Page 89 of Bad Blood
I wait for the explosion, but instead, my father indulges in a long, slow drink, studying every facet of her face as he does.
“I’m surprised to hear that,Señora. You sound more philanthropic than ambitious… I thought charity was one of the Santiagos’ deadly sins.”
Boom.
There it is.
Thalia’s polite smile slips as she returns my father’s weighted stare, neither of them blinking. “I want to help the world, not make it spin for me—something that you and my father seem to take great pleasure in.”
No one breathes.
No one dares.
What’s happening here is so casual in its destruction, there will be nothing left of Legado to repair.
“Painting pretty colors over bloodstains won’t make them go away,SeñoraCarrera,” he counters finally, the cords in his neck straining. “Eventually, the paint chips away, and the blood reveals itself.”
“That’s enough,” I warn between clenched teeth.
The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.
That’s what his whole paint and blood metaphor bullshit means.
It doesn’t matter what I do or what Thalia does. Hell, for that matter even Lola, or those fuckers Grayson and Sanders. We could cure cancer or fly to the moon, but it’s all just colored paint covering our fathers’ sins.
Their blood will always be our stain.
And this isn’t a family dinner. It’s a slaughter. And I led Thalia here like a sacrificial lamb.
“So, am I supposed to dissect this thing first or just hack a leg and go for it?” my mother asks loudly, attempting to force a distraction by jabbing her fork into a tentacle.
“What’s out of line is this whole act you two are putting on,” my father snaps, ignoring her. “I don’t care what you convinced that bastard father of yours, but I know my son.” Thalia flinches, and he takes that opportunity to turn his vitriol on me. “I know you, Santi,” he repeats viciously. “This whole family knows you. And we all knowwhyyou put a ring on this woman’s finger. There’s nothing real about a bartered marriage. What I really want to know is what made her agree,” he adds, flashing Thalia a look of derision. “What would make a Santiago open her legs for a Carrera?”
I rise to my feet so fast, my own legs collide with the table, tipping over wine glasses. “I said that’s enough!” I roar, not giving a fuck who hears me. “You’re my father. I respect you and I love you, but this isn’t Mexico. This is my territory and my casino. The minute you stepped foot inside it, your authority ended. As such, you willnotdisrespect my wife.”
Lola places a hand on my arm. “Santi—”
“No…” My father stretches out the word with full confidence. “Let him speak. I’d like to hear this.”
Apparently, so would the rest of Cellar Bistro’s wait staff because every eye in the whole damn place is on us, waiting for the conclusion.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to remember whose side I’m on. Whose name I bear. Whose blood runs through my veins. But all I can see is white. All I can smell is jasmine.
“Why Thalia married me isn’t important, and frankly it isn’t any of your business,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “The only thing that matters is that she did.” I reach again for Thalia’s hand, unable to stop the torrent of rage as I flash her ring across the table, a part of me registering that she isn’t jerking it away this time. “You can either accept it, or you can leave.”
There’s a tense moment where nobody knows what to say or do. I’ve just thrown down the gauntlet, and part of me is starting to question my own sanity. This is Valentin Carrera. Anything could happen. He could storm out and disown me, or put a bullet between my eyes and enjoy a Chianti.
He does neither.
What he does shocks everyone.
A slow, arrogant smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Sit down, son. I’m not going anywhere until I finish my drink. Leaving goodAñejoon the table is as much of a sin as pouring it down the drain.” He turns toward Thalia, his smile widening. “Wouldn’t you agree,SeñoraCarrera?”
At that, Thalia pales.
“So, I’m failing chemistry, in case anyone cares…” Lola pipes up, trying to ease the tension.
Nobody cares.
