Page 18 of Tainted Blood
Sins of the father.
I lift an eyebrow.
“You’ve never been just an heir to me, Santi,” he says, his nostrils flaring as his anger escalates. “You’re my flesh and blood.” Releasing his hold on me, he slams his fist against his chest. “Mi maldito corazon!”
My fucking heart.
“Then prove it.” I gesture toward Sanders. “Either help me save two Santiagos, or go back to Mexico, and I’ll do it on my own.”
We stare at each other in a rare moment of silence, the only sound between us being the steady drip drip drip of the IV machine.
Seconds feel like minutes, before he finally heaves out a rough breath and rakes a bronzed hand down his stubbled face. “Dios mío. You love this girl.”
It’s a hit I don’t see coming.
Shoving my hands in the pockets of my crumpled tuxedo pants, I glance toward Sanders with a condescending laugh. “I’d prefer her alive rather than dead. That hardly constitutes love. Besides, it’s only been six goddamn days.”
“That’s true,” he states. “Two days longer than it took for me to fall for your mother.”
Jesus. He’s angry, then he’s calm. One minute he’s telling me I’ve disgraced his name, the next he’s telling me that I love her... Is this what Thalia has to deal with? A volatile pendulum swinging from one unpredictable extreme to the next?
No wonder she hates me.
“Thalia and I are nothing like you and máma,” I insist. The vehemence in my tone falters as I add, “Especially after tonight.”
As my father and I stand there observing our fallen enemy, something shifts between us. The power struggle we’ve been fighting since he landed on American soil fades away as he, too, tucks his hands into his pockets, the tension easing from his shoulders.
“Tell me everything, Santi.”
My pride is a crumbling wall. For twenty-two years, I’ve been taught a man is nothing without power and strength. Control fear and you’ll control the world. I’ve lived by those words. I’ve justified every decision and choice by them.
The world was all I ever wanted, until Thalia became the center of it. Now my world is gone, and the man who raised me—the one who taught me how to hate, while warning me to keep love trapped inside our tightly guarded circle—is the only one who can help me get her back.
I start from when Thalia stumbled into my office and I end with how I blackmailed the chief of medicine into performing surgery in the basement of my casino. He doesn’t interrupt. He listens quietly, taking it all in, until the very last word.
“She won’t forgive me, and why the fuck should she?” My chest is hollow from expelling six days of truth. “If she’s even still alive...”
Fuck, I can’t go there. I won’t.
He rubs his chin. “I was indirectly responsible for your uncle Nash’s death... I didn’t think your mother could ever forgive me for that, but she did.”
I turn to face him. My guard down. My bloody, black heart in my hands. “How’d you get her to listen?”
“I let her go.”
His solution pisses me off. It’s not the answer I want. Besides, I’ve already let her go—twice—and look where it’s gotten us.
I hear him chuckle. “Santi, we’re Carrera men... Patience isn’t one of our strongest traits. However, a wounded bird can’t fly with clipped wings. You have to give them time to heal for it to fly back to you.”
Clipped wings.
I’m immediately transported back to a snowy street in Hasbrouck Heights. To a little girl in a red toboggan who was worried I was cold.
Ten years ago, I almost made her my first kill. Instead, I let her fly. Now, someone else holds that choice in the palm of his hands.
“I need to find her before they clip her wings.”
“You’re right. You’re in charge here, not me.” When I glance up, I find a determined look on his face. “I’ll back off, but I won’t return to Mexico. This family sticks together. We’re powerful men, but we’re not invincible.” Giving RJ a conciliatory nod, he turns and walks out.