22. Hope
22
HOPE
J orge knocked and didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door.
My brows rose when we entered and found ourselves inside a spacious suite complete with a cozy pair of beige linen couches, a marble-top dining table with seats for six, and a modest kitchen. Through a side doorway, I glimpsed a four-poster bed, and straight ahead, billowing sheer white curtains partially concealed a balcony. These must be Carlos’s personal quarters.
A gentle breeze wafted cigar smoke through the room. It was a smell I’d associated with Carlos since I’d been a child. And there, sitting alone on the balcony, overlooking the mansion’s expansive gardens, was my father.
I’d never wanted to see him again, but over the last three years, I’d sometimes wondered what this moment would be like should it come to pass. Would I clam up with fear, or would I unleash my anger? Now that I was here, I felt neither of those things, only the unwavering determination to complete my mission.
This was it. Time to face my nightmare as well as a fresh barrage of questions about how I’d survived and where I’d been. I felt as twitchy as a criminal plugged into a polygraph. Would Carlos believe me? My astute father prided himself on sniffing out a liar. I just hoped my miraculous return would bamboozle him enough that he wouldn’t notice any slipups.
What would Carlos do if he did notice? Or worse yet, if he suspected me of being a Trojan horse sent by the enemy? I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but he could lock me away. Both he and Jorge could make my life unbearable in so many ways.
More than anything, having freedom within the compound was vital if I wanted to get my hands on a weapon. There had to be plenty of guns around here, but I’d never have access to them if Carlos didn’t trust me.
Stay calm. Don’t fuck it up.
I wiped sweaty palms down the front of my denim skirt, drew in a deep breath, and walked toward the balcony. Carlos must’ve sensed our arrival, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge us in any way.
I brushed the curtain aside and followed Jorge through the balcony’s wide doors.
“Don Carlos. Llegó alguien a verlo,” Jorge said. There’s someone here to see you.
Someone here to see him?
Jorge made it sound as though I were a friend stopping by for coffee, not the daughter he’d thought was murdered three years ago who had somehow survived. Hadn’t Jorge told Carlos he was bringing me in?
As I stood before my father, I understood Jorge’s earlier warning. Carlos was different. He’d aged more in the last three years than most did in ten. His sunken-in eye sockets and the way his skin clung to his cheekbones suggested he’d lost a lot of weight. His frame seemed withered, less menacing. And when his tired amber eyes slowly rose to meet mine, they were…va cant. Nowhere within them did I find the man whose mind was as brutally sharp as a machete.
Carlos frowned and rested his cigar in a tray on the side table. Then he picked up the newspaper in his lap and shook it open. “Where’s my dry cleaning?” he grumbled.
I did the slowest of blinks and gave Jorge a what the fuck look before returning my attention to my father.
Carlos didn’t recognize me. What had happened to him? Had he suffered some kind of head trauma? Did he have amnesia?
Jorge tilted his head and sighed. “Not a good day, then. Don Carlos”—he crouched beside my father—“it’s Elena. Your daughter has come to see you.”
My father’s frown deepened. “I know that,” he snapped as if Jorge were a fool for mentioning something so obvious.
Jorge rolled his eyes and gestured for me to come nearer.
I took one step forward and clasped my hands before me, not knowing what to do with them. “Hola, Papi.”
Calling him a name that indicated any kind of affection between us sickened me, but I was supposed to be returning home with my tail between my legs, so I figured a little ass-kissing was appropriate.
My father cast his eyes over me again, looking more closely this time. “Have you come for lunch, Lenita?”
Carlos called me by the nickname he’d used since I was a child, so he hadn’t completely forgotten me. But he seemed to have no understanding of the significance of my presence in his home. He hadn’t even balked at the scars on my face. It was as if he’d seen me only days ago and my being here were a regular occurrence. Before trying to trade myself for Natalie, I hadn’t stepped foot in Mexico in twenty years.
“Lunch. Yes.” I smiled politely. “Excuse us for one moment.”
I walked back inside and gestured for Jorge to follow. “What’s wrong with him?” I whispered .
“He was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Alzheimer’s two years ago, but he’d already significantly declined at that point. Sometimes, he talks about your mother like she’s still alive. He has good days and bad days, although there are more of the latter now. I wasn’t sure how he’d react when he saw you.”
My mind worked overtime trying to grasp what this meant. My father barely recognized me. Jorge treated him with kid gloves, as though the most powerful man in Mexico were incapable of tying his own shoelaces. One thing was certain: There was no way the confused man on the balcony still ran the PCC.
My eyes met Jorge’s. “You’ve taken over.”
He nodded, although he didn’t look as happy about his position as I would’ve thought. Then again, Jorge had always been close with my father. After Carlos had plucked ten-year-old Jorge from the streets and given him a home, treating him as an adopted son, Jorge had repaid him with unwavering loyalty.
My once betrothed worshiped the ground Carlos walked on, and the fact that I didn’t only made him resent my position even more. After all, I had the one thing Jorge wanted but could never have—Carlos Espinoza’s blood pumping through my veins—and I would rid myself of it in a heartbeat if I could.
As much as my attitude toward my father disgusted Jorge, I’d always been the key to legitimizing his claim to the PCC throne. But I was little more than a symbolic tool to solidify his position, and, as Jorge had so eloquently put it, breeding stock so he could shape mini Ortegas into psychotic monsters just like their father and grandfather. No thanks.
With Jorge running the show, I was at his mercy and didn’t have my father’s protection at all. That explained why he’d been so aggressive at the church. I had to tread carefully.
It also meant my target had shifted. Jorge was now the biggest threat, and he’d be so much harder to kill than Carlos. I had no emotional sway with the abomination before me, and if he suspected I was a traitor, he’d take great pleasure in making me suffer.
“Wait.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why does everyone still think Carlos is in charge?”
Surely, Jorge would’ve jumped at the opportunity to claim leadership and pound his chest.
“When Carlos started getting worse, he made me promise to keep his illness a secret. He has his pride, you know? He doesn’t want his rivals or the authorities to see him as weak.” Jorge exhaled and placed his hands on his hips. “Your father has always been good to me and doesn’t have much time left. The least I can do is let him leave the world with his dignity intact.”
There it was. A small glimpse of humanity peeking through Jorge’s hideous nature. I sometimes wondered what kind of man he would’ve become had my father not molded him into the sadistic prick he was today.
Then Jorge’s expression hardened, and as he stepped nearer, I tried to hold in the shiver of revulsion that threatened to force its way through my body. “I’m upholding your father’s wishes, and I expect you to do the same. I know you hate me, but we belong together. You’re an Espinoza, after all, and violence runs through your veins as much as it does mine.”
I sneered. “I’m nothing like you.”
“No? Then why do you look like you want to kill me?”
I mean, he isn’t wrong. Because if I had a pistol in my hands, I’d already have unloaded a full clip of lead into him.
I held his stare. “What sane person doesn’t want to kill you?”
The asshole smirked. “I don’t mind that you wish to hurt me. I respect it, even. It’ll definitely make things more fun on our wedding night. And we will marry, Elena. Then you and I will make heirs strong enough to carry the Pacific Coast Cartel into the future. This is what you were born to do. ”
What I was born to do?
Seriously, who said stuff like that?
All this ridiculous talk about marriage and impregnating was pissing me off. I wanted to scream in Jorge’s face that not in a million years would I let him knock me up with his devil spawn, and that I had a hell of a lot more to offer this world than being his baby incubator.
As for Carlos, he deserved to pay for the crimes he’d committed, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about killing him now that he seemed so frail and powerless. It would be like walking into a nursing home and carrying out an execution.
To appease Jorge and hopefully earn myself the freedom to move within the compound, I needed to make him think he’d won. But he’d be suspicious if I buckled without negotiating.
I folded my arms. “I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“You’ll get a divorce so your wife can live.”
He shook his head. “No. That will take too long, and she knows too much.”
I hadn’t thought he’d budge on that, but I had to try. I only hoped I could kill him before the baby was born and her time was up.
I held up a finger. “I’ll give you one child.”
“Four.”
“Two and no more.”
Jorge shrugged. “If they’re boys, I can live with that.”
Pig.
I folded my arms. “I get my own room.”
This was something I wouldn’t concede. For all I knew, Jorge planned on booting his pregnant wife out of theirs and moving me in.
“Agreed, but I’ll visit whenever I want.”
I sent him a glare fiery enough to turn stone to ash. “You’ll visit when I say you can. Otherwise, I’ll slice off your balls in your sleep and have them crafted into the ugliest coin purse you’ve ever seen.” When Jorge froze, I narrowed my eyes and added, “I’m sorry. Did you forget whose daughter you’re talking to?”
A sinister grin formed on Jorge’s lips. “You’re going to make a fine cartel queen.”
Jorge’s phone beeped, and he checked the screen. He frowned at whatever it said. “Something’s come up. We’ll talk more soon.” He snapped his fingers at the nearest guard. “Lock her in the guest suite next to my quarters. Have someone stay outside her door at all times.”
“Jorge, don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed. “This is supposed to be my home. I’m not a prisoner.”
He walked away without a response, leaving me seething in his wake.
How the hell was I going to search for a weapon?