Page 74 of Tainted Blood
“Not angry…” His dark gaze seeks out mine again as I draw my knees up to my chest for comfort. “There are two types of killers in this world, mija... Those who take without mercy, and those who carry the blood they spill inside their hearts until the only thing left for it to beat to is guilt.”
My breath catches. It’s as if he’s reached inside my chest and seen the damage of my own pain.
“You need to let the guilt go before it consumes you. You need to finally accept who you are, and your place in this world.”
“What if I can’t?” I whisper.
“Then your worst fears about my business infecting you have already been realized.”
“Want to know what the craziest thing about it is, pápa?”
“Crazier than you walking into Carrera’s casino to scam fifty thousand out of the man when I have fifty billion in untraceable bank accounts?” he mocks, his black eyes glinting dangerously.
Turning my head, I press my cheek to my knee. “Without your blood in my veins, I would have died in that hellhole. I needed fire to survive, and you gave me an inferno.”
There’s a pause. “How did it feel to take a life?”
“Like a shadow was overwhelming me.”
“Mine feels like a monster consuming me.” Striding over to the bed, he slots his fingers under my chin and lifts my head toward him. “You are so like your mother in many ways, Thalia,” he murmurs, his expression softening a fraction. “When she killed a man for the first time, she had this same conflict inside her.”
I’m shocked. My mother is the model of restraint and fragility. I can’t imagine her holding a gun, let alone firing one.
“She killed for love, not hate,” he adds tersely. “The same as you. A long time ago, I told her to never doubt her decisions, to never apologize, and to never shed a fucking tear for anyone. Now, again, I say the same to you.” His expression changes. “Don’t fear the shadows, mija. They make you stronger, not weaker.”
“That’s good to know when Zaccaria finds me again.”
“That’s never going to happen.” He drops my chin with a scowl. “For all your new husband’s faults… For as much as I’d like to line him up against a wall in his fucking casino and let my bullets thank him for all he’s done, I have no doubt he’ll find Zaccaria and kill him. In the meantime, Edier has a hundred men protecting this apartment.” His lips quirk. “Not forgetting the twenty or so unsanctioned Carrera men patrolling this block.”
“You saw the black SUV outside?”
“I saw all five. Why buy flowers when protection is just as sweet?” He stops to weigh up his next words carefully. “He wouldn’t rest until he’d found you, Thalia. He tripped and fell on the sword of his own deception, and now he’s bleeding out for you.”
“You sound way too calm about a Carrera falling in love with me, pápa.”
“Calm on the outside, mija,” he says dryly. “Best not to look too closely on the inside.”
“I don’t know how to find my way back to him,” I blurt out, as he turns to leave.
“Then buy a fucking map,” he says, sounding exasperated. “Matters of the heart are your mother’s speciality, not mine.”
“Bullshit,” I argue, swinging my legs out of bed. “There are three types of killers, pápa, not two. The third killed for hate until his soul turned black. Now, he kills for love.”
His deep, mocking laughter follows him out into the hallway. “I’ve been tortured, shot, and stabbed more times than I can count, Thalia Santiago, but do you know what the true definition of pain is? Having a daughter as smart as you are.”
“Care to guess what the true definition of a father is?” I counter softly, making him stop and turn. “He’s a man who does whatever it takes to make and keep his daughter’s happiness.”
“Whatever it takes,” he agrees, brushing his fist against the doorframe, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Even if it means accepting a fucking Carrera as a son-in-law.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thalia
That night, I toss and turn for hours, my nightmares making another tangled mess of my bedsheets.
I see mazes and cellars, spliced with a soundtrack of my father’s words. I replay the moment I swing my arrow into Monroe Spader’s eye, but it’s a dark shadow, not blood, that comes pouring out of the wound. Next, I’m back on the beach with Sam. It’s not a line in the sand I’m racing toward, however. It’s my husband pointing a loaded gun at my head.
I wake to dusty beams of sunshine on my face. I’m damp with sweat and confusion. Still, I wake with the certainty that I’m done with staying motionless now. I don’t want the past to catch and consume me before I’ve had a chance to touch the future.