Page 75 of Raphael

The club La Reina was turned into a ballroom while upper floors hosted poker tables and roulette tables.

“Do you do this often?” I asked, side-eying Raphael.

“What?”

“Host gambling at the same time as a fundraiser?”

“No, usually it’s a nightclub and casino.” His gaze roamed over the room. “But for this event, my people didn’t organize anything. I let the city host their fundraiser and they have free rein of the building and event today.”

A memory flickered in the corner of my mind the moment we arrived, but it was gone before I could zero in on it. It was an important memory, my gut warned, but no matter how hard I tried to recall it, I came up blank.

“What’s the matter?” Raphael’s gaze focused on me, his men walking right behind us.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

Silver trays full of champagne flutes and appetizers made the rounds across the room. The glasses glinted beneath the large chandelier. A mini orchestra played easy tunes in the corner, and all the while, men in suits and women in extravagant gowns mingled.

Raphael grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it over to me.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I don’t drink at these kinds of events,” he replied, his gaze taking in a group of men who were approaching us and his hand wrapped around my hip.

He seemed relaxed but it was a disguise. I could feel his tension as if it was my own.

“Is everything okay?” I whispered under my breath, and all the while keeping a smile on my face.

“Just stay close to me.”

“Okay.” What the hell was going on?

I took a sip of champagne, trying to settle my nerves and watching the men approach us. And that was when I spotted him. Santiago fucking Tijuana. I inched closer to Raphael while fear wrapped around my throat.

He’d know who I was, I had no doubt. Suddenly, two men showed up to my right and Raphael’s left. I recognized Diego and Caine, and realized these were his men. Thank God. It meant we were safe.Right?

Santiago’s eyes roamed over me, taking in my dress and something dark flickered in those black eyes.

“Santos,” one of the men greeted Raphael, extending his hand. “Here you are. I started to think maybe you decided not to come.”

“Mayor.” Raphael took the offered hand and shook it, then unbuttoned his suit jacket, showing his black vest that hugged his flat stomach and the gun holster. I’d bet my life, he did that by design. “It would be rude not to show up at my own club, don’t you think?”

The mayor looked tired and worn out. I didn’t envy him. Florida had different versions of criminal organizations battling for years. Different day; different criminal. He probably just wanted to survive and keep his family intact.

Unlike some other influential families, like mine, that actually profited from it. My father was a monster, just like Santiago Tijuana.

“And who do we have here?” Santiago’s heavily accented voice and leering made the back of my arms tingle and not in a good way.

“This is my wife,” Raphael introduced me, lying like the true devil he was. I remained still, praying to God that my expression was blank. Except for the delightful, fake smile. “Sailor, this is Miami’s mayor, Mr. Sanders.”

I tilted my head in acknowledgement.

“Get out of here.” Sanders patted Raphael on the shoulder, the move kind of comical since Raphael was a whole head taller than him. “Congratulations. Welcome to wedded bliss.”

“Or not,” Santiago added, his stare cold and unflinching. Just being in his presence sent disgusting shivers rolling down my spine. Santiago Tijuana was tall, but round, his three hundred pounds making him appear like Bluto, from the Popeye cartoon.

His olive skin, unlike Raphael’s, looked sickly. His slicked-back hair held so much gel that it didn’t move at all. And it glistened like a black obsidian crystal.

His gaze raked over my bare forearms and even took two steps around me to glimpse at my bare back. The guy made me sick.