“Hey... Tommy.” Matheus prods my shoulder blade. “Who’s the woman who cracked your glitch? I heard you were going to fuck her in front of Dré until mama interrupted the show.”
Fuck…
23
CARINA
I pick an ivory covered seat at the farthest corner of the marquee, next to yo-yoing ferns and an older lady who stinks of flowery perfume. It stings my eyes and sticks in my throat.
Rainbow kissed parrots take position in the towering treetops. A sweetened breeze carrying an earthiness of the nearby jungle and a far off rumble of hungry predators reminds me of the danger I’m in.
For the short space of time I've been with Tomás, I’m almost certain he wouldn’t kill me, and if he did, then my instincts would be the real traitors. As for the sea of heads that bob before me, any of them could turn a gun on me. That, I fully understand.
Tomás faces the assembled crowd, standing next to a jumbo portrait of his father, surrounded by a landscape of never-ending hills, and far-reaching gray sky. My stomach flips at the sight of him. He is the epitome of dark and dangerous, his soul dripping in sin.
Standing straight with broad shoulders drawn back, his posture depicts the stature of a man who knows no boundaries. I stare at him without shame. How could I not?
The guy lures me into his cocoon, wraps me in silk, and gives me colorful wings to fly. Just thinking about his teeth latching onto my nipples is enough to make me squirm in a puddle of desire.
Behind the expensive three-piece suit, a flawless body waits to be worshiped. Tanned skin and hard muscles, curves and dips where my tongue freely explored.
He tortured me with his restraint and gave me a glimpse into his disturbing fantasies. Oddly, now I know what makes his pulse skip and it doesn’t repel me, not when his husky commands whisper through me with out of control shivers.
I sit here, not feeling any emotion for the dearly departed other than utter relief. Apparently, I’m not the only savage with a heart carved from ice. When I scan the unknown guests, not a single tear is counted.
Tomás kisses his mother below her oversized sunglasses and opens the ceremony with a speech about Elias’ passion and drive to succeed. No heartfelt, fond stories about the father who raised him, or cherished memories of a doting parent who quite literally gave him the world.
When he finishes, three similar looking men take the stage in turn. Men who I now know to be his brothers.
I recognize André with his rebellious hairstyle and unshaven face. Where his brothers fill well-cut suits, he wears slim slacks and a tight black shirt; the sleeves rolled to the elbows to reveal inked skin and black leather bracelets. He speaks of a father who demanded the best from his sons, followed by a casually raised tumbler filled with amber liquid and a simple toast stating Elias would finally rest in peace.
The following guy to his right is introduced as Giovanni. He’s neater in appearance, his cultured baritone smooth with the right amount of grit. Remarkable green eyes stand out, a contrast to the darkness I’ve seen in his brother's gaze. Giovanni is more lean than muscular, yet he fills out his charcoal suit as if it was sewn by a goddess for her secret lover.
Out of all the brothers, Giovanni and André look almost identical, from their sharp noses to the shape of their mouths. But their personalities seem to be miles apart.
The final brother, Matheus, doesn’t say too much either. His accent is refined and the flash of a cheeky dimple incredibly sexy. I get the feeling he’s the youngest, even though he matches them in height and dominant stature. That his life had been more sheltered than the others. And maybe he’s not a cold-blooded murderer—yet.
Had I gone to college and met Matheus Souza on campus, perhaps I’d be lured by his well-groomed charm—until he would introduce me to his eldest brother. Then, without falter, I’d drop everything for Tomás.
There’s no denying it. Fate created Tomás Souza from the darkest vault in my mind, molding his entity from glorious flesh and strong bone, giving him veins of liquid nitrogen, and a heart of stone. He speaks of violence and carries a gun wherever he goes. Yet those large hands offer me sexual nirvana. His voice guides the way and his lips—they offer an escape.
This sickly sensation isn’t just a girl craving her first forbidden crush. It’s a molecular fascination. None of those other men spark wild flutters within me like Tomás does. Especially when his serious gaze spears me in place from across the marquee.
Long ebony lashes frame laser focused eyes. They purposefully hold me hostage during every word spoken, and when he stands in silence, his jaw clenches as if he’s fighting unruly urges, too.
After Elias’ sons rip up the serenity of his abundant estate with a barrage of bullets, Tomás and his brothers wheel the grossly ornate casket into a creepy natural tunnel shrouded by shape shifting shadows, hedged by thick foliage, and lit by flaming torches.
Once they disappear from sight, we’re ushered inside the main house. Now I’m standing in a grand room where a full roasted pig sits in pride of place on a garnished platter. Trays teeming with petite caviar canapes are carried by well-presented serving staff.
The decor is cream and gold with four glitzy pendant chandeliers sprinkling rainbow shards over mingling guests, each of them oblivious to my predicament. How my silly heart beats faster for the monster they would soon crown king of their underworld.
Leafy plants sprout from tall planters, and champagne flutes are continuously refilled. An undercurrent of laughter echoes around the room where sadness should live.
When I walk to find the decadent Italian styled washroom, a man wearing an electronic earpiece is waiting outside the door when I reappear. I would find it daunting if there weren't smartly dressed clones, just like him, dotted throughout the mansion.
“Hey, kid,” a familiar Irish accent skims over the haunting melody of a solo pianist, each note drifting to the high ceiling. “Glad to see you’re staying out of trouble.” Shane strolls to my side, his whiskey glass filled with a healthy measure.
“Trouble.” I side eye him. “I’m bored stiff.”