Page 106 of Tainted Blood

A wet gurgle from the front row causes a ripple of soft laughter, cutting the tension. Shifting my gaze, my own smile tugs my lips as I watch my niece reach up with both hands, grab her father’s lower lip, and twist the fuck out of them. Unfazed, he pretends to bite down on her tiny fingers, earning himself another giggle.

Sam Sanders will never be my favorite person, but the bastard is one hell of a father. Beside him, Edier Grayson sits with one eye on the future, and his heart in the past, from what Thalia’s intimated.

When the organ plays the first notes of the bridal march, everyone stands, eyes turned toward the back of the church.

I thought I was ready.

I was wrong.

When the double doors open, and Thalia takes her first step inside the sanctuary, it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time, all over again. The same pressure squeezes my chest. The same punch hits my gut. When she walked into my office a year ago, she was a beautiful woman. Tonight, she’s a goddess.

Her gown is white, but it’s a concession I had no problem in making. Some traditions have their value, but it’s the red roses woven into her veil that hold my attention the most.

Mi reina roja.

My red queen.

When her eyes meet mine, I see the same fire that captivated me the moment we first met. Taking her father’s arm, they walk in perfect sync up the aisle, before coming to a stop three steps below the altar.

Santiago’s face is unreadable as he turns to me. “Don’t fuck it up, Carrera,” he says dryly. “I still have a bullet with your name on it.”

“Pápa,” Thalia hisses.

Giving him a curt nod, I fight back a smirk. That’s as close to an approval by Dante Santiago as it gets.

Turning to his daughter, he kisses her lightly on the cheek. “Beautiful, mija.” Then, placing her hand in mine, he takes his seat in the front pew beside his wife, Eve.

“Been waiting for someone, Carrera?” Thalia teases me softly.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

They’re the same words she spoke to me eleven years ago, standing knee-deep in snow outside these church walls. Back then, I thought she was innocent and brave—two qualities I still see in her—only now there’s a third: strength.

“Only you, muñequita,” I murmur. “I’ve only ever waited for you.”

* * *

Receptions aren’t for the bride and groom.

If it were up to Thalia and me, we’d already be locked inside our penthouse having our kind of fun on every redecorated surface. But to appease both our families, I had Legado’s grand ballroom turned into a display of extravagance and excess.

I agreed to a simplistic wedding, not to a subdued celebration.

“We’re magicians,” says Thalia with a sigh, surveying the room.

“How do you figure that, Señora Carrera?” I ask, my fingers tracing the delicate dip between her shoulder blades.

I feel her shiver with longing as she motions with her champagne flute. “This is the first time in twenty years that all these people have been in the same room. It’s either magic, or the power of alcohol.”

I laugh, moving my fingers lower. “Maybe it’s a little of both.”

She’s right. Family members from both cartels crowd around tables as if two vows just evaporated twenty years of bad blood. Grayson’s parents sit at a table talking to Senator Sanders and his wife, Nina, while RJ’s parents, my Tío Brody and Tía Adriana hover by the bar with my father’s second in command, Mateo and his wife Leighton, and my cousin, Stella.

As I down my fourth glass of champagne, my mother and father stride toward us, their pace hurried. Before I can brace myself, my mother throws herself into my arms, tears brimming her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you mijo,” she whispers in my ear. I always knew no matter what happened, no matter how deep the waters were where you fell, you’d always keep swimming.”

They’re the parting words she left me with when I left Mexico at eighteen to take over the world.

---