Four vans—all of her fucking vehicles—are exploded by missile launcher guns. This was my Plan B. If something were to happen to Gianna or anyone I cared about at all, I made it clear there was going to be hell to pay.
I told her this would mean war.
And so it begins.
“They’ve fucked with the wrong one,” I growl in Spanish, turning for the truck. “We head to the house, you pack as much shit as you can, and we fly out within the hour.”
“Si, Jefe,” they all say in unison. I climb into the truck and slam the door closed, but I feel her eyes on me. I don’t look. Can’t fucking look.
“Drive. Now,” I command, and the truck pulls off in an instant. We drive toward the exploded cars and as we get closer, I see a figure moving. “Stop the truck.”
I demand one of my men to give me their gun. When he hands me a pistol, I hop out, taking slow, measured steps toward the hijo de puta who had so much shit to say on the ride here—the one who was so happy and willing to point that fucking gun in my face.
“You know what’s so sad about Yessica and her men?” I cock my gun and aim it at his forehead. He reaches for me with bloody fingers, his face streaming red and lips split, mouth filled to the brim with blood. “You never learn to watch your fucking backs.”
I shoot him through the forehead, the sound echoing to the church bell, loud enough to pierce my ears. All is quiet when his head hits the ground. There is only the crackle of the flames, the sizzle from the fire.
I assumed this would give me satisfaction, but it doesn’t. It only pisses me off more. My jaw ticks when his hands fall. Rage ensues, sparking the darkest parts of me—the parts of me I never wanted to feel again—and I kick him. I kick his head repeatedly, foaming at the fucking mouth, the longer strands of my hair slapping me in the face.
“MOTHERFUCKER!”
I hear screaming. Wailing. I don’t give a fuck. I keep kicking.
“Draco!” Gianna screams, her hand wrapping around my wrist. I spin around quickly, pointing the gun at the center of her forehead.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I press the gun to her head, listening to someone stepping closer.
“Jefe.” I look over and Patanza is staring at me, head shaking. “We have to go. La policía ya viene en camino.” The police are on their way. “Cameras will only be cut off for ten more minutes in this area.” Her eyes shift over to Gianna, who is facing the gun, like she’ll take the bullet if she has to.
“Get in the fucking car, and don’t say a word,” I growl at Gianna.
She stares at me with those bright green eyes, challenging me. She’s trying to read me, but I know she can’t. She can’t because I don’t fucking want her to.
When she realizes it, she turns and woefully climbs into the SUV. I follow her inside, and the driver pulls away.
Heart still pounding.
Body numb.
Mouth dry.
Bones aching.
I tell them, “I will kill every single fucking one of them. Anyone associated with that traitorous bitch will fucking die, and that’s my fucking word! Esa puta me la va a pagar!” That bitch is going to pay.
2
GIANNA
We pull up to Draco’s mansion, and he jumps out of the SUV before it can even stop, pointing and giving orders in Spanish as he storms into the house.
Patanza appears at my door and snatches it open, cocking her head, silently ordering me to get out. I step out and walk toward the mansion, the pebbles crunching beneath my feet.
Inside the mansion, I hear doors being opened and some being slammed closed. I hear things being tossed around, men yelling in Spanish, and even see some of the maids rushing out the other doors with suitcases.
I hurry through the foyer.
There are several men marching the hallways with black cases—cases I assume have guns and other weapons stored in them. More men come through the dining room and down the corridor, some with portraits and other valuables.
“Upstairs, to Jefe’s room,” Patanza snaps at me, nudging me on the shoulder.
I glance over my shoulder, but she’s already watching. She stares with so much vile and disgust, my chest caves in on itself. As I walk up, I try to look for Draco over the guardrail, but I don’t see him anywhere. I don’t even hear him.
I step around the corner and as soon as I meet up to Draco’s bedroom door, Patanza says, “Hurry and change. Better wear something comfortable.”
“We’re leaving?” I ask when she walks past me. Her nostrils flare, and as if she has no time whatsoever for my questions, she charges past me, entering the closet and pulling down a cotton dress without even really looking at it. When she comes toward me again, she practically shoves it into my chest, causing me to frown.