Page 40 of Bad Blood

A chapel. A justice of the peace. A florist. A boutique.

And a jeweler.

Thalia looked as sick at hearing the words as I felt saying them.Marriage?I’d never intended on marrying anyone, much less a Santiago—the fucking root of all evil. However, a couple of vows and a piece of paper isn’t what’s important.

It’s what it all symbolizes.

Possession.

My father demanded revenge, but staining my hands would simply be a warning flare: a short-term solution to a much bigger problem. The Colombians would retaliate, resulting in a never-ending see-saw of death and loss, and a lack of retribution.

Blood and bullets are temporary, but betrayal… well, that’s forever. And there’s no greater betrayal to a father than his daughter taking the name of his enemy.

Marco Bardi gave me the perfect bargaining chip, and if the events of the last twenty-four hours have revealed anything, it’s that Thalia will sacrifice everything to protect her sister—including herself.

I’ll keep my word. I’ll pay her debt. I’ll salvage her sister’s reputation. But my generosity comes with a price—a plant in the heart of New York.

Dante Santiago will suffer in a way he never imagined.

And his daughter will orchestrate it all.

* * *

Lola glares down at the offered crutches in my hand like they just insulted our mother.

“Are those really necessary?”

Is this whole goddamn conversation really necessary?

“Unless you want to walk with a limp for the rest of your life, yes. Now stop arguing.”

Snatching the crutches out of my hand, she scowls while muttering to herself in Spanish. Still, she flops onto the crutches without protest and hobbles toward the front entrance of Legado.

The moment we enter the grand foyer, her breath catches. “Whoa.”

A sentiment lacking in eloquence, but accurate, nonetheless.

Construction crews are crammed into every available corner in a state of perpetual motion. My Legado—the most luxurious and high-end casino in Atlantic City—has gone from the epicenter of opulence to a hub of demolition.

While Lola gapes, I settle my gaze a few feet away where RJ stands talking to a stocky man I assume to be the crew foreman. “I’ll be right back,” I say to her over my shoulder, not waiting for a response.

As if sensing my presence, RJ stiffens, giving the worker a curt nod and then sending him away.

Frowning, I tap the sole of my Santoni dress shoe over a missing chunk of marble. “I’d ask how it’s going, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Repairs should take no more than seventy-two hours.”

I raise an eyebrow. Expedited work usually comes with a hefty price tag. I’ll have to do a rinse and spin on a few offshore accounts to cover the cost, but if the bullet holes are gone, and there’s not a drop of Santiago blood staining my marble anymore, it’s worth it.

“And theabuelasituation…?”

“Will be handled by tomorrow. Procuring thingsdelicatelyisn’t a usual practice, Santi.”

Delicateisn’t a familiar word to anysicario.We want, we take—by any means necessary. Pasting on an ingenuous smile and sweet-talking little old ladies isn’t a tactic in our wheelhouse.

I don’t tolerate delays, but this is one concession I’m willing to give. Besides… there are more pressing matters to discuss. “Did you do what I asked?”

He crosses his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sanders’s club got lit up like the Fourth of July. You should have come along. We could have roasted marshmallows and watched it burn.”