Chapter 14
Shio Cuppacio
One reason I’d been uneasy was because of my new houseguest. Don was surely going along with this quest of me “teaching” Solana how to be a wife, but I hadn’t figured out why.
I knew he’d researched Ines and Solana; he wouldn’t dare bring chaos in his own backyard that he couldn’t eliminate.
I, too, have always been the type to solve any problem that comes my way, and this one was no different.
The problem was that I was under Don’s hand, with little control over what I could do outside of my home.
While Don had the advantage of knowing everyone’s secrets and plays, I had my own ways to gather intel on folks.
So after my intense run, I did what I do best—research.
I needed to find out everything about the Ledesmas from my home.
I already knew about her father and his business dealings, but I hadn't been told about a daughter. Why’d he hide her from the world?
Ines had Solana put up in that cold-ass, castle-like home, but for what reason?
Besides the Rodríguezes and his witch of a wife, no one knew about Solana’s existence.
Well, no one knew she was his daughter, but she hadn't done much to hide herself on the streets of Mexico City. Little Baby was out there in the clubs, bars, holes-in-the-wall, and elusive lounges. I spent most of my day talking to my sources, and considering how long it took to find out shit about her, you’d think I’d know more than just her “party girl” lifestyle.
For as much as Solana partied, I was expecting to find a long line of men who had been linked to her.
She was living in my home, and although temporarily, I didn’t want any fucking surprises.
If any of them fucks were dumb enough to try and come and be the fucking hero by professing his love on my doorstep to stop her from marrying into the Rodríguez Cartel, I was going to send them bitches back across the water, wrapped in a Mexican flag and soiled in their own blood.
Shockingly, all I found were a few associates I'd hardly call that, and some club owners who loved it when she came through and respected her because she spent mad bread in their establishments. I couldn’t find a man or a woman who had been romantically involved with her, which would be virtuous for the nigga that was set to be her husband, but terrible for me.
It meant that she had either learned the art of sneakiness or she was untouched.
I knew for damn sure she was no fucking virgin.
Solana was not only attractive, exotic, and desirable, but she reeked of “I’ve been fucked” under that shy yet sassy demeanor.
With a father like Ines Ledesma, I was certain she got her shit off when she could, which meant her ass was slick.
I didn't like sneaky motherfuckers, and I damn sure couldn't be easily fooled or manipulated.
While my eyes saw what they could, my antennas were up higher than ever.
“Aye… Get up.”
The room was dark, even though the sun had risen and been out all day.
She was in this bitch, lightly snoring like the whole day hadn't passed, and it wasn’t damn near three o’clock in the afternoon.
Lifting the Audemars to my face, I was wrong; it was ten minutes past three-thirty, which meant I’d been standing here watching the rise and fall of her back for well over thirty minutes.
Get your shit together, Shio.
Solana grumbled inaudible words as she rose from her slumber.
I hadn't known anyone who could sleep like the fucking dead all day.
Especially not a fully grown adult. Most of the women in our family, if they didn't have obligations like work or school, still got up at the crack of dawn because they looked forward to spending our fucking money.
It was as if this girl didn't look forward to anything outside of partying, and since there hadn't been any of that going on, sleep was her only hobby.
I watched as she moved around in the bed.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand, and that was another thing I noticed in my few days of observation—she didn't check it. I was sure the battery was fucked up because it had been on the charger for days, untouched. Hell, the only notifications she got were emails. I knew because I’d zoomed the camera in to see the first few days she was here.
People might think I was going to extremes, but my safety and the safety of those around me had me doing whatever was necessary.
I didn't know many women who weren't glued to their phones, either gossiping or scrolling through social media nonstop.
Solana didn't do any of that shit, and that had me even more puzzled.
Who in the fuck was Solana Ledesma, and why had God put her in my path?
“It’s Saturday. No workout. I remember,” she groggily explained, like I didn't know the days of the week.
She’d cried, thrown up twice, and cursed more than a sailor during our workouts.
She was feisty once she was comfortable, or rather, uncomfortable.
I half expected her to walk out, but no matter how many bodily fluids were extracted from her body, whether it be tears, spit, sweat, or vomit, she kept going.
She was still on her back, but now her head had lifted from the pillow.
Her hair was still in the braid I'd done, but now it looked more like a tangled vine than a neat plait. I was surprised she even let her hair get that matted. At first glance, you’d think Solana was a rich, spoiled daddy’s girl who never let a hair out of place.
But if it weren't for my housekeeper, the room would reveal she wasn’t the cleanest or tidiest. She kept her hygiene decent enough, washing her ass and brushing her teeth.
But she hadn't bothered to care for her hair or put on clothes to explore the area outside this room.
“It’s three thirty, Solana.”
Sitting upright, she stretched her arms above her head.
The sports bra she was wearing was twisted, and as soon as she lifted her arms, the bottom half of her breast peeked out.
Turning my head, I backed up three paces to flick the light switch.
Her eyes squinted to adjust as the room turned from her personal hibernation cave into the bright, airy space it was meant to be.
She fixed her bra and let her legs hang over the side of the bed.
One side of her hair was mashed entirely to her head, while a few strands were stuck to her face.
I was almost sure she’d gotten vomit in it the other day, so it needed a good wash and conditioning.
If this was how she handled her hair’s upkeep, I didn’t understand how it had gotten so long, or how she’d managed to keep the length and density.
It should’ve been broken off and damaged.
Now with her feet on the wood, she started rolling her head to stretch her neck.
There was sleep in her eyes and dried drool on the side of her face, yet she was sitting in bed without a care in the world.
Her daddy had given her to me to groom so she could blend in with the wolves, but she just didn't know, he’d placed her in the den of a fucking lion.
“Why am I awake again?” Her heavy accent was deeper than usual due to her still being sleepy.
She should’ve been rested enough to last her ass a lifetime.
Standing, she pulled the matching athletic shorts out of her crotch. They were high-waisted, but she had them folded down her abdomen, showing her smooth, dark hazelnut skin. As she popped her back, I backed out, nearing the door.
“We got somewhere to be, Solana.”
Her head swiftly shifted in my direction.
There was a look of indifference on her face, and if she called herself reading me, she wouldn't succeed. Her eyes looked past me as three outrageously expensive motherfuckers entered her room: Lunar, Chimo, and Bruno—or Lamar, Chinko, and Bruna. I didn’t know which name they were going by today, and I didn’t give a fuck as long as they did what they do best. What I did know was that I’d had to shell out a ton of fucking money to have them leave Don’s estate just to come fix her up.
They each carried some type of trunk and had even more shit in the hallway.
They were the official glam squad for the women of the mafia, and since I’d be bringing Solana around them, I knew that matted ball of fur on the top of her head wouldn’t cut it.
They’d look at her like a lost puppy before looking at me like I’d lost my mind for bringing her.
The women of the mafia were always well-groomed, and most of the time, the three men barging into the room were the reasons behind the mob’s hefty credit card bills.
These niggas looked like some shit straight out of the movie The Hunger Games.
With their loud hair colors and eccentric attire, even though all three were in all black, they looked like they could wreak havoc.
But I’d seen their work, and as peculiar as they looked, they were the best, according to what the wives said.
Solana pulled her shorts upright and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d even tried to wipe the eye boogers from her face. Crazy how she was shying away from three gay niggas but didn’t give two shits when it was just her and me.
Lunar clasped his hands while the other two gave her a silent inspection.
“This week, a hot new bombshell enters the villa.” Lunar giggled.
“Ohhhh, she’s pretty. Skin so flawless even with the dried-up spit,” Chimo added.
“You did good, Mr. Cuppacio. The body is bodying…”
“Thank you,” she dragged out, her accent now a little less heavy.