I spread my hand on Cristiano’s back to see if I could get him to relax. “It does to me,” I said gently.
After a pause, Cristiano’s shoulders eased. “Given he’s family, I’ll extend Costa the courtesy of going to him.” He raised his chin. “You going to tell me how you got in here?”
“It could’ve been an inside job.” Barto’s mouth twitched, as if resisting a smile. “Do you trust your team?”
“With my life. I know you didn’t have help from in here.”
“Maybe I did.” I’d never known stoic, dependable Barto for an antagonist, yet he clearly enjoyed having caught Cristiano off guard. “Or maybe I bypassed all your security measures, your walls, your guards, your team, all on my own.”
“Then I’d suggest you come work for me,” Cristiano said. “If I trusted you wouldn’t knife me in the back.”
“Then you have more sense than I thought,” Barto said, and to me, “Go on and change, Natalia.”
“You don’t tell my wife what to do. You’re lucky to be standing here after you broke into my bedroom. Any man who steals a look at my wife in her nightgown should enjoy the view. It’ll be the only thing to comfort him on his way to hell.”
Barto’s lip curled, but he didn’t move. “I’ve seen her in her pajamas more times than you ever will.”
Cristiano stepped forward. I grabbed the back of his shirt as he looked Barto in the eye. “There will be no second warnings. Next time you enter my home, you’re dead.”
Barto’s eyes shifted to mine. The determination in them both comforted and concerned me. Was it that he believed Papá would get me out of this? Or that he couldn’t? Was Barto just reassuring me he’d never give up?
Cristiano and my father were each bullheaded—neither would back down until he got what he wanted. The question was whether Cristiano wanted me in this life as much as my father wanted to keep me out of it.
And whether what I wanted mattered to either of them at all—or if it ever had.
Cristiano let me tug him back. “Get dressed,” he said under his breath. “Be quick.”
I ducked back into the closet, where Jaz already had an outfit ready. “He should’ve killed him on first sight,” she muttered, holding out a pair of lightweight jeans. “I don’t know why he didn’t.”
“They trust each other, despite how it looks,” I said as I drew my nightgown over my head. Neither man would’ve lowered his weapons and left himself vulnerable in the presence of a true threat. Jazmín, for instance, didn’t know Barto at all, and if the way she kept a gun in one hand was any indication, she was prepared to send him to the grave before she ever gave him a chance to officially meet her.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“He works for my father. He and Cristiano used to run security together. Barto has never forgiven himself for my mother’s death,” I explained quietly, “even though he wasn’t even in town at the time.” I hooked myself into my bra. “He won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Cristiano, you mean,” she said, frowning. “He won’t let anything happen to you.”
Right. Jaz was living in denial if she thought he was the hero here.
As I stepped into the jeans, she took a few steps toward me. “If this is some kind of trap . . . you won’t get away with it. I promise you that.”
I froze, staring at her. “If what’s a trap?”
“You. Here. The marriage. All of this.”
“I’m the one who’s trapped.” I balked at her. “Why can’t you see that? I’m the victim, just like you.”
“I’m no victim.” She tilted her head at me. “You expect me to believe you’re innocent? He’s been acting different ever since we heard about the abrupt wedding. You think you can sit on his lap or touch his back, and he’ll do whatever you say? I see what you’re doing—using sex to get your way.”
I blinked at her, racking my brain. “What are you talking about?”
“You can control a man with your mouth, but not by telling him what to do. Cristiano caves because he wants to believe he’s found what he’s looking for in you. I know better. I know all the tricks, puta. I had to learn them to survive.”
My eyes widened. Tricks? Me? The accusation caught me off guard until the truth hit me—she was right. Cristiano showed me a different side when we were alone. And he had heeled just now when he’d agreed to go to my father’s. More than once the night before, too, he’d been reduced to basic needs and desires I knew I could fill.
The pieces I’d been collecting fell into place. I hadn’t purposely tricked Cristiano into anything. But I was more powerful than I’d realized.