Page 675 of One More Kiss

The door opens. Confident footsteps announce the arrival of his son. A lump bobs in my throat from the harshness of Elias’ speech.

They’d never learn how my father works in a shipyard in Manaus and earns a pittance. His pride refuses to accept the money my brother Salvador offers him every month. He’s a hardworking man or simply stubborn. And I definitely wouldn’t reveal how my mother spends her mornings in a Brazil nut factory and her afternoons cleaning other people’s homes.

Tomás would have to stick pins under my nails before I tell him about the hidden oasis where my brother spends his days in seclusion. My heart sinks to my toes, not knowing if he’s still alive. If any of them are. Maybe Salvador and el Fantasma are absolute ghosts now.

I blink in the sight of Tomás’ visibly sculpted torso. He's now clad in a snug jet-black shirt encasing worked muscles and tucked into trousers that flow to designer shoes like molasses. Tight and smooth.

Those searching eyes of his are curiously hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses until he slowly slides them down the bridge of his nose to inspect my handy work.

He’s the epitome of glorious evil.

“I’ve spoken with Morales. The Mexican cartel is pissed.” He catches his father’s eye, ignoring me completely.

“I don’t give a fuck. They sent a guy to kill me, Tomás.”

Tomás folds his sunglasses and hooks them into the opening of his shirt. “I told you, Papá, Flávio came here to talk tactics with me. I mentioned it last month after I set it up. We decided to meet here, so Blanco didn’t catch wind of our business. If his men saw us with one of Morales' guys in Bogotá, he’d be all over it. Flávio arrived a day early. Now Morales will undoubtedly claim blood for blood. You’ve started a war.”

“Send her.” Elias points at me with a threatening jab to the air. “Tell them she’s my whore and they can have her as a peace offering.”

My blood crackles at the coldness of his suggestion. Tomás laughs, low and wicked. “They’ll want a Souza. Either me, André, Gio, or Matheus.”

“Is that right?” Elias ejects from his seat, slams his fist on the table, clattering dishes while a discrete maid hurries to tidy the devastation he’s made. She works fast, keeping her eyes low and her mouth shut. I watch her for a second and wonder if she’ll look over at me, but she doesn’t. “Those fuckers want one of my sons. Who the hell do they think they are? Tell Morales I’ll take out his goddamn family…”

“Papá.” Tomás growls, his posture still claiming finesse. “I’ll arrange a meeting. Morales will understand who’s in charge once I’ve spoken to him.”

“I’m in fucking charge.” Elias thumps his chest, resembling a barbarian with a crooked snarl. “We’ll both meet him. Together.”

Tomás plants his hands on his hips, flexing the curve of his back. “Morales won’t come to the plantation and you won’t leave in case security forces catch you.”

“I’ll go right now if it means blowing those motherfuckers into oblivion. Your cartel veins may run with mafia blood, Tomás, but I’m still the head of this family. I lead the Souza organization. We’ll do this my way.”

Tomás rounds his shoulders and stretches his neck from side to side. “Fine. I’ll set up a meeting in Bogotá. Give me a few weeks to arrange it. Not surprisingly, they don’t trust us now, so it will take a while.”

Elias slams his palms onto the table and scowls. There’s an uneasiness settling between them. A silent war of strength emanating from both men. “Find out if Morales is working with Maria Rebello. If they’re in bed together, this girl…” His narrowed glare settles on my face. “Is a traitor.”

“Understood.” Tomás swivels in his shiny shoes and snaps his fingers, expecting me to follow. “Outside. Now.”

“And Tomás…” Elias calls out. “If I see her inside, I’ll shoot her in the throat.”

I’ve already taken two steps behind, so when Tomás swivels, all musky cologne and darkness, I almost slam into him. “Please stop killing people indoors, or we’ll have to employ our little conspirator as a cleaner.”

Elias laughs. It’s a jovial chuckle that eliminates all the vicious comments he’s made. “If you’d stop firing the cleaners, we’d have a whole team by now.”

I dare to look up, catching Tomás grimace. Pretty lashes frame the corrupt unknown in the pitch of his sunless eyes. My veins thrum with life when he meets my gaze for a split second. After a beat, he flicks out his wrist to check his cufflinks are in place. “Move,” he says with a low rumble.

I’m momentarily paralyzed by the rich tone of his voice, stuck to the glossy clean tiles beneath my feet.

“Back up. You’re too fucking close.” It takes me a heartbeat to realize I’m uncomfortably close to him. Before the insult has time to sink in, he does a one-eighty and strolls to the exit. “Keep your distance. You’re not a guest or an employee. Right now, you are simply an inconvenience covered in filth.”

I blink at the sight of him marching through the doorway and hear Elias shout, “I love you, son.”

Tomás doesn’t reply. With a glance over his shoulder, he checks I’m behaving by traipsing along behind him at a suitable measure of distance.

“Where are we going?” I trace the outline of my top lip and stare at his straight posture from behind.

“Outside,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Where messes are easily cleaned with a hose.”

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