Page 6 of Marrying the Mobster
The car begins to move, and Jovan’s voice comes at me as if from far away. He must be driving. “What are you going to do with her? You know Aguilar won’t have the money in time.”
“Don’t worry about what I’ll do with her. All you need to know is what will happen if Santiago doesn’t pay up.”
“And you think you can do it so easily?” Jovan asks, sounding dubious. “You’re going to kill this girl to punish her father when she hasn’t done anything wrong?”
Right before I fall unconscious, Pérez’s voice washes over me, filling me with dread.
“Absolutely.”
3
Diego
What the hell did I just do?
I ask myself the question over and over during the ride home. It’s a long haul from High Pines to Indian Creek—a private, exclusive neighborhood on a small island in Biscayne Bay. Its small size and a total of less than twenty houses makes it the perfect place for the center of my operations. Several of my men live under my roof, along with my staff, security team, and my little sister. Apparently, it’s also going to be the home of Elena Aguilar for the next thirty days.
Ignoring Jovan’s probing glances in the rear-view window, I study Elena up close. She’s a tall woman, a mere inch shorter than me, with legs that go on forever. Her skin is smooth and sun-kissed, a shade of bronzed olive just a bit lighter than my own. Her hair was dripping wet when she invaded her father’s office, but it’s starting to dry in silky waves. A few strands are plastered to her face and neck, so I push them back.
When open, her eyes were large and chocolate brown. Dark amber flecks jumped out at me when I stood close. Her eyebrows are plucked and neat, full but not bushy, arching toward a smooth forehead. Her nose is slightly, adorably upturned at the tip, and a tiny beauty spot shows just above her upper lip. Her mouth is a fucking wet dream, plump and slightly open, naturally tinted a pale pink. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture those pouty lips wrapped around my cock.
No. I can’t think about her that way. She isn’t some piece of ass I can help myself to whenever I want. She’s a valuable prisoner—one that will, hopefully, be worth millions by the time I’m finished with her father.
That doesn’t stop me from letting my eyes travel lower. Might as well finish my inspection. Her cover-up has fallen open, revealing a tiny red bikini and the glorious body inside it. Jovan was right about her tits. They’re a generous handful, perky and round, delicate nipples showing through the fabric of her suit. Her belly is tight and slightly defined—a sign she’s exercises regularly. Slim hips give way to those long legs—the thighs and calves supple and womanly, but holding the same definition as her stomach.
It’ll be a shame have to kill her. Aside from being a knockout, she seems to be nothing like Santiago. She was clearly pissed about the debt and her father’s lack of business acumen. Really, the only sin she committed was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In my world, that’s all it can take to seal your fate.
Jovan clears his throat, drawing my attention away from Elena. I should be embarrassed to be caught ogling her, but shame isn’t something I give into. Ever. I own everyone and everything around me, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want.
“What?” I snap when Jovan gives me a loaded look through the rearview mirror.
He shakes his head and lets out a snort. “Why didn’t you just kill the bastard? Taking his daughter when you know he can’t pay up only complicates the situation.”
He’s right, and we both know it. But I can’t go back on the decision now—not that I particularly want to. Killing Santiago in front of Elena means we would have had to kill her, too. It’s the cardinal rule of carrying out a hit job: never leave witnesses. If she had stayed in the pool, things might have been different. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk.
“Five mil plus interest is nothing to sneeze at,” I remind him. “If the money can be recovered, I’d rather have it than Santiago’s blood on my hands.”
Jovan gives me a dubious look but doesn’t argue. He knows better than anyone how much I dislike having to kill. It doesn’t matter how long ago I first learned just how much pressure it takes to pull a trigger, or how many bodies I’ve left in my wake. Jovan will assume that’s the only reason I took Elena, and it’s all he needs to know. The specifics of my conversation with Father Moya are none of his business.
I roll up the privacy screen, not wanting to discuss the matter further. Also, I need the rest of the drive home to think about what the hell I’m going to do with a twenty-something-year-old woman for an entire month. I’ll need to assure her security and squash any attempts at escape. If I’m lucky, that show of spirit in her father’s office was brought on by adrenaline and fear. I don’t have the patience to deal with a feisty chick who thinks she can fight her way out of this. I also don’t want to spare more manpower than necessary to keep her under control. Elena will be made to understand that failure to cooperate will result in the deaths of both herself and her father. If she values her life, she’ll do as she’s told.
We aren’t stopped at the security gatehouse, as the island’s private police force know my cars on sight. The drive down the single, curving road is quick with it being so late and no other vehicles around. My eyes keep cutting toward Elena, and because of how she’s dressed I get an eyeful of bare skin every time I look at her.
I don’t need this. Elena will be more a distraction and a nuisance than anything else, and I knew that when I decided to take her. But Father Moya’s voice overtook my own thoughts and persuaded me to stay my hand. That’ll be the last time I go to confession before handling cartel business.
The privacy screen rolls down and Jovan says, “we’re home,jefe.”
By the time he comes around to open my door, I have Elena across my lap with my arms hooked beneath her knees and shoulders. Her head rests against my shoulder as I stride toward the house with Jovan on my heels. The smell of chlorine wafts of my nostrils, reminding me that my prisoner will need fresh clothes and a shower when she wakes up. She’ll need more than that, considering the planned length of her stay. Yet another bothersome detail I didn’t consider when taking her.
Sean and Nicolas—the two soldiers responsible for nighttime security—give me a puzzled look as I walk through the door. Mariana, one of my maids, looks on with a furrowed brow when I dump Elena into Sean’s arms.
“Put her in one of the third-floor guest rooms,” I order. “Stay with her and send for me when she wakes up, no matter what time it is. Nicolas, pull Donny out of bed and have him join you on night watch. We’ll have a meeting with security in the morning to discuss our new guest. Miss Aguilar will be with us for the next month. I want her taken care of, unharmed, but kept under lock and key. She isn’t to step foot outside her room without my permission and isn’t allowed any contact with the outside world. Mari, she’s going to need a change of clothes and whatever else you think she should have to clean herself up … and a meal when she wakes up. Am I clear?”
All three respond with variations of ‘yes, sir,’ then scramble off to carry out my orders. Jovan is already heading up to his private suite of rooms on the second floor, stripping off his suit jacket as he goes. He gives me a playful salute once we reach the landing, then we go our separate ways. Elena’s location on the third floor ensures she’ll be secure, but far enough from me not to be a distraction. If I can’t see those full, pouty lips, I’m less likely to fantasize getting her on her knees.
It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman. Family business has held my attention over the past several weeks and I’m like a soda bottle shaken up and left to sit with the top sealed … ready to blow at any second.
Half the men who answer to me have longtime girlfriends or wives and children. Those with families live in quiet, isolated suburbs, becoming husbands and fathers when they walk through their front doors and transforming into cartel soldiers once they cross back over the threshold. It’s exactly the kind of life I don’t want. Having a family means making myself vulnerable. Keeping a woman close means having a pressure point that my enemies can toy with anytime they want. I learned that lesson the hard way as a boy, and it’s one I’ve never forgotten. Casual arrangements with women who give me what I need before going off to live their own lives works for me. With a single phone call, I can have the woman of my choice on my doorstep within an hour.
