Chapter 5
Chapter five
Selene
It's been three days since I arrived at this mansion. Three days since I’ve been locked in this goddamn palace of prison rules and stone-faced statues pretending to be men.
Days without contact with the outside world, because His Royal Highness Cortez Donatelli thought it was a good idea to confiscate my phone the moment I settled in.
I roll onto my back on the massive bed, arms flopping out beside me. God, I have to admit I love this room. It’s a far cry from the rat hole I’d been squatting in for weeks.
The king-sized bed is sinfully soft, and the black silk sheets cool against my skin. The dark wood furniture gleams, screaming stupidly expensive. The balcony door is a giant arch of glass, but of course, it’s sealed tighter than a bank vault and too damn high to jump from without breaking my neck.
It would have been nice, if not for the two goons stationed outside like I’m some high-value hostage. Which, I guess, I am.
An irritated scoff leaves my lips when I recall how he listed all of his stupid rules. Burner phone…no contact…no liberty to roam or leave the mansion. Tch…
The fact that he thinks all of his ridiculous words have to be law is what irks me. Does he even have a conscience? Scratch that. Does he even think before saying anything?
It’s bad enough that running away is not an option…but it’ll be worse when Cortez finds out that I’m practically useless and unable to fulfill my own end of the contract. Fear climbs my chest and I pop my knuckles, the sound distracting me for a moment.
He said someone was messing with him. I wonder if I’ll ever know the context and how exactly it relates to the Vasquez pipeline.
I roll on my side again, this time determined to force myself to sleep. The second I close my eyes, I see her face. If mom were here…no. The people who killed Dad and my brother would still have killed her if she hadn’t died in the car crash five years ago.
For the first time in the past few days, the smile on my face is genuine as I think about her. I can still feel the silky strands of her long, dark hair and perceive the fragrance of apple pie on her whenever she comes out of the kitchen.
To say I miss her is an understatement. My heart sinks.
I can still hear her sobs. How she’d receive a slap on her face every time Dad got into one of his temper tantrums. His voice would become low and hateful. Then he’d take pride in telling me how worthless I was. “You should’ve been a boy,” he spat once, when I was barely five.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.
I should have been an equal. I should have received the same training and treatment as my twin brother, but I was always sidelined.
I had ovaries instead of balls, so apparently, my value was tied to who I could be married off to.
I was supposed to marry Ramirez the moment I turned twenty-five, which was six months ago.
But for the first time, things happened in a way that at least allowed me to run.
The attack happened, and I fled, faking my death.
Every time I recall my father’s death, I smile. He deserved to die the way he did.
He used to micromanage my life. Watch the things I did, the people I hung out with, the places I went and even put control on the things I could browse on the internet.
He saw my resilience, my unwavering spirit, and found every way to kill it.
All I was meant to focus on was being the perfect, subservient wife to an abusive man.
Everything I know about the mafia, streetwise…is owed to my own initiative and resilience. My ability to go the extra mile to learn what I was meticulously shielded from by my asshole of a father.
Then there’s my twin. A sharp pain stabs through my chest. I see his face so clearly, the night our father was murdered, the moment I begged him to come with me.
I’d disguised the dead maid in my room as myself.
Father had killed her a few minutes before the attack, so I used her.
We had the same stature, hair, and all I needed to do was wrap my mother’s pendant, which she gave me years ago, around her neck and set the room on fire to look like an accident.
I made sure her face was burned beyond recognition and quickly navigated to find my twin brother.
When I found him in our secret room, he just sat there, stubborn as hell, refusing. He said he had to be the decoy…for me to flee.
I watched them put two bullets in his stomach and kill him just before I fled. It’s been six months now.
Guilt gnaws at me like a feral emotion, and my chest tightens. He died because of me. If only I’d found a way to coerce him to flee with me...
I whip my head toward the entrance when a sharp rap at the door jolts me upright. I yank it open, half expecting to see Maria. Instead, it’s one of Cortez’s minions, looking like he gargled lemon juice for breakfast.
“Boss needs you in the home office. Now.”
My heart skips a beat. What if he needs information on the route now? What should I say?
The exquisite dark walls of the mansion grace my eyes when I take a tentative step outside. Staying is too difficult, and running is too costly. I hate how I’m stuck.
I walk out the door and feel Lemon-Face walking stiffly behind me.
I know where the office is since I was guided there the day before.
The moment I step into the office, it feels like something changes in the air.
The heat that always coils low in my belly whenever I’m around him creeps gently into my pelvic region.
This is one important issue I have to address with myself. My lady parts can’t always yearn for someone whose guts I hate so much.
As usual, Cortez is slouched back in a leather chair like he owns the world. At this rate, I believe he does. A stub of a cigarette dangles from his lips, the smoke curling lazily upward. His hair is tousled like he just got out of bed.
“Knock,” he deadpans, voice thick with the effect of smoke.
“Apologies, your majesty,” I retort with a forced smile. Whether he notices the sarcasm, he doesn’t say. He just takes another long drag and puffs, tipping his head skywards.
I can’t help but notice that his every movement is slow, like he’s deliberately moving at an agonizingly slow pace. And that somehow intensifies the dread in my stomach.
When he looks at me, his expression is unreadable. “Is your room comfortable?” he asks after a long pause, and I almost lose my balance.
My eyes widen almost immediately. “W?what?”
Even in my dreams, I’d never think of this man asking about my well-being. Is he really concerned?
I look at him again, and his expression is blank.
“No. It’s a glorified prison cell,” I answer.
His mouth twitches. “Good! Just like you’ve answered that question truthfully, I expect you to do the same with the rest.”
My heart skips a beat. I watch him nervously as he stubs the cigarette in an ashtray and discards it. Then he turns to face me, expression hard.
“Tell me about the Vasquezes’ pipeline.”
I force a heavy breath. All I know about Dad’s pipeline is that it was strategic. He had roads, facilities, and docks that he used to do illegal stuff. And he employed different techniques for different routes. Only he and a select few knew what to do and how to do it.
“Uhhh…” My hands clench into fists by my side to stop the jittering nerves. “My dad’s pipeline was very strategic.”
“Straight to the point,” he orders, his eyes not leaving mine. I hold back a scoff.
Clearing my throat, I think of what to say. The look in his eyes is intense and hot, scorching my body. One wrong word and I’m devil’s meat.
Think Selene.
“Uncle Carlos managed the bribes,” I finally blurt after moments of thinking. I swear it’s the truth.
The silence is deafening as I stand before him like an idiot. His eyes narrow, and he watches me with a calculating expression. Why is he—
I don’t complete my thought when it dawns on me. When he asked the first question, he was studying my baseline behavior to spot any deviations in case I lied. And now he’s analyzing me to match the yardstick.
I hate to admit it, but this man is smart.
“Uncle Carlos,” he spits the word with such disdain that I’m sure Carlos is rolling in the grave, “…is dead.”
Of course, he is, but that’s about all I know. I thought that would buy me time, but it seems he’s done his homework.
“I want something tangible. Shipments, docks, facilities.”
I’m tempted to tell him to get it himself, but that would do me no good.
“Okay,” I say, licking my suddenly chapped lips. “My father had a lot of routes, warehouses, and…dirty cops worked for him. You know, uhh…he used to bribe the officers and all.”
My voice hangs in the air, and I’m left with the echoes of my stupid statement. I can almost see smoke coming out of his head. Anger is an understatement for what I see.
Shit.
“You think this is a joke?” His whole body is tense, teeth grinding against each other like he’s barely restraining himself.
“No,” I answer truthfully, and that seems to anger him even more. He stalks toward me like an angry buffalo. I instinctively step back, a trail of sweat trickling down my back.
“I?I swear I’m telling the truth.” It’s hard to swallow. My back hits the wall when I take one more step, and in the blink of an eye, he’s right in front of me, wrapping his hand around my neck.
“Fuck with me one more time and I’ll feed you to your wolves.” His lips are barely inches from mine.
I gasp as his hand closes tighter around my neck. His clasp is somewhere in between tight and loose. I’m sure that my underwear is soaked.
Ugh. What is wrong with me? My life is at stake here.
Swallowing thickly, I hold his burning gaze and say, “Maybe if you give me context, I can help you better?”
I gasp when his grip on my neck tightens, voice raw with rage.
“This is as much context as you get.”