Impossible Odds

18

Vargas’s eyes narrowed as if he were suddenly seeing me for the first time. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I always wondered why my brother took in a rat off the street, but now it makes sense.” “What are you talking about?” My stomach clenched with unease, sensing I would not like what he had to say next. “You’re his son.” “Nazario?” “No—Alvarez.” “The dead cartel leader? I wasn’t his son—I grew up dirt poor, not living in some mansion.” I was so confused about how he could possibly jump to such a conclusion. He shook his head. “But you did, didn’t you? You lived in an enormous house, just not on the main floor. Alvarez was with a woman when I killed him. I wondered what he’d been doing there in the servant’s quarters, but I figured he was simply talking to the staff. That wasn’t it at all, was it? That woman was your mother. I took the statue from her room to remind me of our accomplishments that day.” I racked my brain, trying to remember what I could about those early years of my life. My mother had worked for a rich man, but I was a child and had paid little attention to the man. Everyone called him El Jefe, or boss, inside the house. Later, it had never occurred to question who my mother’s boss had been. I lost that life, spending two years on the streets after her death and quickly leaving every vestige of my childhood behind. What Juan Carlos claimed was possible, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Disbelief and denial clouded my vision. I refused to accept that Naz had been responsible for my mother’s death. I’d viewed him as my savior for so long. My foster father. How could the one person who gave me hope during my darkest hours be the same man responsible for my greatest grief? It was too much to comprehend. “You’re fair, just like him. Did you ever question why you looked so unlike your mother?” I shook my head absently. “There’s plenty of non-native people living in Mexico. That didn’t mean Alvarez was my father.” “No, but it makes sense, and somehow, Naz figured that out. That’s why he brought you home with him.” I slammed the figurine back on the shelf as if it had stung me, then stepped away from the offending object, overcome with emotion. I couldn’t breathe. As though the walls were closing in around me, and if I didn’t lash out, I’d never survive. I had to get out of there before I did something I would regret. “I believe we’re done here.” My words were clipped, strained with my effort to maintain control. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I stormed out of the house and tore off in my car at speeds only rivaled by my racing heart. OceanofPDF.com Chapter 9 Giada I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep when Primo left, but between my relief at seeing him again and being s*x drunk from the orgasm of a lifetime, I passed out cold within minutes of his departure. I woke the next morning deliciously sore in all the right places. My mouth spread in a feline grin as I recalled the events of the night before in glorious detail. My mystery man had a name, and I had his phone number. Whatever it was that was growing between us wasn’t over. It was just beginning. Primo may not live near me, but plenty of people managed long-distance relationships. I would get to see him before he went back home, and who knew where things would go from there. The world was suddenly my oyster, full of possibilities. I rose from my bed with renewed energy and purpose. Normally, it took at least two cups of coffee to summon that kind of enthusiasm first thing in the morning. Yet today felt different. Like a new beginning. What better way to start an adventure than with yoga? No matter where my life took me, yoga would always be a part of my routine. I threw on my workout clothes and got ready for my day, including brewing a cup of coffee because my need for the dark brew would not be diminished by any amount of natural vivacity. I was bringing a mug to my lips for that first delectable sip when someone pounded on my front door. Did security at the front desk not stop anyone from coming up? I mean, really. It was freaking Grand Central Station around here. I couldn’t imagine Primo had come back already. The only other person who paid me unexpected visits was Alessia, but she didn’t tend to break down my door when she knocked. I readied myself for whoever I’d encounter on the other side and opened the door. Maria stood in the hallway, swathed in a cloak of indignant fury. “Do you have any idea what the f**k you’ve gotten yourself into?” She stormed forward, forcing me aside. “What the hell are you talking about?” I closed the door behind her and tried to tamp down the surging sense of unease churning in my stomach. She set down her purse on my kitchen counter and fished out a stack of photographs, handing them to me. “I’m talking about him. The man you picked up in Vegas is the sicario Matteo hired to find Sal.” I glanced at the still shots of Primo entering my apartment, taken from the security cameras Maria had installed. “You know him?” “I only saw him briefly when we went to finish Sal. He’s a sicario, Giada. Do you know what that means?” “Like Benicio del Toro in that movie? Aren’t they Columbian or something?” Maria rolled her eyes. “That may have been where the term originated, but it means he’s a cartel hitman. He works for the Sonora Cartel, the largest and most ruthless trafficking organization in America.” “Wait. You said Matteo hired him?” “I’m not sure exactly what their past is, but yes. Matteo knew him somehow and had him help us find Sal down in Vegas. That’s how we were finally able to finish him.” Sal had worked as Uncle Enzo’s underboss, which I only discovered when I learned about the mafia. They’d been childhood friends, but their connection went far deeper. Sal turned on my uncle, and s**t hit the fan until Maria and her now husband, Matteo, went to Vegas to put an end to Sal. Maria was telling me Primo was a cartel hitman? I wanted to argue there was no way, but that would have been a big fat lie. Primo seemed every bit the criminal, and I had just ignored that minor detail. “I have no clue how you got in with him”—Maria cut into my thoughts —“but you need to walk away and fast. That man is dangerous.” “Yeah, but isn’t that the world we live in? Isn’t Matteo dangerous? And what about our fathers? You can’t tell me their hands are clean. How is Primo any different?” Maria snatched the photos from my hand and shoved them back in her purse.