So this was the work of Belmonte-Ruiz. “What about their truce with—” I stopped before I could say us. I needed to use language to my advantage, too, and separate my interests from Cristiano’s. “With Cristiano and his cartel?”
“A ploy to buy us time while we got things in place.”
“What things?” I asked.
Diego pushed up the sleeves of his black Henley. I’d told him on many occasions how strong and sexy he looked in the ribbed, long-sleeved shirt. Had he worn to remind me of that, the same way he carefully chose his words?
“It’s complicated,” he said, “and not anything you need to worry about. Just cooperate, and you’ll be fine.”
Don’t worry. Diego’s mantra when it came to me. Diego asked for my trust in him, which meant he believed I was still foolish enough to give it. And why shouldn’t he? He couldn’t know the woman I was now. How I’d grown. The depth of love I possessed for my husband, and the lengths I’d go to to get home to him.
Was he safe?
The road had smoothed, but my nausea returned.
Had they ambushed him, too? God. Let him be safe.
I put my face between my knees as I had the urge to vomit.
“Is it morning sickness?” Diego asked.
My heart plummeted to my feet. Blood drained from my face as I stared at the muddy floor of the van. My red toenail polish, too happy for the moment, burned my irises. There was no possible way he could know I was pregnant. I hadn’t even known until this morning, and my stomach was nothing but abs after the workouts Cristiano had put me through.
I raised my head. “What?”
“I saw the sonogram in your purse.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, princesa. To think of Cristiano’s hands on you . . . it kills me. The things you must’ve endured with him.”
As he spoke, a red film covered my eyes. If Diego knew I was pregnant, he could—would—use that against me. Against Cristiano.
Fucking bastard.
Diego thought I endured Cristiano’s sexual advances instead of welcomed them. He assumed the pregnancy was against my will when it was the happiest news of my life.
It wasn’t the truth that mattered, though, but what Diego believed.
I suddenly understood all too well the position Cristiano had been in since our wedding day. Those who knew your weakness could exploit it. That was why, early on, he’d let the world think our marriage was only for show.
It was why I couldn’t let Diego know I’d do anything possible to save my baby.
I resisted the urge to pull my knees to my chest and sat up instead. “I didn’t ask for it,” I said simply. “The baby. The world doesn’t need more of someone like Cristiano.”
Diego tilted his head at me. “You don’t want it?”
A pit formed in my stomach. On Our Lady of Guadalupe, I wouldn’t wish away my child. I couldn’t. But as Cristiano had taught me, it could be the best way to protect it.
I glanced at the ground, shaking my head. “No.”
“No?” he prompted. “No what?”
“I . . . I don’t want the baby.”
Diego quieted. My stomach churned even more for the lie as it settled between us. I felt sick. How could I say it?
After a few moments, he replied, “You’re lying.”
My eyes fell shut. He was calling me a liar? “It’s the truth,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing even to my own ears.
He shook his head slowly. “You forget how well I can read you. You want the baby. I have to assume you want Cristiano, too, then—which is a problem for us.”
I gripped the edge of the seat.
I didn’t want to cooperate or comply. Or malign or dismiss the most important man in my life. To pretend as if Diego hadn’t betrayed me in the worst possible ways.
I bit my bottom lip until it smarted. I had to hold my tongue. Information was power, and I needed to withhold it as much as I needed to get it. I couldn’t reveal that I knew his crimes, his scheming, the mask he hid behind, the fact that he’d . . . he’d . . . unlocked the tunnel and as a result, my mother had—fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him.
“I can see you’re upset, Tali. Tell me what’s running through your mind—the truth, though. No more lying.”
“Yes, I want the baby,” I admitted. “I thought you’d think I was a traitor if I admitted it. It doesn’t mean I care about Cristiano—”
“Another lie.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit here and pretend he hadn’t done this, or that I would betray Cristiano. I’d been innocent and naïve with Diego my whole life, and where had it gotten me? Here. For months, I’d lamented that I’d never gotten to hear Diego confess. I’d been given a second chance to face the man who was, in my eyes, my mother’s true murderer.