Page 22 of Chris

Valeria shook her head, turning her gaze away from the man that was still watching her with every step she took closer to him, her husband, and the other unknown gentleman. God knew she didn’t need Jorge thinking she was staring a beat too long at another man even if said man was decent to stare at.

That was her first thought about him, too, which was strange. Looks were the last thing Valeria noticed about a man. His appearance only hid what was beneath the handsome package. A lesson she had, unfortunately, learned firsthand, and not one she cared to learn again.

“I wanted you to bring Maria over to say hello,” Jorge said, nothing hiding his displeasure in the slightest once Valeria was close enough for him to speak. He reached for her, and while it killed her to put on this act for the newcomers, she allowed his arm to snake around her waist, and pull her into his side. Cigar smoke clung to the air, and it became worse when Jorge lifted the lit cigar in his other hand for a heady drag. “And now look at her.”

Valeria’s gaze searched for her girl, and she found her. “She’s having fun with the other children, let her play. She’s a child.”

“It’s good for children to play,” the older gentleman said, “because it lets them burn out all that energy they can’t seem to get rid of otherwise.”

Jorge tipped his cigar in the man’s direction and nodded. “You make a good point, Gian.”

Gian.

Was that Italian?

She thought so, but the man had a strange accent. It had a hint of Italian, but also something else, too. Something as equally smooth, maybe. French?

Valeria couldn’t be sure.

Gian chuckled. “Been a while since any of my boys were that young, however. Isn’t that right, Chris?”

“It is, Papa.”

So, she had been right.

Father and son.

Jorge’s hand tightened on Valeria’s waist, bringing her attention back to him. Heaven forbid her eyes weren’t always on him, waiting for the next moment when he would snap his fingers, and demand something new.

“Valeria,” he said, “meet my new business partners. Gian and Christopher—although, he likes Chris, they told me—Guzzi. From Canada.”

Business partners.

Right.

The cartel had one business.

Jorge tipped his head toward her, saying to Gian, “And this is the wife I may have mentioned once or twice.”

“Yes, Valeria, correct?”

She nodded. “That’s me.”

Gian smiled, but said nothing.

Jorge didn’t notice, continuing with, “We had a rough patch for a while, but somehow, Valeria found her way home, didn’t you, hermosa?”

Her heart thundered in her throat. Yeah, she found her way home. As though it had been her choice to come back to Mexico, and not like Jorge hunted her down as though she were an animal that deserved what it got. She wondered if her choosing to come home also meant watching Jorge’s man point a rifle at her daughter’s head, and calmly explaining that if she didn’t go with them, they would kill Maria?

She swallowed those words, knowing damn well nothing good would come from her letting it slip out of her mouth. Instead, she took the safe route, even if every single part of her screamed to do the opposite.

So was her life, now.

“Yes, right where I belong,” Valeria agreed.

All lies.

The younger man—Chris—had said nothing at all, and he didn’t then, either. Gian chuckled as though he understood Jorge fine.