Page 38 of Tainted Blood
“Thank you for the lesson, Franco,” Spader murmurs. “Manners maketh the cartel whore.”
I press my palm against my skin to ease the sting. There’s metal in my mouth. My vision is shooting stars and flashing lights. “How long have you been planning to kidnap Ella and me?”
How long have you been wanting to hurt us?
He reaches out to smooth a strand of dark hair away from my face. His touch seems to linger on and on. When I try to move away, I get shoved back to him by Franco.
“The moment your sweet sister stepped into a bar in Manhattan and allowed my associate to violate her.”
“Bardi,” I gasp out. “He works for you?”
His thin lips quirk. “They all do, Mrs. Carrera. The Irish, Don Ricci, Bardi… I, in turn, work for an organization who provides these… services. Amongst other things. You’d be surprised how much men will pay to taste the fear of a mafia or cartel princess, particularly if they’ve been wronged by their family. And there are so many who have been wronged by Dante Santiago, dear child.” His voice drops to an obscene-like purr. “Not to mention, by your hot-headed new husband, who is making quite the name for himself these days.”
I watch in horror as he raises his hand to his mouth to lick the fingers that just violated my skin. Still, I force myself to keep eye contact, even when my stomach starts roiling.
“How many pieces of silver did you cross the devil’s palm for me?” I whisper.
“More than you think.” He laughs and picks up a small hunting knife from the table. “You were my incentive, Thalia,” he says, tilting his head with that toxic trash can expression again. “Well, initially I wanted your sister after seeing the tape Bardi made for us,” he admits. “But from the moment I saw you, it was only a matter of time before we entered Il Labirinto together.”
“You’re sick!”
“Franco.”
This time it’s my right cheek that receives a savage reprimand. I stagger backward, gasping frantically, trying to fill my body with anything other than pain.
“Temper, temper, Thalia,” he tuts. “You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you? I think it’s best we strip away the formalities, considering I’ll be finding out just how loud you cry before dawn.”
“This is bullshit,” I rasp. “You were working for Santi long before Ella even met Bardi. You’ve been in his pocket for over a year. What else are you hiding?”
The guard advances on me again with a raised hand, but Spader waves him away.
“I have other skills, more intricate than procuring whores for Mr. Zaccaria’s cash venture. I was tasked with escalating the destabilization on the East Coast, between your father’s cartel and your husband’s... And then you walked into Legado like a sacrificial lamb in shimmering red and caught everyone’s attention.” I freeze as he runs the tip of his blade along the curve of my shoulder, hovering over the strap of my dress. “I never dreamed Carrera would marry you. I never dreamed he’d fall so hard… A fool in love is a fool ripe for exploitation.”
“My husband is no fool, Spader.”
With a flick of his wrist, he slices through the delicate strap of my white slip dress, and I grab at the material to stop it from fluttering to the ground.
“Only a fool allows himself to be distracted. And you distracted him,” he accuses, now focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. “It made you and Lola such easy targets. Once we found out about your sister’s condition, she was no good to us. But you…you were a much more inviting proposition.”
“You killed Sam,” I whisper, the sickening twin blasts of the double gunshots ringing out in my head.
“On Legado’s property, no less.” He laughs again, before shifting the knife to my opposite shoulder, letting his threat rest on my skin next to my one remaining dress strap. “Now, who do you think Edier Grayson is going to blame for that?”
He takes off his glasses with his other hand and places them neatly in his front pocket. Moments later, there’s the sound of angry barking behind me.
“We’re not just here to line Zaccaria’s pockets, are we?” I say in a rush. “There’s something else he wants from this.”
He hums in agreement but doesn’t elaborate.
“The crimson keys,” I blurt out, clutching at straws. “What do they represent?”
“When your father joins you in hell, be sure to ask him about it.”
“Not if you’re going there first.” I flinch as his blade nicks my shoulder in punishment for my disrespect. “I want answers before you and your hellhounds chase me through this maze, Spader.”
“Enough!” His expression turns feral as he leans forward, poisoning every inch of my eyeline—beads of sweat coating his top lip, his whole body reeking sour with nerves and excitement. “No more talking. Tonight we fight and fuck. Without your consent.”
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.