Devious Lies (Jersey Bad Boys #2)

Prologue-Mia/Maria

PROLOGUE-MIA/MARIA

S ix years ago…

I smile as I join my mom in the kitchen. It smells delicious in here.

Like pozole rojo , and my mouth is watering.

It’s my favorite soup, and she always makes it when I come home from school.

This break is longer because it’s the end of the first semester and I’ll be home through Christmas all the way through the Epiphany, and another week and a half after that.

In fact, I don’t go back until January 17 th .

“Mia! You snuck up on me,” Mom says, and clutches her hand to her chest before turning to embrace me.

“Mami, I missed you,” I tell her as I hug her back.

“I’m so glad you’re home. Did you bring any laundry?”

I snort.

Of course, I did.

It’s my fourth year at Monmouth University and though I’m still in New Jersey, the drive to Union City from campus is too long to commute. I walk to the small laundry room just off the kitchen in our tiny two-story house.

My father makes good money, and we’re one of the few homeowners on our street. The others just rent.

I’m not sure what he does, but I know he works for the Sanchez family. Technically, we aren’t related, but my dad and the head of their family come from the same small town in Mexico, so I grew up thinking they’re our cousins.

Papi is a good man, regardless of what he does. He loves my mother and me and treats us with respect and kindness.

I’m lucky to have both my parents. Not a lot of girls I know from the neighborhood can say the same.

He is protective, though. He didn’t want me to dorm, but he relented after I received a scholarship. I’ll be the first one in my family to get a college degree, and my father’s pride in me outweighs his overprotective fatherly instincts.

I’m studying English literature and having an excellent time doing it. I know it’s not the kind of major that will make me a lot of money, but I don’t know what I want to do yet.

Plus, I like reading.

“So, how are things?” Mami continues the conversation.

“Good,” I tell her, and then I go on to chat about my roommate and finals.

After a little while, I help Mami cook. I’ve always loved helping in the kitchen since I was a kid.

I slice the radishes and limes, mincing cilantro and prepping all the toppings for the pozole rojo . She has a pot with homemade tamales simmering on the stove and I can smell pork roasting in the oven.

Dinner is going to be fantastic, and I can’t wait. My mother isn’t Mexican, but she learned to cook like a local for my father.

She’s half Puerto Rican and half Italian and Irish. I suppose that makes me some kind of mutt, but that’s New Jersey. Lots of immigrants have rolled through the Garden State over the last two hundred years and I’m proud of what I am.

I love having multiple ethnicities in my background. I was born Mia Alejandra Maria Lopez. It’s a mouthful, but whatever. My father is Emiliano Lopez. My mother’s name is Celia.

Papi works for Enrico Sanchez.

Why is that important?

It’s important because my father is a soldier for the Sanchez cartel. More than that. He is a general, running his own battalion of soldiers, and his position is essential to the businessman’s illegal empire.

Enrico Sanchez’s reputation precedes him, though I only became aware of it recently.

I don’t judge. The world is complicated and I don’t understand it well enough to make assumptions.

I am very self aware for a woman my age and I know I can’t begin to understand, and I should probably be scared of what it is my father does.

But I’m not.

I’m proud of my family.

Being at home is wonderful. I feel safe. Loved. And I can’t wait for the holidays.

Okay, there’s another reason I’m excited to have the next few weeks off from school.

I can’t wait to see him .

I’ve met my father’s boss on a handful of occasions. Most recently, when I came home from school to celebrate el Día de los Muertos a few weeks ago.

But he isn’t who I want to see. It’s his son.

Enrico Sanchez has three sons, but that celebration was the first time I actually met them.

The oldest, Junior, scares the hell out of me. Matteo is the middle one. He’s hardly any better than Junior. But Carmine, the youngest, is an absolute dream.

The party was a lot of fun. And I had a great time.

The Sanchez villa is located on a private cul de sac in Montclair. Far away from where he conducts his business.

When I close my eyes, I can see the decorations and I smile. Thousands of candles, flowers, and ofrendas were set up.

Ofrendas are altars. Legend says they help guide the souls of the departed back to their families for this one night. This is my favorite part of my Mexican heritage.

That night, I felt like I was walking in a dream. There was food, music, and costumes. Most of all, there was magic. At least, that was how I felt when Carmine asked me to dance.

We’ve been texting, and I have to admit I like where it’s going.

“Mia, where is your head? Don’t you hear the front door?” Mami says, interrupting my reverie.

I feel my cheeks burn as I go to answer the door. But I couldn’t have known what I would find on the other side.

Papi comes rushing in and he’s got someone in his arms. More men follow and they’re all shouting in Spanish.

I don’t speak Spanish. Just a few words, clips, and phrases.

I gasp and step back.

“Mia, towels, quick!” Papi yells at me as he lays his burden on the couch.

That’s when my stomach drops out.

It’s Carmine. And he’s been shot.

“No!” I sob and cover my mouth.

“Get a fucking towel, Bitch!”

Someone shoves me, and I turn and see Matteo.

He’s bloody and bruised, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from staring at my tits.

I back up.

“Hey! That’s my daughter,” Papi snarls.

I don’t want them to fight, so I rush to do as he asks. Mami is by his side, and she looks scared and frantic.

There’s so much blood, and between the cursing and shouting, I can hardly hear myself think.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I hear words like trap , set up , and went bad . It’s enough for me to know something horrible happened.

“M-Mia,” Carmine stutters my name and blood dribbles down his chin. He’s gurgling and trying to reach for me, but I’m scared, frozen against the wall.

By the time the sun sets on Carmine, it’s dark outside. I feel hollow. Empty.

Maybe it’s shock.

I mean, the man I’d only kissed twice, who I only just started talking to really, is lying dead on my couch.

Sanchez sends a cleaner crew to come collect his dead son and the others who’ve been injured. They’ve been holed up in my parents’ bedroom.

I don’t miss the side-eye Junior gives my father. Or the leer Matteo directs at me when they leave.

I feel scared. And dirty.

My mother is scrubbing frantically at the ruined sofa, and my father pulls her away from her futile task. She sobs and he hugs her to his chest.

I’ve never seen fear in my father’s eyes before, but I see it now. And it’s gutting me.

“Papi?”

“Hush, mija . It will be alright.”