33. Matheus
Fuck, I hate this slice of Colombia.
And this creepy old chapel on the grounds of the plantation, near the crypt where Elias lies entombed.
It’s where Mama had recited her wedding vows before we were born and where my brothers and I were all baptized.
After that, it was rarely used, if at all.
This morning, though, the entrance displays a gigantic garland of red roses with a matching carpet leading up the short aisle between antique wooden pews.
Rosy blooms decorate the narrow altar and a simple hand carved cross glows from the daylight pouring in through the only window.
I wander inside, gazing up at rustic beams and fidgeting with the starched white collar of my dress shirt.
Inside, the chapel is cooler. The building stinks of decaying vegetation much like the jungle surrounding it and dust particles dance within beams of light pouring through the leafy trees.
There’s an unpleasant energy when I brush my fingertips over the stone wall as if Elias’ black soul had seeped out of his burial chamber and coated everything in his evil.
We could have used this space for his send off, but he’d left strict instructions for his sons to fire a few rounds into the sky to honor him.
An outdoor marquee and a million-dollar casket had been enough for the fucker. He’s lucky I took part.
More guests arrive. A suited Souza employee takes their names at the door and guides them to either the bride or groom”s side of the chapel.
Most of the seats are already taken, except for the front rows. Aside from the floral arrangements, the guests all face a discreet TV jutting out from the wall.
An image of the bride and groom is displayed on the screen with a brief welcome message.
I check my watch and move outside again into the warm air, impatient.
Crunching over gritty stones, that familiar awareness hits me again.
She’s here.
My gaze settles on the gravel pathway winding its way around evergreens, coming to a stop in front of the little chapel.
My heart starts pounding. Not because Dani is next to Carlos Blanco. No, it”s the silky red dress hugging her curves as if the devil had poured a chalice of blood and she’d disrupted its flow.
The clingy material showcases her arm tattoos, narrow waist, and tanned cleavage, spilling all the way down to matching satin sandals.
Soft loose hair is pulled back at one side and held in place with a dainty jeweled comb. Her perfect lips are stained cherry red and her eyes…Christ, her smokey eyes capture me in a heartbeat.
I shake off the urge to shove her face first into the undergrowth, rip her dress to shreds, and ravage her. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Clearing my throat, I smile through the lust and bite my bottom lip to hold back the huge grin trying to light me up.
Her full body shiver doesn’t go unnoticed either. I’m attuned to her every step and change in heart rate.
The pulse in her neck is thrumming and her tits rise as she steels a breath, doing her best to hide her reaction to me.
I get the distinct impression she doesn’t want Blanco to know how much I affect her.
I’ve become his daughter”s weakness.
She likes to keep those special parts of herself under wraps. I’m the only person alive blessed to hear her inner thoughts.
I want her to experience this thrill forever. For her heart to skip a beat every time she sees me, because mine does it too.
As the two of them advance, I hold out my hand to welcome her father to Souza territory.
Some might think he took a risk coming here today, especially after our lifelong rivalry. However, Blanco stands to gain a lot from accepting our invitation.
Plus, the cartel boss has his usual security detail roaming the grounds. Though nothing we couldn’t handle if needed.
“Blanco,” I exclaim, full of confidence. “You made it.”
He sucks the end of a cigar and takes a beat to let the smoke escape his mouth before he replies.
“Weddings.” His lips quirk. “They have a way of bringing people together, don’t they?”
He takes my hand and copies my firm squeeze. I understand the meaning behind his statement.
Him being a guest is the first step of our new agreement––on my terms. Where our two families have mutually decided to come together again.
It involves trust on both sides and after this, he’d get the real message—loud and clear.
Blanco would join the Souza cartel, not the other way around.
We rule Colombia and he would fall in line for us.
“You’re seated next to my grandfather, Mick Hennessey. Our cousin Michael is here too, and his father, Tiernan Mannix.”
Blanco raises his brows. “Strategic seating, Matheus. Does this mean our agreement is still intact?”
“You mean the flimsy piece of paper you thought was a contract?”
I chuckle and take a step back, noticing Giovanni and André appear behind him.
Leaves rustle in a gentle breeze and the smell of marijuana drifts close.
“That nonsense was full of legal loopholes, Blanco. Anyway, a real man doesn”t pimp out his beautiful daughter for power.”
Dani shifts in her heels.
“One of these days, I’ll ask Dani to marry me…the old-fashioned way. You know…a man asking his woman if she wants to marry him.”
Blanco shrugs. “I don”t care how you do it, Matheus. As long as you put a ring on her finger. Contract or not, you shook on it.”
I smile inwardly. He thinks it”s that straightforward. That I’d marry his daughter, knock her up, and she’d insist on our child having his family name.
He wants the Blanco surname to hold as much influence and authority as the Souza name does.
Clearly, he doesn’t realize it’s the man who makes the name, not the other way around.
“Blanco.” André’s voice rumbles between us when he joins us.
A blunt hangs from his lips and he quietly eyeballs our guest. Giovanni hovers under the shade of a tall palm tree, tapping his phone screen. Always plotting.
They’re both smartly dressed like me, poured into tailored three-piece suits, crisp white shirts, and matching black ties.
Red silk peeks out of their jacket pockets and their Souza family rings are visible.
Instinctively, I twist my own a few times, getting used to the fact I have one after all these years.
I can’t say I feel any different. There wasn’t a carnival celebration in my chest or a sudden metamorphosis of my personality. Although, knowing it belonged to Angelo Souza––my real father, I guess that’s something.
But there’s no point wondering what my life would have looked like in a parallel universe.
The pieces I like about myself came from my family’s guidance. They taught me loyalty, respect for myself, how to party like a champion, obliterate targets when necessary, and, most importantly, how to take care of the people who mean the world to me.
I am who I am because of them.
That”s all that matters.
“André.” Blanco puffs on his cigar. “Mended well, I see.”
My brother waves his arms outwards and does a three-sixty turn.
“Better than ever. Can’t keep a good dog down, right? When I fall…I fucking bounce.”
Truth is, no one outside of our family would ever know how slow his recovery actually took.
Painfully slow for a man who gets agitated from lying in bed for too long and suffers an immense fear of missing anything.
When he arrived back at the mansion, he had stayed in a guest suite for a couple of days, heavily medicated and spaced out.
Eventually, he insisted on being hands on with the twins.
After a week or two of thinking he was invincible, he overdid it and burned himself out.
That was the hardest part for us to witness. Seeing him slip into a weird funk where he struggled to build himself back up to par.
He did, though. And this afternoon, André is stronger than ever, a coiled spring ready for action.
Giovanni starts walking towards the chapel and calls out over his shoulder on his way past, “Showtime.”
“Find your seat, Blanco.” André tosses his blunt, stamps on it, and stretches his shoulders. “Tommy’s on his way.”
I hold my elbow out for Dani to latch onto, meeting her gray eyes. When she steps into me, leaving her father behind, and hooks my arm, I don’t hide my grin.
Yeah, motherfucker, she’s all mine.
“Ready?” I ask as Blanco and André stroll towards the chapel doors, disappearing inside.
Sunlight dapples the stones underfoot and a slight breeze moves through the trees. I thumb her jaw as she gazes up at me and then spin her around, bumping her tits into my chest.
“You”re beautiful, Dani.”
Blood surges to my dick, making it strain against my zipper. I crash my mouth over cherry red lips and kiss her the way she likes it. Hard and dirty.
The sound of her whimper explodes like fireworks inside me. One hand settles around her nape, the other swathes her throat, controlling how I kiss her.
“If we weren’t in the middle of something,” I growl into her mouth. “I’d drag you behind a tree and fuck you in the dirt.”
She grabs onto my lapels and tugs. When my painfully hard dick jabs into her belly, the groan escaping her is liquid fucking gold.
Her tight little body rubs against me, hungry and needy. My temperature soars and desire almost blinds me.
It takes every grain of my self-restraint to peel myself off her.
“You drive me wild, but…”
“Business first,” she whispers, her breathing quick and her smokey eyes intense.
“Yeah…” I mumble, peppering kisses on her face. “Afterwards…”
I force myself to unhand her and fiddle with my tie for something else to do with my hands.
Dani reluctantly inches away and pats her hair, checking the comb is still in place. Her lipstick is smudged, which means I’m wearing it too.
“I wish we could have some time alone, Mat.” She pulls back her shoulders and sighs. “Away from everyone and for longer than just a few hours.”
Maybe it’s not the best idea to kill the gap between us again. But I do.
I lick my thumb and rub it under the seam of her bottom lip, cleaning up her smudged lipstick.
“Your wish is my command…but first we have a job to do.”
“Have I ever told you, you look hot in a suit?”
She plucks out my pocket square, reaches up and wipes around my mouth too.
“I prefer you naked though and without lipstick.”
Her gentle laughter sends tingles down my spine. I fucking love that sound, because I’m the only person who gets to hear it. I swoop in and kiss the tip of her nose.
“Te amo, Daniela Blanco.”
“Te amo, Matheus Souza.”
Taking her hand, we head into the chapel side by side and walk down the aisle, moving closer to a white-haired priest whose round glasses have steamed up from the humidity.
Beside the altar, Giovanni fixes his cuffs, and André saunters to the tall window, staring out at the trees.
The guests chatter amongst themselves while music drifts through speakers rigged within each corner.
Family members sit to the left and our associates on the right.
They don’t seem to realize the ratio of male to female is heavily weighted towards men.
When I catch my grandfather’s watchful eyes, he nods respectfully, whereas Uncle Conal glances over his shoulder at the only exit. He clearly senses the weird vibe, and when he mutters to Tiernan and Michael, they both frown.
Next to enter the chapel is Shane, my big brother”s second in command and best friend. He also happens to be Conal’s adopted son. Although they don’t have much of a relationship.
Shane wears an identical suit to us Souza brothers. The material strangles his broad shoulders and thick arm muscles. Clearly, he had spent little time with the tailor who underestimated his ox-like build.
Gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses partially hide the silver scars on his face and the top button on his collar is wide open where a neck tattoo peeks out.
He prowls towards us, half salutes, and moves into the pew directly in front of the Hennesseys, grunting when he sits.
Behind me, Giovanni’s phone buzzes seconds before an immaculately presented Tomás strolls indoors with Mama hooked on his arm.
Her pale complexion is flawless under a thin veil of foundation and her green eyes are amplified by the dark eyeshadow accenting her lids.
A wide-brimmed hat sits at an angle on her head and a pair of diamond earrings dangle from her lobes, complimenting her sophisticated shamrock green dress.
Together they walk towards us, united and regal in their appearance. Pride brightens every inch of her expression, and she nods gracefully to her seated relations as she passes by.
Mama’s hawk-eyed bodyguard lingers at the end of Shane’s bench, waiting for her to take a seat.
On her approach, I lean in and kiss my mother’s cheek.
“You look beautiful, Mama.”
André shows her love next, followed by Giovanni, who then escorts her to her seat and rejoins us at the altar.
Tomás positions himself in the middle of my brothers and me, clears his throat and calls to the undercover agents at the back of the chapel.
“Lock the doors.”