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"I mean, you're no longer a part of this family."
"What?" His words felt like a punch in the gut.
"Don't make me have to punish you in front of the whole city. Because I will."
"But, I...." I was dumbfounded. He was serious, though. I could see it in his eyes.
And I didn't blame him. His wife and kid could have died today.
"Yes, sir." I nodded. There was a knot of fear in my throat.
"You have my men to get Tatiana back. After that, you will leave the city."
A rush of anger filled me. I deserved to live in this city more than he did. My blood had drowned in it, my ancestry was rooted here, centuries ago. I wanted to protest, but I bit down on my next words. "Okay."
"Go find Tatiana. Take Dante with you."
I felt like I was choking but I met his eyes, taking the consequences of my actions. "Yes, sir."
THIRTY-NINE
The roomahead was as black as inky midnight and the steel clamps of my captors seared into my arms as they drug me through the hallway. They smelled like sweat, blood, and steel--a testament to their life choices. We passed through a metal door with a secure lock, the air stifling, like old flint and gunfire.
I was viciously tossed through the air, crashing onto something soft, a low grunt escaping my throat.
A mattress.
"Be careful, assholes." Antonio snapped, looming behind the two men in the dark room.
They both were huge, with bulging muscles stretching the fabric of their tight fitting shirts. One had a beard the color of fire, the other a bald head with a long, thick scar at the crown.
My gut churned as hands touched me again, but they only tugged back thick covers, then arranged me until I was lying under warm blankets. The sheets were made from a lush, expensive silk that did nothing to ease my panic.
Antonio came to stand next to the bed. "You should have movement restored in a few minutes."
"Fuck you," I spat out, filled with rage.
Antonio's deep laughter reverberated in the air. "Looks like you've already regained control of your mouth. El Caminante won't be happy about that."
"El Caminante is never happy," the bald, scarred man shook his head.
"No, he isn't." Antonio's calloused fingers probed the clear bandage covering my new tattoo, making me flinch. "Keep the bandage on for about a week," he said gruffly.
"We'll be here that long?"
"As long as he wants."
"And you don't give a shit about what just happened?"
"It could've been worse." He shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the fact that Manuel had justbranded me. He nodded vaguely towards the other side of the room, "there's a full bathroom with whatever products you need."
"And is that supposed to make up for all of this?"
"El Caminante didn't have to provide you with anything at all. I'd consider yourself lucky," the fire-bearded man said.
"Stop calling him that. His name is Manuel. Just like half a million men with the same name in Cuba alone."
"He doesn't go by that anymore,conejita." Antonio interjected. "Believe me, he has earned his nickname."