristiano picked up Diego’s gun, stuck it in his waistband, and leveled the White Monarch on his brother’s writhing body. “You left me no choice. Loyalty is king around here, but look how quickly it’s broken.”
“Don’t shoot—I know a way out,” I exclaimed through my sobs. Cristiano towered over me, looking like the Grim Reaper himself. “I can help you escape,” I said.
Cristiano stilled. “It’s not possible.”
“I know a secret way.” My voice shook. I wasn’t helping my mother’s killer, I told myself, but protecting Diego and me.
“Natalia, no,” Diego said, huffing as he made an effort to sit up. “He—he has to pay for this.”
“Where is it?” Cristiano asked.
Diego was getting unnaturally pale as if he might pass out any second. I got to my feet and started to go to him, but Cristiano grabbed my arm and yanked me back against his hip. “They’ll get in before he dies. Show me the way out.”
Diego groaned and closed his eyes, and I inhaled a quick, stuttering breath to keep my panic at bay. “The c-closet,” I managed.
Cristiano marched me back across the room and into my old nursery. Once I’d outgrown the space, my mother had converted it into a sizeable walk-in closet that held much more than just clothing. There were walls of shoes, purses, drawers, and mirrors, as well as an island in the center for her costume jewelry and Papá’s ties.
Cristiano took a chair from my mother’s vanity dresser, wedged it under the closet’s door handle, and turned to look at me. “Now what?”
I couldn’t think. There was a bullet in my mother’s stomach and one in my best friend’s leg. My bloodied skirt stuck to my knees. I was going to be sick. “The . . . the dresses.”
Cristiano walked to me. He put the chilled metal barrel of the gun under my chin and tilted back my head to get me to look him in the eye. “If they get in here before I get out, I can’t promise we’ll both make it out alive. Show me the escape, or tell your father I didn’t do this. Those are your options.”
I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t even breathe. I’d never been so sure I would die if I made one wrong move. I shook my head hard. “I won’t lie for you.”
“Look what loyalty got me, Natalia.” He raised the gun higher and I glanced down the barrel. The silver nearly sparkled under the closet’s lamp. “Whether I did or didn’t do this, I’m dead. If they don’t get me here, they’ll hunt me down. That isn’t loyalty, and there is no justice.”
“Loyalty?” I was shaking now, but there was no quiver in Cristiano’s voice, no tremble in his hand. “You killed my mother. Why? She cared about you—she treated you like a son.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as we stared at each other. “Show me the way out,” he commanded.