I glare up at Emilio. “Where is he? Is he on the way?”
Emilio presses his lips with a slight shrug.
“What did he want?”
“He was just checking on you, Patrona.”
“Why doesn’t he just come and check on me himself?” I snap, and I know I shouldn’t be angry with Emilio, the only man showing me respect right now, but I can’t help it. I feel like I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown.
“He will talk to you when he feels like it,” Patanza says from behind me in her native language. I turn and look at her. Her face is pale, eyes dark and empty. She seems almost . . . lifeless. “Stop pressuring Emilio, when you know he can’t give you solid answers. Haven’t you caused enough fucking trouble?”
“Patanza,” Emilio warns.
But I don’t stick around long enough to hear what else she has to say. I return the phone to Emilio and walk back to my bedroom.
I’m on edge for the rest of that day. By nightfall, I’m calling Emilio for a bottle of wine to help take the edge off. I down three glasses of red wine, eyes wet, heart pounding.
I don’t know when I finally fall sleep, but when I wake up, it’s still dark, and the heavy smell of marijuana rolls past my nose. The door to the terrace is cracked open. I gasp, shooting up straight, staring through the glass.
Dropping one foot on the marble floor, I tiptoe to the door, cautious, heart racing. I pause for a second when I hear a throat clear, deep and heavy. I look around for something to defend myself with, but there isn’t much here. Just the half empty bottle of wine and the silver tray. On top of the tray is a knife I used to cut my apples earlier.
I grab it, pulling the door open and peeking around the corner.
When I see the broad shoulders and chiseled jaw, my racing hearts works overtime. I immediately lower my guard, something I normally wouldn’t do around him, placing the knife down on the chair behind me.
I can’t help but lower what’s left of my defensive walls.
Draco is standing on the terrace with a joint pinched between his lips, overlooking the city of Cabos. The moonlight makes his skin look clear and smooth, highlighting the dark stubble on his jawline and around his mouth. He’s wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt, his hair a disheveled mess.
I almost don’t go out. He looks calm, if only for now. Maybe I shouldn’t bother him. Give him his space until morning.
I start to step away, but I bump into the side of the house, causing a thump.
He looks over when he hears it and immediately reaches for his gun, drawing and pointing it at me. I hold my hands in the air, and when he realizes it’s only me, he lowers it right away, sighing heavily as he tucks it back into the holster.
“Sorry to scare you,” I whisper.
“Nothing scares me,” he grumbles, pulling the joint from his lips. “It’s called watching your back.”
I look him over. His eyes are hard, but deep in them I can see the pain. I see his agony, and I want to cry for him. I know he hasn’t dared shed a tear. He’s kept himself busy and distant for a reason.
“Draco,” I call, stepping closer to him, cutting right to the chase. “I am so, so sorry. I swear, I didn’t—”
“Just shut up, Gia,” he mutters, looking away. “There is nothing you can say that will help the situation we’re in. It happened, and it’s done. Time to move forward now.”
“I just want to apologize,” I tell him, still cautious, but still moving closer to him.
“Apologies are worthless. They don’t help or motivate me. They only piss me the fuck off.”
My mouth clamps shut. I stop only a footstep away from him. He puts out the joint and bends over, placing it on the ground.
“What took you so long to get here?” I ask.
“Had work to do. Shit to handle.”
“You killed someone?”
“I’ve killed a lot of people.”
I look down. He’s so cold, intentionally driving a wedge between us. It hurts knowing he doesn’t want to speak to me; that he probably doesn’t even want to be around me.
“You told them I was safe here. How am I safer here?”
“Because she doesn’t know where you are. It allows me to do what I need to do until I can get to her again.”
“You haven’t seen her since—” My sentence cuts short. I’m afraid to say it around him. Saying it will make it real.
He takes note of my hesitance, cocking a brow, fixing his gaze on me. “Since what? Since she killed my cousin?” His tone is harsh and unforgiving.
I nod pathetically.
“No, and she better be fucking glad I haven’t seen her, otherwise I’d gouge her fucking eyes out and then bury her alive.”