Page 24 of Tainted Blood
Every eye swings to where my father stands, one hand gripping his gun, the other clenching Lola’s bracelet.
Sanders glares at him, daring him to explain. “I heard a voice saying those words. Like he was mocking me.”
“Italian,” I spit in frustration. “We need a fucking translator in here.”
“Old sins have long shadows” my father murmurs, surprising us all. “I haven’t heard that phrase in over twenty years. I thought it was dead and buried.”
“What the hell does it mean?”
“It’s the creed of La Societá Villefort,” he says heavily. “An elite underground criminal organization with roots all over the world.” He takes my arm in a vise-like grip again. “Call Edier Grayson,” he orders, turning back to the gurney. “Set up a meeting right away.”
“What the fuck?” I roar, shoving a hand through my hair. This night is exposing more than a few skeletons.
There’s a distant look in my father’s eyes, accompanied by a faint film of resignation. “There’s one man who knows more about this organization than anyone... The same man who brought it crashing down two decades ago, and he happens to be a close business associate of Santiago’s.”
Sanders murmurs something in agreement, then lifts his arm. “Hand me a phone. I’ll make the call.”
I shoot him a blistering look. “I thought I’d made it clear who gives the orders around here. If anyone’s going to make that call, it’s me.”
My father’s grip on my arm tightens. “Then do it. My daughter’s life is on the line. Your sister’s life. It’s time for the Carreras to put our pride aside and make a concession. Tell Grayson we’ll cross the river and come to him this time.” Grinding his teeth, he slides Lola’s bracelet back into his pocket. “I refuse to let La Boda Roja become my daughter’s Funeral Rojo. If there’s the slightest chance this associate knows where Lola and Thalia are, the walls between New Jersey and New York need to come crashing down... Starting tonight.”
Chapter Six
Thalia
I was born with a price on my head.
Not the FBI one, but another that’s whispered about in dark corners of the underworld. It promises revenge over dollars… Innocence for blood.
My father has many enemies.
Enemies have a habit of laying low.
Enemies bite when you least expect it, and it’s usually those closest who end up hurting the most.
Today, those enemies are here to collect, and I’m his collateral… Or rather, I’m his and Santi’s. I bear two cartel names now, which means I’m twice as valuable to those who seek to profit from whatever this horror show is.
They come for us in the afternoon, just like Rosalia—the girl who was shoved into our room yesterday—said they would.
With their guns pointing in our faces, we’re made to shower and put on clean, white slip dresses, without being allowed to dry ourselves first.
The flimsy material is still clinging to our bodies as we’re forced down the winding stone steps to the ground floor. I do as they demand, but I’m counting everything… The guard with his eyes glued to my breasts? He has two missing fingers on his right hand. The crimson key insignia pin badge that they wear on their lapels? It matches the insignia on the twenty-three doors we pass. There are five security cameras in total above the lines of faded frescos, and exactly forty-five steps from the bottom of the staircase to the steel front door.
If there’s a chink in the armory of this place, I’m going to find it.
We’re pushed through a double doorway, down another flight of stone steps, and out into a small courtyard. The sight that greets me makes my steps falter. More young women—all dressed in the same stupid white dresses and invisible chains.
No one speaks as we’re herded together like sheep, ring-fenced by a pack of snarling guards.
There are sixty-three of them in total.
There are only thirty-one of us.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Rosalia whispers, her soft plea melting into all the whimpers going on around us. “Whatever you do, don’t catch their attention.”
I jerk out a nod as I’m sucked deeper into the group, allowing dread and uncertainty to seep further into my bones. There’s a shadow forming inside me, a bullet wrapped up in barbed wire that’s dragging along the walls of my soul— ripping and tearing—freeing emotions I’ve never dared allowed myself to entertain.
Hate.