Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

22. Ariella

Chapter 22

Ariella

Before I am forced to marry or die (whichever comes first) bucket list.

Fill an entire class up.

Read a book.

Go to the fair and eat a funnel cake.

Go Skinny Dipping. (Then get your throat fucked by your hot bodyguard right after.) It wasn’t on my bingo card, but I’m not complaining. I draw a heart around the four.

Kiss a stranger.

Meet Pedro Pascual

Get over my fear of heights.

Figure out how to use that orange vibrator Thalia got me.

Lose my virginity.

Fall in Love.

I slept most of the night cuddled up against Nero before Guapo walked in and started barking. Nero and I woke up and started our morning routine. He still scowls when I begin my “Morning Besties” post for my social media, but I stopped publicly showing his face in my videos.

This had more to do with the millions of Booktok girlies flooding my TikTok comments than the fact that Tonio has Tea outed our relationship .

Working out with Nero has proven to be more of a distraction than anything. This past month, I started to notice all the small and subtle changes to his body. There was more muscle definition in areas where I knew my eyes shouldn’t wander. Over the fullness of his chest and the deep v-cut abs disappearing into his waistline.

He doesn’t dump my smoothies down the drain anymore. The protein intake is evident when he removes his shirt. Very evident when sweat falls from his hard chest, over his hard brown nipples, and down past the large ink on his stomach.

I finally got a closer look at the words last night. Dulce Periculum. Danger is sweet . And God, was it so sweet.

Like the feel of him brutally taking my throat. His moans of pleasure made me feel powerful. A high I was still chasing.

I was still struggling to digest his words from last night.

What we’re doing here is a much-needed distraction for both of us .

The problem is that I didn’t see him as a distraction. I wasn’t sure of an exact title to give him, but distraction was not on that list.

“Ready?” Nero says, eyeing the clock in the gym.

“Chill, Bruh. I got one more set.” I say, finishing up my last set of bicep curls before setting the dumbells down on the weight rack.

Nero’s look of disgust when I turn around makes me laugh.

“I’m not your Bruh.” He says.

“Sorry, what would you like me to call you?” I say, grabbing my gym bag and following him out the door.

He waits till we’re in the elevator before grabbing me and pressing his lips against mine. Biting my lips savagely as, he pushes himself into me against the wall of the elevator. Every time he kisses me, it knocks the wind out of me. I cry out when he releases me.

“I’m sure you can come up with something more endearing than ‘Bruh,’” he says.

“What about Valiente?” I laugh.

“Try harder.”

I purse my lips out to think. I never gave anyone a pet name before, so I wasn’t sure how this went. He had an array of names for me, and I was struggling to find one for him.

“Is it that big of a deal?” I ask, staring at his fallen face. “Are you really pouting over a nickname?”

He rolls his eyes. I walk to him and stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. I cup his face in my palm.

“Ya mi bebé.” I coo, and his lips twitch, fighting to let his smile break through.

That’s enough for me. I knew the light in his eyes when something pleased him. Nero loves to play this dominant man in the bedroom, but the man is a sucker for my romancing ways.

What can I say? I’m a lover girl at my core.

The elevator doors open, and we return to our friendly mannerisms. He walks ahead of me, and I walk cluelessly behind him. When we reach the penthouse door, a man is waiting outside with a bouquet of red roses, a gift box, and a garment bag in his hand.

“Good Morning, Miss Reyes. These are from Councilman Cuevas. For tomorrow night, I need you to sign here.”

I grab the clipboard and sign my name. Nero has already made his way into the penthouse. Guapo barks at me to let him down. When I enter the penthouse, Nero is already in the shower.

I take the items to my room. Roses were not my thing. Unless they were pink, but even then, I would only tolerate them. Carnations were overlooked, but I vowed them as the superior flower. Roses withered quickly, but Carnations endured for weeks.

I set the vase on my end table and open the attached card.

Ariella,

I apologize for not reaching out sooner. My workdays often consume my time, but I am eager for us to meet and begin a life together. I hope you do not mind me taking the liberty to find you a dress for tomorrow’s event.

I look forward to meeting you.

Con Carino,

Preston

I hang the garment bag up and take out the dress. It’s absolutely not stunning. I stand there in horror at the maroon evening gown.

Obviously, I preferred pink, but I wasn’t completely opposed to other colors. I also liked white, black, and floral prints, and I could do a maroon. Maybe . But this looked like a mother-of-the-bride kind of dress. My mother wouldn’t be caught dead in this.

I turn it around thinking maybe it was backless. No.

A slit, maybe? Also no.

“That’s the most hideous dress I’ve ever seen,” the dark voice says from behind me.

I turn to see Nero holding Guapo. He makes no effort to hide his repulsion.

“Ya. I mean, it was a nice gesture.” I falter, unsure what to make of the dress.

Nero’s brows pull close, creating a deep crease in his forehead.

“You’re not really going to fucking wear that, are you?” he questions me, taking another harrowing look at the dress.

Something about his tone is unnerving. The same man who keeps reminding me that I’m getting married and that this whole thing is a distraction for him should not be as upset as he is.

“I didn’t know you were so worried about what I wore now.” I walk toward him and grab Guapo before walking past him back to the kitchen.

“Ari!” he calls after me, and I ignore him.

“Really, you’re mad at me? I’m not the one buying you a dress that looks like it escaped a Mormon cult,” he continues while following me into the kitchen.

I let out a sigh while I open Guapo’s cat food and set it in the bowl.

“And what would you prefer I wear Nero? Leather chaps? You want me to dye my hair black? That’s your type, right?” I exclaim.

I knew better than to let Shawny’s words get to me, but I couldn’t help it. My insecurities were pulling me in every direction. I was always made to feel like being myself was either too much or not enough.

Why does it have to be so complicated? I just wanted people to accept me as I was, for my future husband to love me for me. But love was a rarity in my world. So, right now, I need to focus on performing whatever duties are expected of me, even if it means wearing this hideous dress.

Nero doesn’t say another word to me as he walks out the door. I feel this heavy weight emerging in the center of my chest. I am doing my best to push down the feelings and be an adult. Constantly remind myself that this is nothing more than sex.

I’m out here fighting feelings while he’s persistent about putting up walls. He constantly lets me know where we stand, that this is temporary, and he can’t love me. Blah, blah, blah.

Nero doesn’t have the right to be mad at me because I have duties to fulfill. He also doesn’t have the right to be jealous of Preston Cuevas for being a decent gentleman when I am a distraction.

I’m proud of myself for standing on big girl business, but I won’t lie. There’s this anticipation I feel when I hear the doorbell. I look out the peephole, and any excitement from thinking Nero has returned is washed away when I see Genesis standing outside the door.

My best friend stands there in baby blue plaid pants rolled above her van sneakers, a black tube top, and her short black nails clenched around her peace offering.

“I brought you some pan dulce,” she says with an awkward smile when I open the door.

“Are they vegan?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the bag in her hands playfully.

“No, Flaca, they were made with the tears of tortured animals, just like you like.”

I smile at her sarcasm and jump to embrace her. Genesis hates hugs, but that has never stopped me. She stands frozen while I squeeze her tightly before leading her back into the penthouse. I place the pan on the counter and move to make her green tea.

“Hola Hermoso. ?Cómo estás?” Genesis coos into Guapo, picking him up and snuggling him against her.

I lost focus on the task at hand, watching her like it had been years since the last time I saw her. Only it wasn’t years. The heaviness from our last encounter just made it feel like that. I set the cup of tea in front of her and her eyes soften.

“I missed you,” she says.

“I missed you too,” I reply.

Have you ever loved a broken person? I have loved Genesis through our collective trauma, through her silence, and her withdrawal. This wasn’t the first time she did this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Loving someone who struggles with mental health requires seeing them as a whole person, not just for tiny moments when they are overwhelmed by their problems. I have always enjoyed putting puzzles together because it requires a person to see small pieces as essential to the larger picture.

Genesis was a complicated puzzle for many people. But I saw the broken and fragmented parts of her. I never let those behaviors separate who I believed she was at her core.

The girl who lived to be in the sun, surrounded by flowers, with a sketchbook in one hand and an iced green matcha in the other. The girl who made me head bang to screamo music and made funny cartoon pictures to cheer me up when I was sad. I was not going to let those parts of her fade behind the shadows of her mental struggles.

“It’s happening again. I’m starting to see things.” She whispers.

I don’t need to ask who because we see the same person. The same ghost haunts both our dreams.

“I thought I saw him too, the other day,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

“I was in the restaurant when they started shooting. Nero grabbed me, and we ran through the lobby. I swear I saw him.” I push back the emotions threatening to come up my throat.

I had never told Genesis about my psychosis. Before Nero, I had never told anyone. Afraid they would lock me up like they did to her.

“What did he look like?” she asks.

It takes me a moment to recall the memory. Genesis is an artist, so she needs visual stimuli whenever I describe something. I think about the man I saw in the lobby, the one who looked past me and rushed to the restaurant.

“He looked younger than him,” I say, sucking in a breath at the last word before I continue. “Not exactly like him, but it was the eyes. The eyes were cold. Full of hate. Just like, ” I take a deep breath. And utter the name neither of us has ever said out loud. “Lucio Biondini”

The name of our capturer falls out of my mouth, leaving a bad taste in its place. I didn’t even know the man’s name until I Googled it years later to find the articles. He had been married to one of the most notorious Don’s daughters.

Not one article ever reported why he did what he did, never explained any motives other than it being another tragedy to come out of the war on drugs in the United States. Genesis’s hand shakes around the cup.

“I never told you what happened.” She says, her eyes pinned to the cup on the table.

“Gen, you don’t-”

“No. I just need to tell you this one thing.”

She pulls out her phone and begins typing and reading and typing again. She takes a deep breath before her hazel eyes find mine.

Her eyes look just like her father’s. They were neither green nor brown but something in between the two. There were flecks of yellow and gold specks that made them almost too strange to be beautiful, and yet they were. Just like her.

“That night, the night when Lucio took me upstairs. I knew he was going to hurt me. Not like he was hurting us in the basement, Ari. The pictures were the least of what he wanted from me.” I watch as she takes a drink from the cup, hiding the streams building behind her eyes.

“He forced me to take some kind of drug before stripping me naked. I was scared he was going to do something to you if I didn’t obey.” Her voice cracks, and I reach across the table to grab her hand. She holds it briefly before pulling away to catch the tears threatening to escape.

“I should have told you, but honestly, I wasn’t sure what happened next. The drugs in my system made it hard to tell what was real and what was a figment of my imagination. He said I had to pay for my mother’s sins.”

“What do you mean? He knew Raquel?” I ask, confused.

Raquel, Genesis’ mom, was a pill popper. She wasn’t exactly a good mother to Gen, but there’s no way in hell her dad would let her live if she had something to do with our kidnapping.

“I don’t know. I asked her once, and she said I was having another episode. I can’t always remember things clearly, and maybe he never said anything about my mother, but I know what I saw, Ari.”

“Did he hurt you?” I ask, treading lightly on the word hurt. Asking the question, I never had the strength to ask her before.

“No. He didn’t have a chance. Someone saved me that night.”

“Who?” I try to think if I can remember anyone else on that estate with us, but my mind is blank. Gen takes another drink of her tea, and her eyes lower.

“There was a boy there with us. He was older than us, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I heard him and Lucio arguing that night. At some point, the drugs took over, but when I woke up, I was fully clothed again. The boy was sitting on the bed watching me. His hands were covered in blood, and tears streamed down his cheeks.” The memory causes tears to stream down her cheek, and at that moment, I notice tears streaming down my face, too.

There’s this relief that nothing happened to her, but I can’t help but wonder if this is fabricated in some way. This could be a story she invented to cope with the trauma. If she had invented this, then I would listen. I would agree that I saw this boy even if I knew it would take her pain away.

“He hugged me.” She continues, her brows furrowed tight together. “You know what I never forget? That hug. It’s like even though I had just met him somehow, I had known him my whole life. He told me we were family. I know you think I’m crazy, but I swear this happened.” Her fist clenches and slams onto the table.

“I’m not crazy, Ari. We are not fucking crazy! That little boy led me back to the basement and told me he would call someone to get us. I walked past Lucio Biondini, bleeding out at the top of the stairs.”

“Why didn’t you tell them it wasn’t you?” I ask.

Everyone, myself included, was certain Genesis had killed Lucio. Our families covered everything up by setting the house on fire.

“I couldn’t tell if I was imagining things. I thought I had dreamed up the boy. I still think I’m dreaming him up at times. But I’m not. I saw him too, Ari. It’s not a figment of our imagination.”

“What do you mean you saw him again?” I question.

“I saw the article on you and Preston Cuevas. I started digging into him and found a lot of information on the upcoming election. Do you know who he’s running against?” She holds her phone up to my face when I shake my head. A gasping Santo Dios escapes me when I see the three men. One almost identical to Lucio Biondini.

“Was that the boy who saved you?” I ask, and Genesis’s head shifts from left to right.

“No, this was him.” She zooms in on the man to the right. I squint and see another man younger with darker features compared to Lucio.

“I don’t understand. Who are they?”

“The tall one, the one I think you saw, his name is Savino Biondini. The oldest son of Lucio Biondini. The one in the middle is running against Preston, Massimo Messina. He had his name changed years ago when he got into politics. This one, the one I think rescued me, is Cesidio Verde Biondini, better known as ‘Verdis.’ They are all affiliated with the Italian Mafia.”

My eyes shoot up to hers. Questions cloud my mind as I try to grasp the story she’s telling. Italians? I had never heard of the cartel working with the Mafia, let alone having problems with them.

“What does Cassiel have to do with this? Why did they shoot him?” I ask.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, too. Something just isn’t right.” She says, shaking her head.

“How do you know Cassiel?”

It was the question she had been avoiding. Nero told me she visited the hospital frequently. I answer the question myself, though, when I remember the other reason she had been locked away.

“Was Cassiel the guy stalking you? The one your mom said you made up? What does he want, Gen?”

“I don’t know what exactly he wants.” Gen sighs.

“What do you know about the motorcycle club? Has Nero told you anything?” Her pensive face turns to me, her brows bunching together.

“I don’t know much. Nero took me to the clubhouse once, but I’m sure I won’t be invited back anytime soon. I learned my lesson taking shots from Shawny- ten out of ten do not recommend.” I say sarcastically.

“Wait. Shawny. The redhead?”

“Yup, that’s her. Red hair, big boobs, and a tattoo of a crescent moon in the center of her chest. Which I thought was cute, but she hates me, so, ya, fuck her. I don’t even-” I ramble on before Gen interrupts me.

“She hates you?” And that was why she was my best friend. She thought it was absurd that anyone could hate me. Yet here we are.

“Ya. The day Tonio posted about me, I overheard her and Alma talking shit about me in the bathroom.”

“Alma? Thalia’s friend?”

“Yup.”

“What the fuck were they saying about you?” she scoffs.

“I don’t know. Just the stuff Tonio was saying on his channel, the usual gossip about me. I’m prissy, stuck up, a hoe, and whatever else they said.”

I was always called something of the sort. Most of my issues stemmed from social anxiety. Did I enjoy the finer things in life? Yes. And to be honest, I’m glad I could take advantage of designer bags when I could. It’s hard in these streets. Was I a hoe? Maybe. But I know for a fact I am not stuck up. I have anxiety, ovis.

Believe it or not, social anxiety doesn’t always mean you don’t want to socialize. It’s more complicated than that. Some people, Moi, for example, want to socialize—like all day and all night.

I want to connect, but I don’t know how to. Overthinking the whole process caused me to panic. Shout out to my mom and dad for locking me up most of my life.

I can’t help freezing up when people talk to me. The times I did attempt to converse, I would ramble or laugh nervously. Women would find this annoying, and men would think I was flirting. It was exhausting to be me. Who knows how I would act meeting Preston?

Oh my gatos . My eyes shoot to Genesis’s.

“Verdis!” I shout.

“What?”

“Verdis is the name of the restaurant I’m going to with Preston!”

“What restaurant?” she asks.

“I’m meeting Preston and his family there. That’s the name of the restaurant, Verdis. Look.” I type the restaurant into Google and pull up the website. Sure enough, it’s the very same Cesidio Biondini from the picture.

“Grand opening of Verdis, Houston’s new upscale Italian restaurant and winery. Cesidio Biondini is said to bring a fine dining experience, subtle entertainment, and sophisticated fun.” I read aloud.

“Oh my god, Ari, do you know what this means?” Gen says, her face lighting up. I don’t know what this means, but I shake my head like I do.

“You can give him a message for me.” She exclaims.

“What? No. Why don’t you just go with me?”

“I can’t. I’m on house arrest again. My dad came to see Patricio, so I hitched a ride. Please, Ari. We deserve to know why we were traumatized.” She pleads. I hold in a deep sigh before finally releasing it.

I rip a piece of paper out of my notebook and hand it to her, ignoring the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Today was the closest I had come to understanding that traumatic event. To understanding my best friend and everything she has been bottling up inside. I couldn’t let her down. Besides, I know I need closure as much as she does.