Page 53 of Empire of Carnage
I inhaled a stuttered breath, filling my lungs up as I repeated his words in my head.
If not me then who?
My fucking traitorous hermana?
She wouldn’t have cried over me. She wouldn’t mourn me the way I mourned her. She would slit my throat and take everything that was mine. Everything I would have gladly shared with her.
When did I become such a soft fucking pendeja? I turned to my side, facing Santos and letting Mateo snuggle me into him again. Ronan’s snoring started up once more and I let the sound of it calm me into a sleepier state, running my fingers over the scars on Santos’ chest, reminding myself I would kill her not just for my own revenge, but for his too.
Retribution was coming, and I would find the Celia I buried deep inside me a long time ago to wield it.
That would help me sleep at night.
22
Celia
The best part about this whole fundraiser gala was that all I had to do was throw money at it. An absolute joy for someone like me who needed minimal interaction with people outside my personal circle.
At the end of the day, I just wanted to tell my people what they needed to do and expect it to get done. It was a fair request to keep myself out of social situations unless they absolutely required it.
The gala demanded it unfortunately, but at least all I needed to do was show up and look hot.
Which I was failing to do.
The Prada box was opened, and the dress was already laid out on the bed for me. Ronan’s choice, because I’d still yet to develop a sense of personal style. I really was more of a sweatpants and someone else’s T-shirt kinda gal. But this was the event of the year, and it was a big fucking deal.
I painted my lips a dark plum color, opening my lips into an O shape to let the matte shade dry. I was never quite fucking sure if you were supposed to do that or press your lips together to spread the color around.
I was really inept at all this feminine stuff, but it’s not like I had someone to teach me. I spent most of my childhood as my father’s shadow and when wewereforced to be apart my mother wasn’t discreet in her desire to keep me at a distance.
Her own fucked up way of protecting herself.
I guess I wouldn’t want to get close to my kid either if I knew the chances were high that they were going to grow up to kill my husband. I loved my papá, but I was glad he died because, in reality, the odds would have been against us. Historically, time proved cártel seats weren’t passed down in peace, they were taken with blood and glory.
The birth control implant in my arm itched from the thought of breeding. The idea alone was laughable. I was thirty years old and probably hadn’t even processed a third of my childhood trauma yet. Was I gonna pop some kid out and chain him to that dungeon like my father did to me for the sake of making them a ‘better person’? Was I going to force my child into something they likely wouldn’t have chosen on their own if they could understand?
No.
I wouldn’t be bringing a child into this fucked up world.
I stuck on the sticky strapless bra to my left boob, hooking it onto the right to create the insane illusion of cleavage that I’d never achieve on my own. I wasn’t even fully dressed for the night yet and I was already looking forward to taking all this mierda off and crawling into a pair of Ronan’s boxers and one of Mateo’s shirts.
The three of them walked into the room just as I stepped into the dress, pulling it up to my shoulders and giving them my back so one of them could do the clasps. I gasped looking into the mirror just as Santos finished.
“I-I can’t wear this,” I said, completely horrified at what I was looking at.
The dress was stunning. Black, strapless with a sweetheart neckline and a tight bodice that hugged all the way down to my hips before the fabric dropped loosely to my ankles. It was essentially backless, stopping right above my ass and leaving my back completely exposed.
Thatwas a problem.
Part of my vault of traumas—I needed to keep locked up tight.
“Yes you can,” Ronan said, turning my back away from the mirror and forcing me to look at my own face.
“I can’t. Find me a jacket if Ihaveto stay in this dress,” I told Mateo, knowing he wouldn’t argue.
“No.” I watched Santos step behind me in the reflection of the mirror, my eyes following him as one of his hands ran up the front of my body, while the other trailed softly along the scar on my back.
