Chapter 81 Celia #2
My stomach dropped at the thought of him still being at El Palacio, wreaking havoc and promising death to all the men sworn to me.
My fears were short-lived. Just then, I heard heavy footsteps and a deep voice barking orders in spanish from outside the door.
I ran to my papá’s giant oak desk, scurrying underneath just in time to hear the door creak open and see the light shining into the room from out in the hallway.
I smiled to myself, my confidence skyrocketing.
Ignacio never let me down before, why would he start now?
I heard his man anxiously telling him that a car pulled up to the property, but they couldn’t find us.
I hoped Santos was smart enough to stay undetected, reassuring myself that I’d brought the right man along for the job.
Ronan would have broken through the front door with open fire, cutting down my tío’s men by the handful until one of them shot him dead.
This was too personal to go down that way.
There was only one person who needed to die. Two who truly deserved it.
But today wasn’t my day, so one would do.
He kept the light off, slow footsteps tapped on the floor one at a time as he made his way closer to the desk.
My heart thundered so hard in my chest I thought surely it would give me away.
His feet appeared right in front of me, with a screeching sound he dragged the chair from the desk and plopped down.
Oh, he was making it too easy.
I didn’t believe in karma, but it seemed like the bitch was really on my side lately.
A knife to the foot, then a bullet to the head.
No, that would be too quick.
And too loud.
I had to kill him quietly unless I planned to deal with however many men he had trapped in this house with us. I was a ballsy bitch, but the thing about being brave, was also knowing your limits.
I heard the flickering of the lighter letting me know the pompous dickhead actually thought he was going to smoke a cigar while he waited for me to walk into his trap. Like I was that easy to kill. I was feeling sort of fucking offended about the whole thing.
My heart sped up even more and I gripped my knife tighter, the sweat in my palm coating the handle of the blade as I tried to figure out which foot I was going to be stabbing.
Then his hand reached into the desk, his fingers wrapping around my throat as he pulled me out and slammed my back against the desk.
I couldn’t cry out from the pain, he squeezed too tight, his sausage-like fingers crushing my windpipe and putting painful pressure on my eyes.
I sent my arm flying, hoping to stab at him, but my body was too focused on self-preservation.
My free hand struggled with his grip around my neck while the other fought to keep the blade in my clutches.
He pulled me by the neck, lifting my head off the table just enough to slam it back down with force.
I bit back a yell, hoping the noise wouldn’t call his men in for reinforcement.
“Maldita,” he cursed me. “All this trouble just for a few million dollars,” he spat out and I wheezed, slapping and scratching at him while I felt the crushing power of his grip squeezing my arm painfully.
He truly knew nothing if he thought this was over a few million dollars.
It was over billions.
It was over everything that was meant to be mine.
I spit, landing right in the middle of his face and painting a disgusted look onto his expression as he fought to decide whether or not he was going to risk giving me a chance to free myself if he cleaned it off.
He pulled me by the throat once more and sent my head flying down twice as hard as before. I cried out in pain, and he squeezed my throat tighter.
“This is over Celia. You will pass the credentials of the dungeons to me, or you will die right here, right now.”
I cackled in his hold, the deranged look on my face only provoking him further into a rage-fueled spiral.
“If you kill me, you stay just as fucked, just as poor, and just the same sorry excuse for a jefe that you’ve been this whole time. So fucking kill me payaso. You don’t scare me anymore.”
He slapped me across the face, the steel force of his palm cutting into my skin. A pool of liquid metal slid over my taste buds while I mentally accepted my death.
The pressure near my eyes was unbearable as he squeezed even harder, completely disabling me from taking even the smallest sip of air back into my lungs. My vision went fuzzy, specs of colors floated around in my vision.
Maldición.
Was I really going to fucking die like this?
After everything?
“My men will be up here soon, then I’ll make them teach you why your father should have never put the stupid idea of a reina del cártel into your naive little mind. I’ll let them each take a turn with you, one by one, till you’re begging me to kill you sobrina.”
“Better not, tío,” I rasped, not even sure if he could make out the words as I forced them out of my mouth. He loosened his grip slightly like a dumb, curious bastard, eager for the rest of my sentence. “Maybe I’ll fuck them so good they’ll drop to their knees for me instead.”
“Zorra,” he spat out venomously, letting go of my throat just to strike my face once again.
I coughed, swallowing a lungful of air.
“Is it not as fun when I weaponize the very thing you all tried to convince yourselves was a weakness?”
He didn’t get to answer.
A deafening boom came from somewhere in the house making us both turn our necks as if we’d see what was happening through the closed office door. Santos was creating a distraction, and fuck if it wasn’t hot as hell that he could offer me his help without treating me like I was powerless.
“Looks like your men are busy,” I taunted, sending my foot up between his legs with as much force as I could muster.
He wheezed from the pain, relaxing his grip around my neck to clutch his manhood defensively as he cursed me in spanish. It was all the time I needed to scamper away, just far enough to give me time to retrieve my gun from the floor under the desk and pull it on him.
“Now tío querido, did you really think it was going to be this easy to kill me, or did you come here just to offend me?”
He moved to reach his hand behind him, but I lodged a bullet into the very same shoulder to stop him from pulling out his own gun. He cried out in pain, but the shaking of the villa’s foundation let me know his men were far too preoccupied to come to his rescue.
“And here I thought I was going to have to kill you fast and miss out on all the fun. Looks like Carlitos won’t be welcoming you to hell just yet.” I smirked watching his eyes go wide.
“What did you do to my son?” he seethed, which only furthered new confusion.
“What do you mean what did I do? I killed that pendejo months ago.” I laughed plugging another bullet into his other shoulder when he attempted to reach back once again with his uninjured arm. “Vamos tío, I was really hoping to draw this out.”
“Sadistic, just like the rest of your family. Your temperament is more suited to lower positions, you can’t handle what it takes to be jefe,” he insulted me through pained grunts.
“President Ramírez seems to think I can, which begs the question… where does that leave you if I’m running the cártel they all recognize as the tried and true version?” I gave him a sinister smirk, stepping closer to him now that he’d dropped to a seat on the ground, arms limp at his side.
“Must be so easy… to fuck your way to the top,” he labored out.
I clenched my back teeth together, counting backwards in my head while I silently told myself that future me would regret not killing him slowly. He was antagonizing me on purpose. Pushing me because he knew it was over for him now and all he could do about it was hope I’d deliver it quickly.
I had no such plans to do so.
“I gave him a quick death, because he was a stupid bastard who didn’t know any better.
But you tío, I’m gonna take my time with you.
I’m going to kill you a little every single day until I tire of playing with you.
And when you’re dead, I’ll use your bones to pick at my teeth after meals, to comb my hair, and to clean under my fingernails.
I’ll burn everything else you’ve ever touched. Including Carolina,” I promised him.
There was a look on his face that could only be described as utter confusion. Which only let me know one thing, and it was the only thing I needed to know.
My tío was no longer in charge. Someone else was just letting him pretend to play the part.
“How long has she been running the show?” I asked.
He hocked a bloody wad of spit onto the ground by my feet.
“It’s going to get really smoky up here soon by the smell of things tío. I’d love to move us somewhere more comfortable but I’m real inclined to leave you here if it might get me answers.” I raised the Glock up once more, hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot him once again.
There was only so many bullets you could put into a man while still expecting him to stay alive for long-term torture.
“Both of you are just like your mother. Bloodthirsty. Constantly thinking with violence first, assuming the Ortíz name still means anything around these parts and that you can use it to your advantage. You think just because you have both families’ blood in your veins it means you deserve this any more than I do? ”
“You knew?” I asked him.
“Of course I fucking knew, we all fucking knew. The only person who didn’t was you and the sorry excuse for a man that was the Ortíz boy.” I barely gave him a chance to finish before putting the next bullet in his knee cap.
It was one thing to spew his shit about me, but César was blameless in all of this.
“What do you know? Who killed Diego Ortíz?” I asked, hoping I’d get any crumbs that could help me unlock all the bullshit secrets our parents buried with them.
“Everyone knows Ortíz killed his own son.” He coughed, blood splatter flying everywhere.
“Why would he do that when he needed a successor?”
“He didn’t, at least not anymore. He was marrying your mother to be head of the Flores family. Diego was done, he wanted out. No one gets out alive, you know that better than anyone don’t you sobrina?”
“Thanks for the reminder, tío.” I stepped one foot at a time closer to him until I was standing over him.
I placed the heel of my stiletto over his bleeding kneecap and put my weight into it, ignoring his screaming pleas as well as his cursing and name calling.
There was no bird who could out-sing a serenade by a man on the verge of death.