Page 29 of Tainted Blood
A man is most dangerous when he’s calm, remember?
“Dante Santiago, I presume.” Lifting my chin, I meet his glacial glare with one of my own, my bottled-up anger spilling all over the floor like Anthrax. “Or would you prefer it if I called you, pápa?”
Well, that didn’t take long.
To his credit, my father doesn’t react, even though I just pissed all over his warning.
There’s no mistaking RJ’s exhaled, “Fuck,” though. He’s already reaching for his gun. In response, five others are aimed at the back of our heads.
Santiago’s gaze never waivers as he lifts his hand. A beat later, his men’s bullets are back aiming at the floor.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t address me at all, Carrera.” The temperature in the room drops sharply as he rises to his feet, his voice a deep, mocking drawl. “Most of all, I’d prefer it if you left my daughter alone.”
“I could say the same to you, amigo.” Three deadly syllables roll into six as my father turns camaraderie into a thrown gauntlet.
I guess his own advice to “not let Santiago draw you into an inferno” becomes null and void when Lola’s the one trapped in the middle of it.
At this, his rival slams his palms to the table. “Then I suggest you check your fucking sources. Grayson and I control where our men aim their guns, not their dicks. Whatever Sanders did with your precious cielito was of his own doing—and with her consent, I might add. It seems that neither of us know our daughters as well as we thought we did.” He shifts his gaze back to me again. “And where exactly was Thalia when these bullets were making a mess of Sanders? Safely locked in her ivory tower, I hope?”
“She’s gone.”
Those dark eyes gleam in amusement. “Six days of marriage, and you’ve lost her already, Carrera? How careless.”
I take a step toward the table and slam my palms down to mimic his stance. “They came for her.”
He pauses. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“They hit them in the parking lot. First, they took Thalia, then they came for my sister. Sanders was caught in the crossfire.”
“They have my daughter?” He spits it out like he’s chewing glass.
“Yes.” I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
In a flash of movement, I’m staring down the barrel of his gun.
“I should decorate the walls of this warehouse with your blood for allowing my daughter to be kidnapped.”
“And then I’ll paint a fucking Picasso with yours.” Pulling his own gun, my father aims it at Santiago’s head, and then at the line of cocked guns behind us. “And so on and so on. No one in this room would walk out alive. So, go ahead…take your revenge on the one Carrera who’ll walk through hell to find your daughter.”
What the fuck is he doing?
“I repeat, it was your bastard son who let my daughter fall into enemy hands,” Santiago clips, barely containing his rage.
But my father hasn’t garnered his reputation by backing down to anyone. Especially not Dante Santiago. Taking three calculated steps, now it’s his turn to mock his adversary’s stance, his low growl engulfing the room like rolling thunder. “Just like your bastard godson did with mine? If Sanders had stayed away from Lola, she wouldn’t have been in New Jersey.”
“This is going exactly how I imagined it would,” I hear RJ mutter.
As The Reaper and The Devil square off against one another, a sense of anarchy builds in the warehouse like the final notes of an off-key concerto. Grayson and I exchange looks. He’s still wearing that arrogant pretense, but there’s no mistaking the flash of warning in his eyes.
It mirrors the one I know is reflected in mine.
We’re proud men—princes who have the world at our feet. But even proud men can count the seconds of a ticking time bomb. There’s too much bad blood between my father and Santiago for them to lead this charge. Thalia and Lola may be their daughters, but twenty years of animosity is going to get them killed.
There needs to be a mediator.
Someone with a vested interest in both women.
Someone who’d lay down his life for either one.