Chapter 36
Alma
“You? A stripper.” Mireya freezes mid-sip of her coffee.
“I literally just told you I was kidnapped at birth, Missy had help from the Italian mob, I killed my ex-boyfriend, and the unbelievable part is me being a stripper?”
“Alma, you won’t even say the word condom without blushing. I just never imagined you were a stripper.” She laughs. “But it’s like they say, the quiet ones are the freakiest.”
If she only knew.
The waitress at the breakfast diner we’re at brings us our plates, and Mireya puts PJ back in his carrier. She looks around the diner before her voice drops low.
“Have you talked to the Biondini brothers?”
“No. Not yet. Jasper’s been trying to set something up,” I reply.
From the looks of it though, Cesidio Biondini did not want to be found. And at this point, Jasper wasn’t willing to get his hands dirty with mob business.
“So then it’s set? You’ll move to Corpus Christi after the wedding.” Mireya frowns.
“Yes. But it’s only a three hour drive. I won’t be far.”
“I know. It just won’t be the same without you,” she says.
“We’ll have to make the most of wedding planning then!” I smile.
“God. I don’t even want to think about the wedding. No one in this family understands the word: small. Did you see the huge article in the Houstonia on Ariella and Preston? That’s the kind of exposure I’m trying to avoid.”
“I can’t believe she’s going to marry that ass-hat.” I wince. “I still need to talk to her. I feel bad about being jealous of her and Efren.”
For fucks sake they’re cousins.
“You’re human, amiga, and men sometimes bring out the worst in us. Ariella’s very sweet. I think once you’re able to talk to her without a knife to your chest and explain everything, she’ll be understanding,” Mireya replies.
“That was crazy! Have you seen Genesis since?”
“Once. At the hospital.” Mireya says, her eyes shifting to the side.
“You went back to work?” I ask in confusion.
“Not exactly. I was there visiting my brother.”
“Cassiel?” I say his name like a disease in my mouth. What the hell was she doing visiting him? “Wait—What were you doing visiting him?”
Mireya sighs and looks out the window briefly before turning back to me. “I don’t know. After he was shot, I felt like I needed to see him. So I went one day, and that’s when I saw Genesis in there. She looked like she’d been crying.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Didn’t he kidnap her and Ari that one time?”
“Yeah.” Mireya winces. “Can you not tell Efren about this? Adrian still doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” I promise.
“Thank you.” She smiles, then lets it fade. “You know he woke up from his coma?”
“No,” I reply. “You’re not going to see him again, are you?”
“No. I think it’s best I just keep my distance.”
“Good. Cause I’m with Adrian on this. Cassiel is dangerous. Look at everything he’s done? Kidnapping, adultnapping, I mean, he killed your mother—”
“And my mother was going to kill my baby and me!” Mireya exclaims. “Listen, I know he’s done some questionable things. I’m not saying I forgive him, but the same way you want to understand where you come from, I can’t help but want to understand him. He’s my blood.”
“I’m sorry, Mireya. It’s not my place to tell you what’s right or wrong. Do what you need to do, just be careful, okay?” The words fall blasphemously from my mouth.
I hate that guy. Cassiel is a train wreck in human form.
He killed Mireya’s mother and kidnapped Lucia—from her kidnapper—but that’s beside the point.
I believe in second chances, but not when it means making a deal with the devil.
But I don’t say that. I can’t tell her how to live her life, knowing damn well someone could be looking from the outside in at mine and wondering why I still love someone like Missy.
Mireya changes the subject and drills me about stripping and the club. Somehow we end up making a last minute plan to host her bachelorette party at La Cuevita.
_______
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Efren ties the apron around my waist, his fingers lingering at the knot like he’s bracing himself.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
When Efren told me he’d be catering Ariella’s engagement party, I begged him to let me come. I need to see her. Need to make this one thing right before I leave Houston.
“I’m here if you need anything,” he says quietly. “Okay?”
I nod and take the tray of hors d’oeuvres from him, carrying it into the front room where the guests mingle in clusters of laughter and clinking glasses.
Ariella doesn’t notice me at first. She floats from group to group, radiant and restless.
By the time I work up enough courage to approach her, she’s four glasses of champagne in deep.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says, her smile sharp, rehearsed.
I don’t take it personally. Not after seeing her an hour earlier—pressed into a quiet corner by her ass-hat of a fiancé, his hand gripping her wrist just a little too tight as he scolded her through clenched teeth.
I lower the tray between us. Some kind of stuffed mushrooms. Her mouth twists.
“Yeah, I’ll pass.”
“Ari,” I say softly. “Can we talk?”
Her eyes flick toward the long staircase, then back to me. Her lips purse. For a moment, I think she’s going to say no. Instead, she exhales and nods.
“Hold on.”
She turns toward her bodyguard—the one I recognize from Tonio’s YouTube video. She murmurs something to him. His eyes jump between us, suspicion written all over his face. He clearly doesn’t buy whatever excuse she gives, but he nods anyway and steps away.
I head up the stairs first, unwilling to cause a scene. My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach the top and wait for her, the noise of the party fading below us.
“Ugh, I’m getting so sick of him,” she says, drawing out the words.
Ariella looks around, passing several doors before pulling me into one. It’s a large bedroom with a master his and hers bathroom off to the side, where Ariella drags me inside. She gives me a once over, her eyes roaming me up and down.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” she asks point-blank.
“I wanted to apologize about the other day. In the bathroom.”
“It’s fine. You’re not the first or the last person to not like me.” She huffs.
“I don’t know enough about you to say whether or not I like you. But I was wrong to let Shawny influence my words. Thalia is my best friend, and I know she adores you. You could have told Thalia, and she’d have cut me off,” I say appreciatively.
“Thalia and I aren’t that close.”
“Are you kidding me? She stormed into a room full of men and looked Axel right in the face the day after Lucia was returned and threatened his life after he tried convincing your parents to take you back to California.”
“Oh. I never knew that.” She shifts her weight back.
“She’d cut my tits off for the way I treated you.” I laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait, did you think I wanted Efren?” she asks.
“No, I think Efren was just using you to fuck with me, and well, Shawny has been jealous of you since Nero became your… bodyguard.” I stall on the last word.
I’m not sure who Nero is to her, but he doesn’t look at her the way a bodyguard should. I wasn’t the only one who’d caught the way Preston scolded her. Nero was also watching, and his face was murderous. Reaching into my apron pocket, I dig out the paper Efren had given me.
“The eggs benedict recipe from Efren… and my peace offering. He told me that’s what you wanted.” I offer her the paper and a smile. Her eyes light up, and she wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she says, and I hug her back.
It doesn’t feel weird. The hug is real, easy—like something we both needed. There are a lot of things wrong with me, but hugging isn’t one of them.
Missy was a hugger.
“We’d better get back before Nero realizes I didn’t bring a purse,” Ariella says, releasing me.
I turn to leave when Ari grabs my wrist and yanks me back into the bathroom. Cursing under her breath before the door swings open, and a man’s voice cuts through the room.
“I’ve got ten minutes before someone notices I’m gone. If you want your money, work fast.”
Across the bathroom, the mirror catches the man clearly.
“Isn’t that your fiancé?” I whisper.
“Something like that,” she replies.
Ariella moves quietly into the bathtub, and I take a seat beside her. There seems to be no fear or surprise from her end, but my heart is beating outside my chest. How could he cheat on her? Her—Ariella Reyes—the fucking bombshell.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and she shrugs.
“Could you not tell anyone about this?” she asks. I stare at her, my eyes saying everything I can’t.
It’s the second time in one day I’ve promised to keep someone’s secret. Maybe that’s how they all survived in this world— off secrets.
I try not to look back at the mirror, but the sounds outside make it impossible.
When I do, I catch a glimpse of Preston—bare ass out, thrusting into the face of some blonde woman.
Ari’s eyes meet mine in the reflection, and for a split second, we both fight like hell not to laugh.
Eventually, Preston groans, finishes, and zips up his pants as if nothing happened.
Ari and I duck down as he passes the bathroom, the woman trailing behind him.
A moment later, Ari steps out first. She reaches back and offers me her hand, pulling me up with a grin that feels conspiratorial and oddly familiar.
“You go first,” she whispers. “I’ll follow a few minutes after.”
I don’t argue. I’m out of that room as fast as my legs will carry me. My feet move quick, I rush to get back to the kitchen, but not before I slam straight into Nero.
“Where is she?” he growls, but then his head snaps toward the top of the staircase.
We both turn just in time to see Ariella and Preston descending the steps, and smiling for an audience.
Hand in hand.