Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I finally meet up to them, and she orders me to get on the jet.
“Is Draco coming?” I ask, my eyes locking with hers.
She narrows her gaze. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. I have no idea where I’m going, and I don’t know where he is.”
Patanza steps to the left, holding a hand out and raising a stern brow, gesturing for me to get on board. I challenge her stare, narrowing my eyes.
Her hand drops, her agitation on full display now. “Get on the fucking jet, Gia,” she snaps at me.
“It’s Patrona to you,” I bite out.
Patanza bares her teeth and starts to charge me, but the man beside her presses a heavy hand to her chest, simply shaking his head.
“Calm down. She is still The Patrona,” the man says in his native tongue. He steps around her, extending an arm, gesturing to the steps of the jet. “This jet will lead you to a safe house, Patrona. This was Jefe’s order. I’m sure he will contact you soon about it.”
“Why isn’t he with me now?” I ask in Spanish.
“He has a few more things to handle here before he can be with you.”
I swallow hard, looking from him to glare at Patanza. Without another word, I board the jet, stepping into the first cabin. I notice there are two, both complete with ivory leather recliners.
The cabin I’m standing in has a table set up in front of two recliners, and a three-seated sofa in front of the windows. Across from the sofa is a flat screen TV on top of a wooden stand. It’s all bolted and secured.
It’s luxurious, and screams Draco for sure.
With a sigh, I walk to the sofa and sit, staring out the window at the empty desert. The jet shakes as someone boards, and Patanza appears. She glances at me briefly, but turns to go to the other cabin. A door slides closed from her side, and I’m fucking glad. I don’t want to deal with her right now.
The driver comes on next, reaching above one of the leather recliners to the right to tuck the suitcases into the bin. He doesn’t even look at me. He shuts the compartment and is gone in a matter of seconds.
The man, who apparently is the only one with some respect around here, comes on next, smelling of tobacco. The door shuts when he’s on board, sealing us in. He’s taken his baseball cap off, revealing shiny raven hair, which makes his green eyes stand out even more.
I’ve never seen him before. Never met him.
“You should sit in one of the chairs for now, Patrona,” he suggests, pointing at one of the recliners. I realize he must only speak Spanish. “We’ll be taking off in less than a minute and these are the only chairs with seatbelts. You will have to buckle in until we’re clear to roam around.”
I don’t argue. I just do it.
As soon as I’m buckled in, I plant a fist beneath my chin and look out of the window.
“A drink before we leave?” He points back to the kitchenette across from the lavatory.
I peer up at him.
“Rum, please,” I murmur. Rum was my mother’s go-to drink whenever she was stressed.
He bobs his head, taking off. I hear glasses clank and ice rattle, and then he’s back in no time with a short tumbler in hand, filled halfway with brown liquid and ice. He hands the cold glass to me and I take a sip, loving the crisp taste.
The man sits in the recliner across from me and buckles in. He pulls out his cellphone to text someone, and then he places it in his cup holder, looking right into my eyes.
His smile is soft, eyes gentle. He seems nice, but I can tell he wouldn’t have a problem killing someone if it came down to it, just like everyone else.
“Why have I never met you before?” I ask when the wheels of the jet start rolling. He cocks a brow, his head going into a slight tilt like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Yeah, he definitely only speaks Spanish.
I ask the question again, in Spanish this time.
“Ahh.” He presses his lips. “I work the cities, the jets, the factories and warehouses.”
“So you’re not one of his guards?”
“I’m more of a…manager, I suppose. I handle some of the shipments, set up the schedule for his flights whenever he needs one, and handle the employees’ paychecks.”
“The employees? Being those people in the factory?”
“Yes. As well as his guards.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emilio.”
I nod, giving him one more sweep over with my eyes before returning my focus to whatever is outside the window. “I’m sure you know what’s going on. You’re probably pissed at me too.”
He gives a throaty chuckle. “How can I be pissed when I wasn’t very close to Mr. Thiago? Not to sound cruel, but in this business it happens. Constantly.”