Page 9

Chapter Five

Luciana

I thought lunch was interminable with Luis today, but dinner is excruciating. I’m at Domingo’s, and we cooked together like we have plenty of times. It would be a typical evening if he weren’t hovering so much. He pulled his chair even closer to mine at his dining room table that seats eight.

I told him to give me a month to get a wedding dress and make some arrangements. I said he should book the church and tell his parents we’ll marry as soon as there’s a Saturday available. He called the church office immediately, but of course, they’re closed at eight o’clock at night.

He’s being nauseatingly lovey-dovey with me, and I just want to push his hands away every time he touches me.

Not only is it annoying because I can’t reach for anything without him being in the way, it reminds me how much I enjoyed Esteban touching me.

How much better everything was with him for those few moments when I lost all sense of reason.

Every time I see him, it reminds me of how he felt, how he smelled, how he tasted, how he sounded.

It haunts me. The only guilt I feel is that I don’t feel guilty that I cheated.

I didn’t start the kiss, and it stunned me too much to realize what I was doing was wrong.

At least, not that first time. But it doesn’t change the fact that I allowed it.

No part of me feels compelled to confess to Domingo because he may annoy me, but he doesn’t deserve me hurting him.

Allaying my conscience at his expense is even more selfish.

Never mind that he’d go on a rampage and wind up dead.

I know Domingo’s killed before, and I know he’ll kill in the future.

He’s in a cartel, and he’s about to join the Cartel.

But my money is on Esteban if it comes to any kind of fight.

I may not want to marry Domingo, but I don’t want him dead.

I also don’t want to risk the chance that Esteban loses.

I don’t trust the man, but something deep inside me tells me I should.

I don’t know what my subconscious has figured out that it’s not telling my conscious mind.

But I feel safer with Esteban than I do anyone else.

Now that I’ve pressed against him, I know he’s bigger and clearly stronger than Domingo—who’s not a small or weak man to begin with.

Esteban’s easily the same size as Enrique.

Luis is leaner from too many stays in prisons.

He’s never there as a sentence but to hold “meetings.” Even as an honored guest, the food’s still shit.

He’s in and out often enough that he stays trimmer than my other brother.

I’d still wager everything I have on Luis if I had to choose between him and anyone but Enrique.

They would never fight for any reason other than to fool someone, but if they did, I truly don’t know who would win.

When I think of Esteban in a fight with anyone besides my brothers, I don’t doubt for a moment he’d come out the winner.

His sheer will and aura are enough to keep most men from picking a fight.

But there’s also something about him that tells me he’ll never capitulate.

I don’t sense that it’s competitiveness or his ego or even survival.

It’s like my brothers. It’s honor. It’s not betraying his family name and allowing anyone to think they’re weak.

It’s that relentless drive that makes me feel protected when I’m with him.

Even if he works for my tío , and I don’t know that I can forgive him for that—though Enrique’s comments make me question that situation—I still feel safe.

As though his sheer presence wasn’t enough, it’s the way he calls me chiquita .

It’d be patronizing as fuck if Domingo did it. It feels special when Esteban does. No one calls me Lucy. It’s way too Anglicized, but I like that too. It’s something only he does. That should raise every red flag and sound every alarm, but it doesn’t.

I know it’s no coincidence he keeps showing up.

It should feel stalkerish, but something is going on, and I realized it before Luis hinted at it today.

Esteban is watching me, but it doesn’t creep me out.

I can tell he’s aware of everyone and everything around him every minute that he’s awake.

I feel like he’s guarding me. That he doesn’t think I’m safe without him nearby.

Men like him and my brothers know to listen to their intuition.

I do, too. It’s why I said nothing to Luis and why I believed Enrique when he said I can trust Esteban even if he works for Tío Humberto.

“Ana?”

“Hmmm?” Fuck. How long did I space out?

“Do you want more boronía ?”

“No thanks.”

I hate plantains. I don’t know how many times I have to tell Domingo that.

He loves them and loves the plantain and eggplant with tomato sauce dish.

I loathe it. He once scolded me like I was a child and told me I had to have at least a bite.

I walked out of the restaurant. He tossed some money on the table and rushed out after me.

He tried to scold me for that too, but I pulled out my phone and pulled up Enrique’s contact.

He shut the fuck up the moment he realized I would tell my brother.

I’m not prone to temper tantrums or running to hide behind my brothers.

But the ink was barely dry on the marriage contract, and I wanted him to understand his family might have bought the marriage, but he didn’t buy me.

I wanted him to know how close I am to my brothers that they would defend me over something as trivial as a dish I don’t want to eat.

That they’d make time for me if I called and was upset.

It worked. He still offers the shit, but he doesn’t insist.

“Your mind is somewhere else tonight. Are you finally thinking about all you need to do to get ready? You need to sell your condo. It’ll be good practice.”

Practice? Like the career I want is some game.

I’m not interested in residential real estate.

I’ve always wanted to do commercial. When I was younger, I thought it would give me a chance to work alongside my dad since he’s in commercial development.

I understand now that he won’t let me near that business, even if it’s legit.

Before my engagement, I planned to move to NYC or stay in LA, where I went to college.

Miami would have been nice, but far more dangerous than the other two cities, since it would be obvious I’m a wealthy Colombian woman.

People would automatically assume—rightly—that my family is Cartel. It wouldn’t take much to discover my father’s the most powerful man in Latin America. Nothing happens in Latin America or the Caribbean without him knowing about it. Legal or illegal. I could blend in better in NYC or LA.

“Ana, for fuck’s sake. Would you pay attention?”

“Don’t swear at me, Domingo.”

“Then pay attention when I’m speaking. I don’t like this awkwardness. It’s not attractive.”

“Is that what matters? That I’m attractive? What happens when I age or get stretch marks from being pregnant? You going to be more flagrant about your infidelities?”

He stares at me for a moment before sneering at me. “What I do is my business.”

“Birth control doesn’t just keep a husband from impregnating his wife.”

I thought I would never cheat, and part of me argues what I did with Esteban was way wrong, but not truly cheating.

Maybe I’m justifying myself, but it was nothing more than a couple way too passionate kisses.

I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t get him off, and he didn’t get me off either.

There was no emotional connection before or since, even if I think about him constantly.

But to call it an indiscretion is so fucking trite that it only makes it feel worse.

“That’s not funny, Ana.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Don’t test me. You won’t like the answer.”

“You cannot keep me under lock and key. You cannot control everywhere I go or everyone I see. Not if you want to live and not if you don’t want my father or brothers to destroy your family. Push me too hard, and you won’t like where I land.”

I’ve known he’s been unfaithful from the start.

It’s not some shitty cultural stereotype.

He’s just that selfish. He pretends to dote on me, but he’s never intended to give up anything for this marriage while expecting me to give up everything.

I was prepared to give up plenty, but not because of another fucked-up cultural stereotype.

I would’ve turned a blind eye for my family’s sake.

For the people they protect. For the mouths they feed, the roofs they keep over people’s heads.

Thousands of people rely on my father. Money spent fighting a rival family is money that can’t be reinvested into our people.

My loyalty to my family and our people is the only reason I’m going through with this.

For better or for worse, my father employs people around the world.

They and their families depend on their jobs.

I won’t keep a penny from them just because I don’t want to marry Domingo.

Thinking about this makes me feel guilty for dragging my heels.

I talk a good game, but I haven’t lived up to my pledges.

My conscience doesn’t scream at the thought I betrayed Domingo, but it does when I think I’ve betrayed these people.

I talk a big game, too. Domingo might be fine breaking a holy sacrament, but I never will be.

Sure, I’ll promise him my fidelity, and I suppose that means something to me.

But I wouldn’t break my vows because of my faith, and I wouldn’t break them because I’m promising in front of my parents, brothers, and sister. I won’t destroy their trust in me.

“Ana, you’re as good as mine already. A priest is the least of my concerns. You will obey, and if you think about embarrassing me with some affair, you’ll learn how unforgiving I am.”