And Diego had let him—or had he not seen well enough the liberties Cristiano had taken with my body? “Cristiano said next time he frisks me, he won’t stop his hands at the gates of heaven, even if you’re watching.”
“Heaven?” Diego’s nostrils flared as he hit the steering wheel. “Let him try. I’ll cut off his devil hands.” He snorted not unlike a Pamplona bull. “Not that you’ll ever be in that position again.”
I wasn’t sure what aroused me more—Diego’s possessiveness or the idea of Cristiano boldly taking what didn’t belong to him. I only knew that what aroused me, also horrified me. What was wrong with me for getting excited Cristiano might want me when his brother already had me? The same Cristiano who, the last decade, I’d vehemently hated? I shifted in the leather seat. “He only said it to scare me,” I said. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“I know. Still . . . I should knock his teeth out.” Diego massaged around his nose. “It wasn’t easy to watch. He knows you’re mine and that you’re the quickest way to get under my skin.”
“He only thinks of me as a weapon against you.” And if anyone knew how to wield a weapon, it was Cristiano. “I’m sorry I didn’t get more information.”
“You were perfect.” He glanced over at me, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “Cristiano didn’t scare you, did he?”
He’d tried. But had he succeeded? With his comments about Natasha and about how he could have me if he wanted, what unnerved me most was that I wasn’t scared. “No.”
A dog darted into the street. Diego hit the brakes, and I outstretched my arms to catch myself against the glove compartment.
“Shit. Sorry,” he said as he decelerated for a yellow light. “You all right?”
I glanced behind us for the dog, but it was gone. “Yes.”
Diego stopped the car at an intersection and slid his hand in mine. “You look so beautiful tonight. I can’t say I blame him for being so forward. As angry as it makes me, I feel lucky to be the one who gets to take you home.”
“Always,” I said.
“It’s good you didn’t go anywhere with him.” Diego’s phone rang. He released my hand to get it from his pocket as he reiterated, “I would’ve beaten him half to death if he’d tried to get you alone.” He swiped his thumb across the screen and held it to his ear. “Bueno.”
As Diego listened to the line, I turned my head toward the faint strains of buoyant violin and guitarrón coming from a corner market. Mariachi music didn’t always remind me of the moments before I’d skipped down the hall to hurry my mother for the parade, but in that moment, I saw Cristiano standing in the bedroom, dressed in all black, rising from the ashes. Out front of the mercado, a few men smoked, drank, and blared a boombox. Despite opaque, bulletproof windows, I got a chill when one of the men opened his jacket and flashed a gun in our direction. I’d never liked riding around in showy cars when poverty permeated our state.
“I’m not far, but I have Natalia,” Diego said into the phone. “I’ll drop her off and come.” The stoplight changed to green, but he didn’t move. “No. I want everyone on site.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Some issue at the fucking warehouse,” he whispered to me. He paused, listening. “No, don’t send one of them. I don’t trust them around Natalia. Can you break into it?” He snorted. “Claro que no. I’ll be there in an hour. Just move on to something else until I’m back.” He hung up, dropped the phone into a cup holder, and stepped on the gas.
“Is that the warehouse with all the Maldonados’ stock?” I asked.
“Sí. We moved it all to one spot since none of our regular houses are safe right now. Then it’s all going al otro lado—into the U.S.—at once.” He rested an elbow on the door panel and bit his thumbnail, steering with one hand. “Every call I get, I worry something else has gone wrong.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Jojo. We transported everything to the new location in armored vehicles,” he said. “I have the only set of keys to the truck they need to get into right now—and of course, it’s impenetrable, so they can’t break in, puta madre.”
I glanced through the windshield. “You said we’re close?”
“We just passed the turnoff.”
“When does everything need to go?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He shook his head out the window. “They’re loading everything tonight.”
I reached over to knead the back of his neck with one hand. “Go to the warehouse. Drop off the keys.”
He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Isn’t everyone in the cartel there guarding it?” I argued.
“Not everyone. In case the hits were due to a leak—which I don’t believe—I only have my most trustworthy men there.”