Chapter 3

Camila

We’d been in the air for more than an hour, flying east toward the red hue radiating from the horizon. While my father and Dante Luciano had made quick work of getting Mama and I on the plane and away from the scene of the attack, my nerves remained in tatters. Every shift or bounce from turbulence had my knuckles blanching and my grip of the armrest tightening. Each time I closed my eyes, I remembered the opening of the sauna door and the dreadful seconds wondering if the Russians had found me. The horrible sights and smells lingered in my mind, from the shattered glass doors to the bloodstained tile. My childhood home had been violated in a way that would stay with me long after the debris was cleaned away.

I turned to my side, taking in my mother as she sat staring out the small window. Neither of us had spoken much since the plane lifted off the ground. It was as if we both had too much to say yet neither was sure how to best verbalize our emotions.

“Are you all right?” I asked, not for the first time since our trauma.

She turned toward me, her expression stoic. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. Tears teetered on her lower eyelids. As if held back by determination, they quickly faded away as she blinked, inhaled, and lifted her chin. “I don’t want to scare you,” she whispered to keep our discussion private.

“I’m not a child, Mama. I was there. I saw the blood and destruction. I don’t think you can scare me any more than I was while I was hiding in the sauna.”

“You should have been in the safe room.”

“Miguel tried. With the power cut, the keypad wouldn’t work.”

“Your father will need to remedy that.”

I didn’t want to think about needing the room again.

Mom’s nostrils flared as she took a ragged breath. “I’ve been trying to remember how long Luis had been with us.”

I laid my hand over hers. “For about as long as I can remember.”

She nodded. “I believe it was before Emiliano was born.” She feigned a smile. “When your father and I were first married, he had a trusted bodyguard. His name was Alfonso.”

“I don’t recall that name.”

“There was an ambush.” She inhaled. “I think it was the first time I truly understood the danger in what your father does.”

“Did something happen to Alfonso?” I asked.

“The two of them were out.” Mom shook her head. “Andrés never shared all the details with me. I only knew they were both shot.”

“Papá was shot?” How did I not know about this?

“It’s not a story he approves of repeating. Alfonso was a good man. The bullet passed through him before striking Andrés. Your father walked away. Alfonso didn’t. The shot came from another man Andrés thought he could trust.”

“Someone in the Roríguez cartel?”

Mama sighed. “It was a very dangerous time. Your father and uncles were young. Your aunt Marie and I were young.” Her lips curled into an almost smile. “Even Jorge was young, and Josefina, she was stunningly beautiful. I remember thinking that she could have been a model.”

“Did she want that?”

“Her wants weren’t relevant.” Mama shook her head. “Her father was in charge. He never would have allowed her to have her own career. Josefina was his bargaining chip.”

Lifting my eyebrows, my forehead furrowed. “Bargaining chip?”

“Juan Cruz didn’t have a son. His daughter was his means to find the right person to peacefully take over his businesses.”

“Josefina’s father chose el Patrόn?”

“It’s the way of our world. Señor Cruz made a good choice. Jorge has done well.” Her gaze went to the front of the plane.

Mine followed hers, wondering if Dante was listening. With earbuds in each ear and a laptop on the table in front of him, he seemed oblivious to our conversation.

“Did Josefina have any say in the matter?”

Mama turned to me. “Much like your sister.”

I shook my head and let out a long breath.

She continued, “The Roríguez cartel wouldn’t come into being for nearly another decade.”

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought more about the time when my parents were young. “Did you choose Papá?”

“Your grandfather did.” She turned my way with wide eyes. “I was blessed. Andrés is a good man. I could have done much worse.”

“Even in the Ruiz family,” I said with a bit of snideness in my comment.

Mama’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t talk about family matters. You know that.”

“Uncle Nicolas is good, but Uncle Gerardo—”

“Ximena,” Mama interrupted, “was a good soul. Things will improve for Liliana.”

Aunt Ximena passed away about a year ago, and while I never remember her being outwardly unhappy, Uncle Gerardo’s new wife, Liliana, is…well, turning into a shell of her former self. We’re all worried.

I leaned back against the seat, seeing my mother in a whole new light. “How old were you when Papá was shot?”

Mama hummed as her eyelids fluttered. “I was seventeen when your father and I were married. This would have been about six months after that. I’d only recently learned I was pregnant.”

“Seventeen,” I repeated, “pregnant and the husband you barely knew was shot?”

“I was probably eighteen by then.” She shook her head. “I was so scared. We had our whole lives to live, and our family hadn’t even started. There was upheaval in the Cruz organization. This time…” She turned to me. “Last night was different. I’ve had my chance at life. All I could think about was you. I was so frightened for you, and then…”

“Luis?”

A rogue tear slid down Mama’s cheek. “After Alfonso was killed, Andrés was very careful in who he hired to protect his family. When Luis came to us, he was a little older than your father. In all those years, he was always professional.” Her smile returned. “And he loved you children.” She tipped her chin toward the front of the plane. “As does Miguel.”

I glanced up, seeing him staring in our direction.

“I’m so sorry about Luis.”

“I didn’t see Alfonso die. With all the death around us, until today, I’ve never seen it like that, where a strong and vital being is ripped from this world.” She turned her hand and intertwined our fingers. “It’s not something that anyone should see. I hope that you and Catalina can be spared that sight.”

She didn’t mention Em because he was born in the blood and death of the cartel. Seeing death was something Mama couldn’t spare Em.

“You tried to save him.” It wasn’t a question. She’d told me, and I’d seen the blood.

“It was fruitless. I saw a red dot on his shirt. I keep thinking that if I would have said something, but I wasn’t thinking straight. By the time I realized what it was, the shot rang out. He crumpled right next to me. I tried CPR.” Her chin tipped down. “I was pushing. There was so much blood.”

My stomach turned as I recalled the pool of blood near the broken glass doors. By the time they helped me from the sauna, Luis’s body was gone. All the bodies were removed. Em said three Russians were also killed, yet I didn’t see any of them.

“You did all you could,” I reassured.

She lifted her face toward me. “I hope Luis knew how much he meant to our family.”

Memories of Luis’s service throughout my life came to mind. While Miguel was the one who spent the most time with us as children, Luis was often around. Like many men in the organization, he wasn’t outwardly jovial. Catalina and I would try to make him laugh. We rarely succeeded, but we took a simple smile as a win. “I think he knew.” I squeezed her hand. “And now we get to spend some time with Cat.”

Mama nodded with a tired smile. “I’m grateful to Dario for allowing us to visit.”

“I’m sure Cat had something to do with it.”

“Camila, don’t fool yourself into believing that our world is a place where you’ll ever fully be allowed to make your own decisions.”

The small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as I pulled my hand away. “Cat isn’t in our world any longer.”

Mama scoffed. “She will always be cartel.” Her expression sobered. “I’m afraid that the world where she is now is darker. Her husband rules that world, all of it.”

“What if I chose to not live in either world?”

She pressed her lips together. “After last night, I’m happy that you get to live.”

Mama was right. I survived what I might not have survived. Leaning my head back against the soft leather seat, I made myself a promise. Whether it was a higher being, Miguel, my brother, others in the cartel, or all the above, I was alive. I wasn’t going to waste my life living the way of my mother or sister. The last thing I wanted to do was live in a world without choices. I’d been given a second chance, and I would take it. 

By the time we landed, we’d changed time zones, arriving in Kansas City midmorning.

A man named Giovanni waited with a car on the tarmac, ready to drive the four of us to Catalina’s home. He greeted Dante as Miguel saw to our luggage.

Once again, Dante took the front passenger seat. This time, I sat between Miguel and Mama in the back seat. Staring at the back of Dante’s head, I thought about seeing him for the first time at Cat’s wedding. Of course, I noticed him. I was paired with him—best man and maid of honor. If I were honest, during her wedding I was intimidated by both of the Luciano men—make that all of the Luciano Mafia men. They were tall, muscular, and undeniably handsome.

It wasn’t until I visited Cat last summer that I was able to talk to Dario and Dante and get to know them in a less formal setting. I had no doubt that Cat and Dario would make their marriage work. The telltale signs were everywhere. During that visit, it was Dante who surprised me. By association, I knew he was a dangerous man; however, in reality, he was fun and talkative in a way that was the polar opposite of his older brother.

Before Aléjandro and Mia’s wedding, I’d almost talked myself into asking Dante to dance. And then I saw him at the wedding. He was even more handsome than I’d remembered. Yet the fun man I’d met in Kansas City was gone. Dante’s expression was dangerously beautiful and cold in a way that reminded me of his brother. While I watched him, I didn’t think he noticed I was present. I could say the same about now.

He saw me as a child—a little girl. The way I felt around him wasn’t love or even lust. It was probably the reemergence of the earlier intimidation. Surely, if I told my sister about my almost-crush on her brother-in-law, she’d probably tell me he was too old for me or worse, laugh.

My thoughts centered back to my sister as Giovanni pulled the car into an underground parking garage that I remembered from my last visit. I reached for my mother’s hand. “We’re almost there.”

With the five of us and our luggage aboard the private elevator, we soared up to the top of the building, the penthouse. Dante, Giovanni, and Miguel took up more than their share of space as we stood facing the doors. As soon as they opened, I saw my sister.

“You’re here,” she said, practically bouncing as she opened her arms wide.