Page 67

SIXTEEN
age18
I wanted to be anywhere but here.
Abuelo was finally out from under the men from Veracruz and my father had been promoted—he was officially a capo in the King mafia. My mother had also decided she wanted to renew their marriage vows, here in Cuba.
And now, I’d been forced to sit through a hot and sweaty ceremony, where they'd promised fealty towards each other in front of five hundred or so guests. My parents were anything but the doting couple, though by the way they were acting tonight, you'd have thought they were honeymooners in love. As they'd stared into each other's eyes, pretending to be in love, I grit my teeth, knowing that they weren't even planning on spending the night in the same room.
My mother had a lover on the side, one that she'd audaciously brought with her. I still couldn't tell if my father knew about it, since the man was smart enough to be subtle. Any consequence to blatant disgrace would come down swiftly.
Compared to a lot of other mafia men, my father was a fair man, but, just like every other capo, his wife was expected to be faithful, publicly at least, while he could fuck whoever he wanted in plain sight.
Right now, he had a woman on his lap, Valentina Marsala. She’d once tried to get me to propose to her but I guessed she’d given that up and was going after my father. I knew by the end of the night she'd have her hand in his pocket.
My mother tolerated Valentina’s presence for a few more minutes, looking the other way, until finally, even she'd had enough. She snapped at him to keep his dick in his pants—at least until the end of the party.
It didn't escape me that her own gaze kept on drifting to her lover, and I swallowed down the rest of my mojito, wishing it was stronger, and ordered straight rum.
My week had been a shit show. I’d done terrible things recently, and the only good thing about this trip was that I would get to see Tatiana.
Due to my influence, her parents were deemed worthy to be invited to the celebration. And, by extension, Tatiana.
Over the years, I’d fought with Abuelo over her. I wanted him to force Tatiana’s parents to stop selling her, but he was adamant that we stay out of their business. I’d even tried to get involved myself but was punished for going against Abuelo’s wishes.
I’d then changed tactics, coming to an arrangement with Abuelo to include her father in the business more,ifI paid for it.
Bogdan Krapivnik was a fuck up, lazy and selfish, and I was essentially paying a monthly stipend for him to sit around one of our restaurants and pretend to run the place.
He would invite friends and strangers to sit and talk to him, where he would boast about how the place was thriving, now that he was in charge. Then, at the end of the meal, to prove his success, he would offer to pay for their bill. After they’d gone, he would insist on being reimbursed from the restaurant.
Abuelo tolerated it, for my sake, as long as I was willing to pay for it.
I wouldn't have cared,ifthe money was going to Tatiana, but my plan hadn’t worked. She was still working, using her body to pay for the burning cash her parents loved to spend.
The only reason Tatiana's dress was so expensive was because it was marketing for her brand: the seductress of the island’s top whore.
Every time I saw Bogdan, I wanted to wrap my hands around his skinny neck and squeeze.
My phone rang for the tenth time since I’d arrived tonight. When I saw who was calling, I shoved it in my water, scowling. Rook knew the truth now, and he was out for my throat.
And I deserved it.
Out of the corner of my eye, something flashed and I glanced towards it.
Of course, it was Tatiana. Every single movement that woman made, I noticed.
And she was all woman now, no longer the skinny girl with the pigtails I’d met so many years ago. Her face had matured, her eyes intelligent and knowledgeable. They were still that deep shade of blue that reminded me of the unfathomable depths of the ocean or the endless night sky.
Instead of lip-gloss, she was wearing a stark, deep-red lipstick. The contrast of it against her midnight-black hair and creamy skin drew your attention there. Earlier, there had been a moment I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away from them.
She’d also straightened her hair. It was smooth and sleek and looked so soft, I wanted to run my fingers through it to discover what clouds would feel like.
To add to that, her sexy, black lace dress was sending my church-girl fantasies into overdrive. I wanted to bend her over the table where she was politely speaking to the Havana archbishop, rip that delicate lace up and over her ass, then fuck her senseless right in front of him.
I could tell by the marks on her hands and arms that they were still giving her heroin. In fact, by now, she could be taking it on her own. Though, she didn’t look high now, which was a good sign.
She caught me staring and met my gaze, the connection between us just as strong as ever, even though I was seeing her less and less these days.