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Power.
Control over the Colombian government.
“Those words will cost you.”
“You betrayed me.” Miguelino pushes me forward and almost into the stairwell’s door, causing me to yelp. Asshole. “Open the door and go up a flight. They’re waiting on us.”
They’re?
I do as he asks and step through the door, following his instructions with him close behind me. The metal door closes with a bang, and I ignore the deafening silence as we ascend to the next floor, finding it empty when I step onto the landing.
No noises. No one is waiting.
“Enter the floor and head toward the room at the end of this hallway.” I don’t verbally respond, but my steps are sure as I walk toward his destination. There are cameras here and I see them move with us, following, and I know that’s Alejandro’s doing. Just like there’s a ping coming from the elevator and then the opening and closing of a door just as Miguelino swipes his keycard over the door’s lock.
No one interferes as of yet, but I catch movement in my peripheral and bite back a smile.
“Why are you doing this?”
The lock beeps and turns green, but instead of opening, he looks at me. “Because your family owes me.”
“I don’t owe you a thing.”
“Yours is an inherited debt, Solimar. You’ll pay for their mistakes.” Grabbing my arm, he yanks me inside and the moment we step through, guns click and are cocked in our direction. “What the fuck!”
“I suggest you take your hands off her, hijueputa.” My husband’s voice rings loud inside the room and my eyes snap to his; I find him sitting atop an oversized chair with a body at his feet. It’s of a man, looks young, and with a large bleeding gash across his neck. “You have five seconds.”
“How the hell did you get in here? I had the place—”
“You fucked with the wrong man, Miguelino.” The door closes behind us and two more men enter; both work for us. “Three.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“One.” Our guards quickly step between us a second before Alejandro shoots both his kneecaps, a few drops of blood splashing them. “Now, come here, Preciosa.”
As I take a step forward, my uncle’s cries hit a higher decibel and I turn my head just in time to see one of the guards take a hammer out of his suit jacket and bring it down upon the bleeding man’s leg—once, twice, three times before focusing on his ankle. There’s a sickening crunch that fills the room and I’m perturbed by the sound, but then that seems insignificant when I take in the three dead bodies atop the bed, all with their horror-filled eyes open.
Closing my eyes for a second, I take in a deep breath and shake off the shock. This won’t be the last time I encounter death, and I’m also not afraid of my husband or his men. My uncle and the people trying to harm me brought this upon themselves.
With that in mind, I walk over to my husband and take a seat on his lap. We are a united front. I am safe because of him.
“Now, tell her what your plans were, Miguelino. Your life is in her hands.”
“They owe me.” My uncle’s voice is low and full of fear, a complete contrast to the man who’s always gone out of his way to make me feel uncomfortable. “My mother paid a heavy price for being Quintero’s mistress, and I inherited that shame. I stayed quiet all these years, never brought their dirty secrets to light, but the price for my silence was heavy and her father knew it. He agreed to her hand in marriage once she came of age as long as I stayed out of the limelight and didn’t sully their name.”
Before Alejandro, that would’ve crushed me, but right now I feel nothing. No sadness. No despair. No fear.
And it’s all thanks to the man whose lap I’m sitting on. God, I love him.
“Her hand was promised to someone else. Did you know this?”
“It was a temporary agreement. Their marriage would’ve been terminated after she gave Signio a son.”
“Fucking disgusting pieces of shit,” Alejandro hisses and then nods, giving the man with the hammer the go-ahead to do more damage. This time, he swings down across Miguelino’s face, breaking his nose and creating a large gash that spills blood profusely. “Again. Knock his teeth out this time.”
“Si, Patron.” Without hesitation, another blow lands across my uncle’s mouth and a few teeth fly out, spittle with blood staining the carpet below him.
“Please stop.” It’s garbled and his face looks disgusting, but I feel no empathy. He deserves this. I deserve to extend my own revenge.
