You’d think I’d be used to having yet another pair of eyes on me, having grown up with guards all around, but Zane is different. I’m always aware of his presence. Looming, just out of my peripheral.
We don’t get to say a lot to each other the first week. Too many people around. My father has taken to conducting his business in the same room as me, sending important emails and making urgent phone calls within arm’s reach. He’s tense. More than usual, but I have no idea why. Probably something to do with cartel business, but it’s not like he’s going to trust me with any of that info.
We’re in the sitting room downstairs today. I know it’s only three floors down, but the change of scenery is a breath of fresh air to me. I was starting to worry I’d go crazy, locked up in my room forever. While my father angrily yells at someone in rapid-fire Spanish, I sit there quietly with my needlework—because my father apparently thinks we live in the 18th century—my mind busy cooking up schemes.
I might have been caught, but I’m nowhere close to admitting defeat. I admit to my depression and sense of hopelessness before, but now that Zane is here, a small spark of hope burns softly in my chest. I have a chance—slim as it may be—of getting out of here alive. With his resources and my determination, freedom could very well be around the corner. For now, I bide my time.
“We can’t spare any more men,” my father hisses into his phone’s receiver. “Esteban, you know I’d follow you to hell and back, but an all-out war with Marrones?”
My ears burn, but I do my best not to react. A war with the Marrones? Interesting…
My father rarely discusses the business side of cartel life in front of me, but I’ve known about the Marrones Family since I was a little girl. In many ways, they were my version of the boogeyman. My father used to warn me that if I ever misbehaved, the Marrones would come in the middle of the night to take me away and hold me for ransom. Sometimes he would threaten to not pay for my safe return.
The Becerra and Marrones Cartels have been at each other’s throats for decades, their feud going back well before I was even born. They’ve been fighting for control over most of South America and Mexico, and only recently managed to get a foothold in the States. From what I’ve been able to gather, their histories have often been bloody ones. They’ve managed to find a temporary peace but judging by the pulsing vein in my father’s temple, things might be taking a turn for the worse.
“Look, Esteban, I understand they took that territory from your grandfather, but is now really the best time? No, I—I don’t need to smoke weed,cabrón!”
I hold back a snicker, keeping my eyes on the flower I’m attempting to embroider. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane shift his weight slightly. He’s so still I sometimes forget he’s there to begin with. He’s a fly on the wall, no doubt listening with as much interest as I am.
My father rises from his seat with a huff, phone pressed so hard to his ear I’m convinced he might leave a print of the screen on his cheek. “I will see what I can do,” he says. With a free hand, he snaps his fingers at Zane before promptly pointing at me: a silent signal to keep an eye on me—not that Zane needs to be reminded. My father leaves the room, grumbling under his breath as Esteban no doubt talks his ear off.
Now it’s just him and me.
“That’s very pretty,” he says to me.
I roll my eyes. “Really? Every time I look at it, I want to poke my eyes out with my needle.”
“Please don’t,” Zane replies lightly. “I wouldn’t be able to look at those beautiful baby blues of yours.”
I smirk at him. “Seriously? The first thing you’ve been able to say to me all week and it’s a cheesy pickup line?”
He shrugs. “I considered walking over there to kiss you instead, but, you know. The cameras.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, my heart skipping when he takes a single step closer. I’ve been fixating on the smell of his cologne, soothed by the memories we shared together. When Zane takes another step closer, I have to fight the urge to go to him. It’s been hard, having him so close but being unable to do anything about it.
I think about his lips on mine. I want to kiss him, too. I feel very much like a child outside a candy shop, allowed to look but never indulge. Security is still too tight to risk a casual glance his way. It’s almost painful not being able to touch him. My skin is feverish and sensitive, the heat between my legs undeniable.
But I cannot have him. Not without consequence.
“Do you think this could be a lead for us?” I ask. “This war.”
“Possibly,” he says under his breath. He takes another step forward, standing just to the right of my chair. “I’ll have Heath look into it some more. It might be the perfect distraction to keep both Arturo and Esteban’s attention off you.”
“Hooray,” I mumble dryly.
Another step forward. Now he’s standing just behind me, his gaze warm on the back of my neck. “Patience, Willow,” he murmurs. “It’s only a matter of time.”
I feel the weight of something solid slide onto my lap. When I look down, I’m surprised to find a small hardcover book.
“What’s this?” I whisper, my breath hitching. Zane’s soclose.
“You said you like Shakespeare.”
I trace my fingers over the cover, admiring the golden lettering and the soft leather. It’s a collection of Shakespeare’s poems. A giddy warmth blooms in my chest. It’s such a simple gift, yet it means the world to me. I’m quick to hide it in my waistband, afraid my father might confiscate it if he finds out.
“Make sure to read page fifty-one,” Zane says.
I give him a curious look. “Picked out a favorite sonnet, did you?”