Page 90 of Tainted Blood
“I believe so.”
“Is this about The Odessa and Lorenzo Zaccaria?”
He doesn’t answer. Not that I expected him too. He’s under strict instructions to keep me calm, oblivious, and out of harm’s way. At the top of that list are orders not to divulge every facet of cartel warfare to me.
My apartment is dark and empty when I arrive home. Ella must still be in class. Flicking on a couple of side lights, I kick off my heels and the rest of my clothes and melt under a long hot shower.
Stepping out of a whirlpool of steam and into my bedroom, I’m distracted from my worries by the sight of the newly cleaned and pressed claret-red dress hanging on the back of my closet door.
Máma, you life saver.
I run my hand over the intricate beaded detail, remembering how much I hated it the first time I wore it. Back then, I chose it as the ultimate distraction. Tonight, I want all of his attention on me.
Lying on the center of my bed is a brand new pair of shiny red Louboutins, and a small black jewelry box. I can’t help but smile when I open it up to find a beautiful star pendant studded with diamonds on a delicate silver chain. I love my mother more in that moment than I ever thought possible.
I take my time getting ready, straightening my long hair into a shiny dark waterfall, and making my eyes so smoky and sultry that Reece chokes on air when he sees me.
“Well?” I say, giving him a twirl.
“I thought you told Carrera to ditch the tequila,” he accuses, fighting a grin. “The arrogant bastard’s going to drink his own bar dry when he sees that dress.”
No chance.
This evening, the only thing my husband is getting drunk on is me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thalia
Despite Santi’s talk about Legado’s dwindling popularity yesterday, the porte-cochére is packed with expensive cars as Reece parks up next to a curtain of ivy.
The rose-gold tower of sin is beckoning. I slip out of the vehicle before my bodyguard can stop me, hurrying up the black marble steps and into the glass-fronted lobby.
I weave through the crowds of expensive colognes and perfumes toward the main elevator, under the assumption that Santi will be waiting for me in his office. But as I go to press the call button for a carriage, the large shadow of his second-in-command, RJ, materializes next to me.
“Nice déjà vu,” he says, his mouth quirking up when he recognizes my dress. “Should I alert security that there's a card counter on the floor tonight?”
“I have it on good authority that the owner’s going to let this one slide,” I tell him, fighting a grin.
“Is that right?” He swallows a laugh. “Good to see you back, Señora Carrera. And of your own free will… He’s waiting for you in one of the private blackjack rooms. Follow me.”
Santi has his back turned to us as we enter. One wrist is resting on the bar counter in front of him, next to a cut glass tumbler, while the other is glued to his phone. His suit jacket has been thrown carelessly over the gold velvet bar stool nearby, and when he goes to rake his hand through his hair, the guns in his holster glint menacingly in the soft amber lights.
“I want updates throughout the evening,” I hear him say, while I’m taking in the black velvet couches below the gilt-framed mirrors and the black gaming table in the center of the room. “We’ll speak again before ten.”
Hanging up, he chucks the phone across the bar counter in frustration, raking his hand through his hair again, as a vicious Spanish curse spills from his mouth.
“Santi,” RJ murmurs.
“What is it?” he snaps.
“Your wife has arrived.”
He turns, with his glass in his hand. When he sees me, he goes very still. A beat later, there’s a click behind me as RJ excuses himself from our staring contest.
It lingers on and on, until I feel a giggle rising up inside me.
“Are you practicing your poker face, Santi?” I say slyly. “I thought we were playing a different game tonight.”