No Merciful Corruption (No Sweeter Poison #4)
Prologue
Dahlia
Barcelona, Spain
Ten men gather in a quiet room, each one dressed in black from head to toe.
Some wander by the bar and drink bourbon to dull the senses.
Others commune by the center table and whisper among themselves while their security details hover in dark corners.
The moment I descend from the lounge’s spiral stairs, they all stand at attention.
The weight of their gazes rests on my shoulders, one after the other, dragging me further into the depths of grief.
How do you describe this…this strange combination of pity and shock that permeates the air, snuffing all the oxygen out of the room, coupled with an incongruous sense of shame?
They don’t look at me so much as they look through me.
I’m merely the car crash they can’t turn away from.
When I think I might lose my footing at the last step, someone clasps my hand and holds me steady.
Regina.
I look up through my veil and Regina’s grip tightens until my fingers grow numb.
I hold back just as tightly and take in her appearance.
Elegantly dressed in a modest black suit, the rim of her birdcage veil has been lifted so as not to obstruct the view of her face.
Her eyes are light brown and glossy, ears and neck adorned with pearls but appears otherwise stoic and impenetrable.
She looks like fury.
We descend the dais together and I take my place at the head of the table with Regina standing to my right.
The other men abandon their posts at the bar and across the room to find their seats as Dimitrio and Mauricio lock the lounge doors, sealing to proverbial vault.
All these years spent trying to leave this part of our family’s history in the past has been in vain.
We restored the lounge after the fire so it could be a center for legitimate business not a place of convergence for the city’s Twelve Apostles. It seems fate had other plans.
Silence engulfs the room. I smooth my gloved hands over the front of my black dress and experiment with the sound of my voice.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” I sound as raw as I feel.
The Apostles surround the table in no particular order.
Miguel Lopez, Rubin Caceres, Luis Alberto Torres, Cayetano Arroyo, Samuel Villamizar, Mauricio Falcón, Beto Garcia, Jose Betancourt, Fulgencio De La Vega, and Javier Sevilla.
Regina and I are the only women. From behind my veil I watch as her razor-sharp gaze cuts through the pretense of propriety and she stares each man down.
Almost as if undressing them this way will bring her closer to the one who betrayed us.
My fingers ache and itch with the desire to grab something. Yearns for the weight of a weapon but has nowhere to direct the harm. Instead, the urge to ruin and destroy merely simmers inside me, awaiting an outlet.
Don Rubin is the first to approach me. He takes my left hand, presses a kiss against my wedding ring, and says, “Mis más sinceras condolencias.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, knowing my vulnerability is on display for everyone to witness. How could it not be? My dress is so obviously ill-fitting around the waist as if I’d had no time to buy a new one or have this one tailored. Both of which are true.
He returns to his seat at the table and soon after, Don Miguel walks over to take his place.
“Lo siento,” he kisses my ring. “Senora Narvaez.”
I suffer through eight more payments of condolences for my immeasurable loss and while there’s no doubting the sincerity, I think I’ve had enough of people telling me how sorry they are. I don’t want apologies.
I want blood.
When the last Don has returned to their place at the table, I let Don Rubin pull out my chair as I motion for the rest of the men present to take their seats.
I’m exhausted and in pain—physically and mentally.
Everything inside me aches and twists like a revolt taking place inside my body.
Red splotches obstruct my vision and any slight movement makes my head spin with dizziness.
The doctor said the cramping should’ve stopped by now but I’m seized by a pain in my lower abdomen which renders me momentarily speechless.
Regina glances at me and sensing my discomfort, decides to take the lead. “The vault is sealed. Let’s begin.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for—” Don Fulgencio stops himself and reconsiders. “Will Diego Narvaez be joining us? As a representative for his family?”
Before Regina can answer for me, I intercede. “From now on, I’m the Don of the Narvaez family.”
Regina gives him a smug look before taking account of all the men present, including Luis Alberto who has recently taken over for his father, and makes note of my presence on behalf of the Narvaez family.
“I doubt anyone will have any objections if I forgo the pretense of ceremony this evening.” Her eyes scour the table in search of dissent but finds none. “Very well. As I’m sure you all know by now—”
“Someone at this table will answer for my husband’s death.”
Eleven heads swing around to face me.
I rise from my seat and grip the edge of the table because it’s the only thing close enough that can withstand my crushing grip.
The pieces of Lisandro’s lounge were lovingly and painstakingly put together with his vision of a better future for his family in mind.
A vision Alejandro and I labored over for years.
I stepped into this role thinking I wouldn’t lose myself to it completely and confident we could forge our own path forward together.
Lisandro longed for legitimacy so deeply it became a legacy his children couldn’t escape. Rather than propelling his family into a period of prosperity free from the shackles of its criminal past, it sent the rest of us spiraling into disaster because there is no way out. You simply die trying.
A regular girl from New York marries a titan of industry with a dark past and she thinks it’ll all be okay.
How na?ve I was. This life is bitter and cruel and even the most innocent among us pay for sins they didn’t commit.
I don’t know why I thought this transformation would be kinder to me; the moment I began bending and twisting my rigid morals into something more malleable, I should’ve know there was no going back for me.
There is no such thing as a merciful corruption. When the glass on our moral compass shatters, it ceases to exist completely.
Don Cayetano clears his throat. “What happened to Don Alejandro—”
My eyes snap to his. He immediately falls silent.
“Alejandro may have sworn himself to your honor code but I did not. I’ll have answers. One way or another.”
Beto Garcia’s back stiffens. “My family doesn’t answer to idle threats.”
“Threats are for people who don’t follow through.” I tell him. “That was a warning.”
“Threat or not,” Don Jose Betancourt’s eyes narrow. “You’ve just announced to a table of twelve powerful families that you’re coming after them. Maybe it isn’t in your best interest to accumulate so many enemies at once.”
“My husband never exerted the full extent of his power over the men sitting at this table but I will. Whether it’s twelve families or one, I’ll knock each one of you off the city map like pieces on a chessboard.
I refuse to believe a hit of this magnitude was orchestrated without help from someone at this table.
So I’m coming for every family sitting at this table, innocent or not.
And you know I can,” I say quietly. “I just inherited billions.”
I abandon my place at the head of the table and make for the stairs. Regina is behind me, one hand on my shoulder as she keeps me steady.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispers.
“Of course I do.” I turn to look at her. “They’re going to fold in on themselves like a house of cards.”