The Mob 2: Shio Cuppacio

Prologue

Staring down at the white, powdery line next to the tightly rolled American bill, I felt my tongue grow heavy with saliva.

Before I could swallow it down, more spit flooded my mouth.

Being out with the girls last night made me feel imparable (unstoppable).

I’d never had amigas (friends). I never knew I’d desired them until meeting these ladies.

Back home, my nights were spent partying with locals, people I’d never see again.

But being with the girls made me feel like I belonged.

They made me feel seen and accepted. With skin resembling a dark chocolate bar, I’d never felt like a member of my family, especially with my stepmother reminding me at every turn that I wasn’t her child.

The wives, though, came in all shapes, sizes, and shades.

They not only showed me a good time, but being out with them made me feel alive.

And although I’d embarrassed myself with my vocals in the studio, the night had gone on without a hitch—or so I’d thought it would.

Then we entered the club.

Then I saw him.

I hadn’t danced with the devil in a while until I spotted him under the strobe lights, and I knew there was no way I wasn’t getting what I needed.

It was the one thing that would turn a good night into a great one.

The high I felt when the candy hit my system made my body tingle every time I thought about it.

It did more than make me feel weightless; it made me careless.

I didn’t care that my fiancé popped up. I didn’t care that my brother had accompanied him. All I cared about was how I would feel wrapped in Shio’s arms. He’d done what no one had ever done: stand up for me. Everyone was afraid of the Rodríguezes.

Not Shio.

He stood in the line of fire. He went against the most feared—the untouchables.

That alone spoke volumes to me and those watching from México.

That night had done more than cement my feelings for him.

It was the one night I’d finally done something for myself.

I’d chosen what I wanted. Despite my knowing life was only going to get worse for me by going against my father, I still chose him.

At the time, it felt good. It felt like the right thing to do.

Why? Because not only was I insanely attracted to Shio, but I was dancing with the devil in the clouds.

I was careless. I was weightless. I was downright out of my fucking mind.

Now that the high had worn off and my sanity was intact, I was feeling what I should have been feeling at the club: asustada (afraid).

Shifting my eyes from the one thing that I knew would take me back to the state of euphoria, I focused on the length of my body in the ten-foot mirror wedged in between the wooden shelves of the closet.

Once again, Shio had the glam team come fix me up for the evening.

I didn’t know what it was with Lunar and my natural cabello (hair), but this was his second time doing my tresses, and, like the first time, he didn’t press it out.

My entire life, I’d had it worked to be silky straight.

Dark skin and coarse hair were not ideal where I was from.

Because I had both, I stood out amongst my people.

It’s why I straightened it so much, and now I didn’t know how to manage it in its natural state.

I’d never been ashamed of my blackness, even though my mother was taboo in our home.

I loved the features she’d passed down to me, but those features made me an outcast.

Fluffy, spiral-like curls framed my round face and cascaded to the top half of my back.

My hair was so full and shiny, smelling like a cross between mint and berries.

I even liked the baby hairs he’d gelled to rest along my hairline.

The makeup looked as if it had melted into my pores.

We’d decided on a full glam look, yet the application still had a softness, making me appear innocent.

Back in México, I’d mostly done my own makeup because no one could match my foundation when I tried to hire an artist. Yet, Bruna had me looking like a muneca (doll).

Running my hand down the curve of my hips, the material of the dress felt good against my skin.

There was no doubt that it was expensive.

I’d quickly learned that where pesos were concerned, Shio didn’t care.

I hadn’t heard him question the price of anything yet.

Whatever I thought I needed, it appeared in the room I’d been sleeping in without me asking, making me wonder if he’d planted a chip inside my brain.

The olive-colored dress clung to my frame as if it were a part of my genetic makeup.

It was long-sleeved and had a plunging neckline that still allowed me to wear a bra.

The dress was simple, but its shape made it a showstopper.

It stopped a few inches under my butt, hugging my thighs and making my hips appear even rounder.

On my feet were a pair of Christian Louboutin Cassia Lace Up’s that wrapped around my ankles.

I loved how they resembled ballerina shoes.

As my hands continued to explore the fabric, I caught a glimpse of the oversized gold ring on my middle finger.

It complemented the gold oval earrings dangling from my ears.

The radio played a soft hum, but hearing one of my favorite songs from back home prompted me to stretch toward the shelf it rested on and turn the volume up as loud as it could go.

Holding my hand out in front of me, I tilted my head to admire the simple gold jewelry.

It wasn’t the Cartier Love bracelets or the gold Rolex that had my attention.

Those were gifts from the king of the castle.

Shio. It was the gaudy ring, which had to be costume jewelry, that my eyes were zeroed on.

He wouldn’t have the glam squad provide me with a real gold ring.

Or would he?

Removing it from my middle finger, I placed it on my ring finger and held my hand back out.

“Solana Rodríguez-Ledesma,” I recited.

A frown creased my face as soon as the words left my lips, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

Of all the men my father could have bargained with, he had gone and promised me to the devil.

Felipe had money, power, and even looks, but he was the worst of the worst. Not only did he have no regard for his own people, but he was a known racist. His wanting a wife who was part African American was beyond me, but I had no interest in being his punching bag and blow-up doll for the rest of my days.

My cheeks rose in satisfaction as I thought back to the anger Shio had incited in Felipe.

No man in my country would ever go against Felipe, not even his own father.

It was the reason he turned their cartel into his own human trafficking ring.

No one had the guts to tell him no. Yet, Shio stood in the line of fire, ready to go to war—over me.

Tilting my head in admiration, I pictured a diamond instead of a round chunk of gold.

A GIA-certified, VVS diamond surrounded by princess-cut stones, just like the rest of the mob women, was now on my finger.

Shio was the type of man who wouldn’t spare a single expense on a ring.

Everything he did was perfect. He was so calm, yet assertive and dominant.

Last night, when he stumbled into the house with eyes as murky as an abandoned pond, I thought the Rodríguezes had done something to him.

His clothes were torn, and he smelled like heat, sweat, and mildew.

Although he looked like he’d been through hell and back, Shio still looked so damn good.

Lying in the tub on his chest, with his erection poking me and cutting through the water, I tried my hardest to focus on just being with him.

He made it clear that he wouldn’t touch me until he was the last man standing, and even though that sounded good, it also sounded like a horror film.

Shio had won at the club, but Felipe had only stood down momentarily.

He was going to come back strong. Whatever he had up his sleeves, I knew an army would follow.

“Solana Damita Cuppacio-Ledesma,” I whispered.

It sounded perfect. The only man I could see as my husband was Shio.

Not only was he a protector, but he was also a leader.

He was a part of a mob, but he stood on his own.

He proved that at the club. I wanted to be his everything.

I wanted to rock his ring, wear his last name, and have all of his beautiful chocolate babies.

I wanted to spend my mornings in that sweatshop he called a home gym, and my evenings with his tool sliding down my throat, like Uriah had done for him.

I wanted to be the peace that he came home to at the end of the day.

I wanted him to admire me as I nurtured our children.

And when I wasn’t being Shio’s wife, I wanted to spend my free time with the American mob wives.

Before meeting the ladies, before meeting Shio, and before coming to the States, I thought the lives they lived were only for the movies.

No one was really in love for real, in the real world.

Couples were married either out of obligation, familiarity, or an urge to settle.

Men ran the home, the marriage, and the money, and women stayed home and bore the children.

That’s what marriage was to me. Anything else was all fake.

But seeing the way the American men in the Rinaldi Mob treated their gorgeous wives showed me a different way.