Page 45 of Cartel Devil

He turns toward me, and it’s as though he can see into my thoughts. I feel like he gets me.

“Chiquita, you know better than most syndicate women what it means to be with a man in my position. You must have seen it with your father and brother. Maybe even with Steven. You know I’ll lie so many times you’ll lose count far too soon. But I can swear to you on everything I am, I will never lie about my feelings for you. I can never give you all of me. I wouldn’t want to because there’s part of me I’m too ashamed for you to see even a hint of. But what I can give you, I give all of it.”

It should elate me that he’s offering me this, but it doesn’t because I can’t give him all of me either. I can’t divulge why, so I can’t even hint that I’m in the same boat. I already feel my loyalties tested.

“Quino, Tricia.”

We turn toward Enrique, and I brace myself for I don’t know what. Joaquin’s nickname catches my attention. I didn’t know that was short for his name, but I like it. I like that it’s different from what I call him. It’s like how he only calls me Tre. I’ve heard it a few times for Teresa but never Patrizia.

“Sí, tío.”

“Are felicidades appropriate?”

I have a flash of fear that he knows I might be pregnant, but I realize he means us being a couple. He wouldn’t offer them if he weren’t certain it was right to congratulate us. I don’t miss the significance that it’s Enrique offering them first, and that he came without Elle. He’s the head of the family, and his wife isn’t urging him to do it. They weren’t standing together before he walked over.

“Sí, tío.”

Joaquin beams—actually fucking beams. His smile is so broad that it makes my chest ache with how my heart feels so full it’ll burst. Both men turn their attention to me, and I’m matching Joaquin’s excitement. Any dread I felt moments ago is gone. There’s a warmth in Enrique’s gaze I never imagined such a powerful man could possess. He looks so fucking happy for Joaquin—for me—for us. There’s pride in his nephew that can’t be faked. The men embrace.

“Así tenía que ser, sobrino.”

I don’t speak Spanish. I don’t know if it’s too private to ask Joaquin what it means when we’re alone again.

Enrique reaches out his hand to me. I hesitate only for a breath before placing mine in his. It dwarfs mine just like Joaquin’s does.

“Señorita, it means ‘this is meant to be, nephew.’”

I appreciate him interpreting his comment. No pressure or anything from something that sounds prophetic. I inhale before I answer.

“Thank you.”

I hope he’s right, and the weight of such a judgment doesn’t crush me if he isn’t.

Elle joins us, and her smile’s so familiar that it’s almost as good as having my mom here. I step into her embrace and rest my head on her shoulder. Her perfume is so familiar too. The feel of her body against mine is like coming home. I knew I was anxious about all of this, but I didn’t realize how much until she hugs me. It’s like I can let it go. It’s a different sense of security from what Joaquin gives me, but I value it just as much.

“I knew you’d never be my daughter, and that was for the best. Both of you were far too young. But I couldn’t be happier to know you’re my niece.”

She whispers to me, and I tense for a second before I feel boneless. The acceptance is what I need, knowing the inevitable fallout that’s coming. It’s the foregone conclusion that Joaquin and I will be together forever that’s daunting. But as it plays through my head, I know it’s what I want already. She’s saying it without knowing whether her suspicions are right. She isn’t speculating either. It’s just fact.

When I straighten, I know Joaquin didn’t hear her because his expression’s grown pensive. But he relaxes when I dip my chin. I step back, and he slides his arm around my waist.

God. Nothing has felt better than leaning against him and feeling like his body can shield me from anything.

Holding hands was discreet. People might not have noticed. But this—this is him clearly staking a claim.

I wrap my arm around his waist in return.

He just relaxed.

He wants this too. The intimacy and the possessiveness.

It is possessiveness when you’re among a pack of lions and lionesses.

Just like he’s telling every man here I’m taken, I’m doing the same to the women. A few men smiled at me earlier, but I knew none would approach me. Not because I’m a Vizzini. I doubt any of them know, but because I’m an unknown. But the women who looked at Joaquin looked too long and with too much interest.

Back off, bitches. He’s mine.

I didn’t lie when I told him I’d kill before sharing him.