Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“You knew I would anyway.”
He paused, then glanced over my costume, and his expression relaxed. “In a mask that didn’t fool me for a second. You make a liar of an innocent butterfly, Natalia.”
“I didn’t lie,” I said, cozying up to him, pulling gently on his bolo tie. The braided leather was held together by a metal shield with his family name in decorative script. “I said I’d stay home, and I did. This is my home.”
He drew his eyebrows together, something unfamiliar sparking in his eyes, but then he glanced away.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I ducked my head to get him to look at me. “No, it’s something. Tell me.”
“I promise, it was a passing thought.”
I crossed my arms. “Diego.”
He took my shoulders and brought me close to kiss my forehead. “It’s nothing bad. I just had this weird . . . sense of joy hearing you call this place home again.”
His sense of joy was my sinking feeling. Diego’s attachment to this town was stronger than mine; he’d never lived anywhere else. There were times I questioned how devoted he was to leaving here. He said he wanted a life in California with me, yet he continued to embed himself in the cartel and ingratiate himself with my father.
“This place will always be part of me,” I said, “but I can’t call this home again. Not knowing that every day I’m here, every day you’re here, death is a possibility.”
“I know, and of course, I’m in complete agreement that the U.S. is where we belong.” He pecked me briefly and ghosted his thumb over my bottom lip. “Let’s not argue about something we both agree on. We should move before someone recognizes you.”
I ran my fingertip over the curling, cursive letters of the de la Rosa engraved on his metal tie. “You won’t make me go back to the house, will you?”
“Not if you swear you’ll stay by my side every moment.”
“An easy promise to make.” I smiled as he guided me through the crowd by my shoulders until a friend waved at us from the main room.
“There’s an announcement coming,” Tepic called. Dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, fanny pack, and aviators, Tepic was as wild as the curls on his head and only as tall as me, but compact and mighty nonetheless. As we approached, he took an entire tray out of a waiter’s hands. “Come one, come all,” he called, showing us an assortment of narcotics. “What kind of night do you wish to have?”
“A sober one.” Diego waved a hand. “None for us, compa.”
I glanced around the room for the skull-faced stranger. There was something about him my mind tried to grasp on to, like a word at the tip of my tongue.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Tepic eyed me when I looked back at him. “I’m Tepic, like the city I come from.”
“You don’t say.” I laughed and shook his hand. “Mucho gusto.”
“You must’ve missed the gossip,” Diego said, sliding an arm around my shoulders and looking into my eyes. “Should we let him in on our secret?”
Tepic lowered his sunglasses, gaping. “Talia? I didn’t recognize you in that mask.”
“That was the plan.”
“Costa will be happy to have you here for Easter,” he said, looking up as the music lowered. “Speak of the devil.”
On a large, wide balcony overlooking the main room, dancers stopped the can-can and parted, gathering on both sides of the gallery. My dad appeared through red velvet curtains and came to the railing, scanning the crowd and waving as his staff herded everyone into the same room. I moved behind Diego but kept my eyes on Papá, who looked almost cherubic with a cheeky grin, red face, and his crown tilted to one side. He tapped his scepter against the tile to get everyone’s attention, but the effect was muffled by a clear tarp on the ground. Soon, silence fell over his audience.
“Thank you all for coming to celebrate tonight,” he said almost drunkenly yet maintaining the sense of calm and composure he’d become known for in a world of chaos. “I know you’re all eager to get back to the party and to the drinking,”—he paused for some laughs—“as am I. But there’s a quick matter I want to resolve while all my closest friends and colleagues are in one place.”
Diego glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows drawn in question. I shrugged.
A waiter handed Papá a champagne glass. “On this day, the Cruz cartel welcomes back an old friend.”
A murmur moved through the crowd as Tepic whispered to Diego, “¿Qué está pasando?”
Diego shook his head quizzically, his eyes up. “No sé.”
If Diego didn’t know what was going on, I wasn’t sure who would. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.
“Years ago, a wrongdoing was committed, and I intend to make it right before all of you tonight.” Papá looked over his shoulder, into the wings. “Let it be known that a Cruz doesn’t cower from his mistakes or turn his back on familia.”