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I folded my arms across the top of the hood and grinned. “Ready to open up some closets, counselor?”
Brody climbed out after me, the look on his face not as pleasant. He was lucky I let him come with me at all after he made me waste two hours driving to Guadalajara and back just so he could get his own clothes. I suspected it had to do with me suggesting he wear one of Cristiano’s T-shirts since I’d turned his into a sleeveless crop top.
Crossing his arms, he moved toward the front of the car. “No, but I’m not letting this asshole take a shot at Val.”
My grin faded. “Right.”
“Or you,” he added, glancing over his shoulder. “You said being together was worth dying for. Maybe so, but it won’t be today.” I met his stare, expecting to see his eyes swimming in lies, but I found stormy defiance. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. As if expecting my silence, Brody nodded at the backpack slung over my shoulder. “Are you ready to face Marisol again?”
Using that name wasn’t a slip of the tongue. It was a dart aimed at my heart intended to dissuade me from continuing and proved his blindness.
Darts couldn’t pierce what didn’t exist.
Ignoring him, I latched onto one thing as I drew my gun and walked toward my past.
As a precaution, we parked far enough away from the estate so as not to cause suspicion. However, it was an unnecessary tactic because the closer we got to the iron gate Brody’s stride slowed. A few more steps and my jaw dropped.
“Well,” he said, lowering his gun. “I didn’t expect this.”
That was an understatement. The estate where I grew up was a palace. A house built for opulence and excess. It was a labyrinth of mazes Manuel and I would purposely get lost in until someone sent a servant to retrieve us.
Esteban Muñoz wanted the people of Mexico to revere him, and the world to bow to his power. It was why everything had to be bigger and better than the Carreras. A bigger and more lavish mansion. A deadlier and more heavily armed army. Smarter and more ruthless children.
More, more, more.
The more he pushed, the weaker everything became. The inside of our house turned chaotic. Our army turned on itself. And his children became self-destructive machines.
However, it didn’t matter what lay behind the curtain as long as people believed what they saw in front of it. I wondered if he’d stand by that creed if he saw what had become of his precious legacy.
The gate swung on bent and torn hinges, opening and closing as if daring us to enter, and once we did, my mouth dropped open. Large chunks of the three-level stone staircase leading up to the front were strewn about the lawn, and jagged, sharp holes existed where windows once stood. But it was the white exterior, barely visible behind a rainbow of spray-painted gang signs that had me stumbling backward into Brody’s chest.
“You’re not going in there. There’s no way, Adriana.”
Spinning around, I waved my gun like a crazy woman. “Why? It’s not like we have to fight our way in. Obviously, nobody gives a shit.”
“Then let me go.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “You have no idea what you’re looking for.”
“Neither do you!”
I pursed my lips and glanced up at my childhood home, a distant memory humming low in my throat. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but you would be more helpful watching my back out here and letting me know if anyone is coming.” I started toward the door when he pulled me back.
“What am I supposed to do, strike up a conversation and keep the nice vandals busy while you sift through garbage?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Patting his shoulder, I stepped through the open door before he could drag me back.
“Adriana!” he called after me, but I was already headed toward the only place I could think of to go. Cristiano said to stop chasing ghosts and open up my family’s closets. If there were skeletons hidden in any room in this house, it would be the one I was always forbidden to enter.
Keeping my head down, I stepped over trash and cracked marble as I made my way through the deserted hallways. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stopped outside the door to Esteban’s office, closing my eyes and taking a breath before pushing it open. Stumbling through the darkness, I felt my way to the enormous oak desk situated near the back of the office activating the flashlight on my phone so I didn’t break my neck.
Once I was seated, it only took a moment for the smell to hit me. Even in the destruction it lingered. Cohiba Siglo VI Cuban cigars. Rain-soaked earth. A dank, sweet leather scent that hurled me through a black hole of time. The smell surrounded me. It covered my skin, seeped into my pores, and killed everything inside.
Just like he did.
