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The old ways.
At times, Juan still clung to tradition, like their fathers. Loyalty enforced by violence. Fear. Death.
Of course, his cousinhadbeen the one to discover the DEA spy. Who’d encouraged Vincente to handle the matter himself, instead of taking care of the problem like he usually would.
Vincente’s lips turned down. A messy business. He’d make it up to Gianna—once he’d brought her to heel.
Juan scraped the dial on his lighter and lit his cigarette, the tip glowing orange as he inhaled, then exhaled a stream of smoke. “You gave Gianna a week. Let Bembe watch the club and the restaurants for a few days. You and I take some men, visit the new distributor and bring Gianna home. Then all this will blow over, and my father will have nothing to gossip about.”
Juan’s gaze flicked to the modernist painting over Vincente’s shoulder—splashes of red and yellow. It lingered there. “He’ll sacrifice Gianna just to prove a point to you. Same as he did to me with Carlita.”
Carlita had been lowlife trash compared to Gianna, but Vincente wasn’t cruel enough to say that out loud.
He opened the center drawer of his desk and took out his acid reflux medicine.
Too much stress. He needed a distraction.
He tapped the monitor and brought up the feed to the main dance floor. Bodies pressed tight together beneath flickering strobes that pulsed like gunfire.
There she was—the brunette from earlier. Long, wavy hair. Pink sequined dress.
She and her friends danced without a care in the world.
“I’ll think about it.” Vincente gestured to the monitor. “Send that woman and her friends free drinks and access to the VIP area.”
Tío Ramón, your days are numbered.
He gave his cousin a slow smile. One laced with promise. “Tonight, we enjoy ourselves.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Calebawokewithahard-on, which wasn’t unusual. After all, he was a healthy man of a certain age.
What was unusual was his erection lay trapped between his stomach and the silky cleft of Gia’s ass—a reminder of where he’d been last night.
Deep inside her.
A faint glow of pale light lit the closed blinds in their rental bedroom of white, letting him know sunrise was on the horizon. Cool air clung to the room, tinged with the faint acrid scent of the electric heat kicking on.
He eased from beneath the covers, careful not to disturb her, grabbed his jeans, a fresh pair of underwear, and one of his new t-shirts—navy blue—and headed for the shower.
When he checked on her, Gia was still asleep, so he made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee.
The kitchen was as white as the rest of the home—cabinets, counter, table and chairs—the only color found on the adobe tile floor and the framed print of Monument Valley on the wall. Even so, this rental had more flair than his apartment in Northern Virginia.
What did that say about him?
Then there was Gia’s home. A real home—not just a place to sleep. The homey touches she’d added in such a short time—the wornbrown sofa, colorful throw rugs, succulents in pots with brightly colored blossoms, and the lingering aroma of a home-cooked meal.
Coffee dripped into the glass carafe as he stared at it, unseeing. Gia wanted to stay on the rez. Five days ago, the thought would have been a nonstarter. Now his carefully ordered life felt like a tangled mess of loose ends and conflicting truths.
Zach was growing on him—he could admit that much, even with the asshole’s obvious infatuation with Gia. The man was a solid cop. A decent human being.
As for his grandfather? Caleb’s sigh merged with the last hiss of steam from the coffeemaker. He still needed more answers about his mother’s estrangement from her family.
Soft arms slipped around his waist.
Gia pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I wondered where you went.”