Page 63 of Bad Blood
“Speak to my sister. She’s the vegetarian cook.”
I try not to think about the images on the tape. The indignity of those ten minutes has ensured that Bardi will be missing a few fingers before dawn.
As for the rest of him…
I watch her drain the water from the pot and mix in the jar of sauce. “Tell me your sister is a better cook than this.”
“She’s great. And a brilliant writer too.” There’s a sudden warmth in her voice. “It’s amazing really, after everything she’s been…” She stops abruptly, as if her words have strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.
“What’s amazing?” I push the foie gras to the side. Now, I’m craving spaghetti, and I never eat that shit. It’s official. My taste buds have ADHD.
Thalia tosses a fork into the pot, her dark eyebrows bunching together again as she stirs. “She’s sick… Lupus. She was diagnosed ten years ago. The symptoms come and go, but when she’s in a flare, it’s…” The stirring stops. “It’s really bad.”
Bardi just lost a fucking hand now.
“What can they do for her?”
The stirring resumes; this time in a swift and punishing rhythm. “Nothing,” she clips, the word swaddled in anger. “There’s no cure. Her body will keep attacking itself until one day…”
“I get it,” I say stiffly, eyeing my missing bottle ofGran Patrón Burdeos Añejositting on the counter behind her.Dios mío, I need a fucking drink…
“Yeah, sure you do,” she mutters under her breath.
I don’t share kills, and I sure as hell don’t share my family’s personal shit with my enemy’s daughter, but my mouth is playing mutineer tonight.
“MyTíaAdriana… My father’s sister. She was born with Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes. When I was a baby, she went into kidney failure.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She spins around, her delicate features creased in sympathy. It’s such a genuine reaction that it has me reaching around her for the bottle ofAñejoand pouring myself a large double. “Did she—?”
“Die along with her organs?” I finish, causing Thalia to flinch. Shaking my head, I place the bottle back down on the counter. “No. She got herself a brand new one.”
“Let me guess. The King of Mexico made hissicariosdraw straws, and the poor bastard who pulled the short one ‘volunteered’ a vital organ.”
“No,hedid.”
Fuck off, mouth. Just. Fuck. Off.
“Are you serious?” She looks shocked.
“Blood is blood. Even criminals wear capes once in a while… Speaking of which, when did you learn to count cards?” I take a swig of my drink, not only savoring the burn, but that blush staining her face.Maybe even more so...
There’s a pause. “Did you have your cameras on me the whole time?”
My lips turn up in a reluctant smirk. “Only when you passed twenty-thousand on the same table. House policy.”
“Damn. I knew I should have moved on. It’s part of my 101.”
“My wife, the master criminal,” I mock. “How much have you won from other casinos?”
“Four hundred and forty-five thousand dollars,” she says quietly. “In four days.”
“Four days?” I slam my glass back down on the counter. Shit. I need her on my payroll. Even my best dealers can’t move enough shipments of cocaine fast enough for that kind of payout.
“I hate doing it, though. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t tell me I married the only Santiago with a conscience?”
“No, that’s my sister. I’ve done plenty bad.” She points to the bottle ofGran Patrón Burdeos Añejo. “Can I have one?”
