Page 7 of The Love Language of the Cartel

My brows knitted together. “What? Tomorrow? The announcement of our engagement and the alliance between our families was supposed to happen tomorrow! Why did you cancel it? What happened?” I quizzed as my mind whirled with possibilities, each more alarming than the last.

“It’s complicated, love. Nothing for you to worry about. We’ll discuss it when you come over tomorrow.”

I gripped the phone tighter, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Daddy, I’m not a child. If something’s going on, I deserve to know. This is my life too! How could you let Harris find out before me?”

“Not now, Demi,” he said sternly, his tone a warning. “I’m on my way to the club. We’ll talk later.”

The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief. The marriage to Ozias ‘El Diablo’ Rivera was supposed to be a done deal, a strategic alliance to secure our family’s position. For it to fall through now . . .

I leaned back against the seat, my mind racing. Something big must’ve happened, something that had my father willing to risk the wrath of the Mexican cartel. But what?

Later that evening, I sat on my bed draped in lavish linens with my new emerald dress carefully hung on a felt hanger outside of my walk-in closet that rivaled any runway it-girl or fashionista. The phone call with my father and his unexpected news still echoed in my mind. He’d just severed the marriage contract, which should’ve filled me with nothing but relief. Instead, it occupied me with a new sense of dread—knowing my father would soon try to arrange another marriage, possibly with someone even older and potentially more problematic.

Feeling distressed, I called Samara over to my apartment to vent about everything that happened at the club with Harris and the upsetting phone call with my father. As soon as she arrived, she crashed down beside me on my oversized, L-shaped couch in the open-concept living area that flowed seamlessly into the kitchen, ready to lend a listening ear.

She looked at me with her bottom lip poked out. “You poor thing. How are you holding up, Demi?”

My shoulders rose and fell. “To be honest, I don’t know. I thought I’d be relieved about this, but now I’m even more anxious. What if my father tries to marry me off to someone worse? Someone old, wrinkly, and more dangerous? What am I going to do?” I questioned while nervously wringing my hands.

I was so anxious that I couldn’t sit still. I started pacing the floor, walking from the couch over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in my apartment that showcased the stunning views of the city’s skyline and Lake Michigan.

“You’re going to keep your head up. I get this is a lot to take in for anybody, but you need to remember who you are. Just likeyou said in the dress shop, you’re motherfucking Demi Malone, bitch. You better poke out your chest and act like it! Like I told you earlier, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure something out.”

“How? We don’t have any more time, Demi. The man was supposed to be leaving Mexico to come here tomorrow and stay until the wedding, and then we were going to go back together.”

At a loss for words, Samara sighed. “I’m sorry, Demi. I wish I had better things to say to keep your spirits up.”

“I know you do. I just feel so trapped. It’s like, every time I think I see a fucking way out of this dark ass tunnel, there’s always another dead end. How am I ever supposed to find what makes me happy and what I want to do with my life if I’m always underneath a man’s thumb?”

“It’s okay to feel frustrated and unsure given the circumstances. It’s fucked up, period. But you’re one of the strongest people I know, Demi—a lot stronger than you can even appreciate right now. We need to start thinking about what you really want and how we can make that happen for you. Maybe now is the time to have a serious heart-to-heart with your father about your future and what you want to get out of it. You deserve to be happy and free.”

I nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. “You’re so fucking right, Mara. I need to take control of my own life. I can’t keep letting decisions be made for me anymore.”

“Fuck it, come with me tomorrow,” Samara suggested.

My brows dipped low. “Come with you where?”

She smacked her full lips together. “Remember I told you about my cousin’s wedding a few months back when I got the invitation? It’s a destination wedding in Cancun. She gave me a plus one, so now I’m inviting you! My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. It’ll take your mind off things and let shit cool down between you and your father.”

A getaway does sound nice right about now.

I sighed. “Okay. I like that idea. I’m down and could use the change of scenery. I’m meeting with my father in the morning, but I should be good for the rest of the day.”

“Eek!” Samara squealed with excitement. “This is gonna be the best weekend ever!”

My chest inflated with a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of excitement. My future was uncertain, but with an impending getaway to Mexico right in the midst of my world being rocked, I felt like it could be the silver lining I never knew I needed. For the first time, I felt like I had a say in my own future, and I was ready to live it up, one tequila shot at a time.

Ozias

The buzzing of my phone cut through the silence of my office like a knife. I glanced at the screen, my jaw clenching as I read the name Cyrus Malone. The Chi-Town cabrón. I let it ring twice more before answering.

“Cyrus. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I leaned back in my leather chair, fingers drumming on the polished mahogany desk. The Cabo San Lucas skyline stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a testament to the power and influence I’d built. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Ozias, my boy! How are things in sunny Mexico?” Cyrus’s booming voice carried a forced cheerfulness that set my teeth on edge.

“Warm, as always,” I replied smoothly. “And Chicago? Still freezing your cojones off?”

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