Page 92 of When Lies Unfold

Alma and I each experienced what it was like to be so fuckin’ hungry it felt like your stomach was tryin’ to eat itself.

With a wistful glance down at her dress, her voice turns softer. “I even feel like an imposter in this.”

Alma wasn’t used to nice things, either. Hell, she still isn’t—not really. My girl would cherish a rock as a gift just as much as any brand-new toy I could give her. I certainly don’t miss the similarities between them.

“Boss?” Gordo’s normally calm tone now carries an antsy edge.

“Comin’.”

I stamp a quick kiss on Lola’s lips before forcin’ myself to step back. “Gordo’s gonna make sure you get to your room, and Diego and Miguel are gonna stand watch.”

Her lips part, likely formin’ a protest, but I rush on. “I gotta know you’re safe tonight.”

Conflict is chased by wariness as it crosses her expression before quickly disappearin’. “Okay. I…appreciate that.”

Without thinkin’, I snag her hand in mine and lead her to the door. Gordo’s waitin’ when I tug it open.

“She’s gonna head to her room. Be sure Miguel and Diego oversee things.”

Gordo dips his chin. “You got it, boss.” He steps aside to let Lola out. Once her back’s turned, he slides me a sharp look that says, The fuck you doin’?

I stare back, holdin’ his gaze until he gives a subtle shake of his head and focuses on escortin’ Lola to her room.

Straightenin’ my collar, I run my tongue over my bottom lip, gatherin’ the lingerin’ taste of her. It fuels me to return to the dinin’ room while Gordo’s silent question replays in my mind.

The fuck am I doin’? I’m handlin’ shit—both personal and business—the way I always do.

’Cause I’m motherfuckin’ Santiago Hernández, and I rule this place.

1 Idiot narco

39

SANTIAGO

Marcelo hangs back, lettin’ everyone else file out first. With his gray hair neatly combed, he stands with his hands in his suit pockets.

Out of everybody I’ve done business with, he’s the only one I had a soft spot for. He’s been loyal to me for years, now.

Though he’s older and wise enough to have gone solo long ago, he always claimed he didn’t want that kind of responsibility.

Hell… Some days, I don’t even want the responsibility that comes from all this.

Of-fuckin’-course, Keyna stops at the door now. Slidin’ her arm free from Octavio’s, she excuses herself from him as he exits, and she turns back toward me.

“Santy.” She coos my name in a way that’s always grated on my nerves. Stoppin’ in front of me, she reaches out to touch my suit jacket, but I catch her wrist before she can.

A frown mars her features as she pouts. “Can’t I show an old friend how much I?—”

“Time to go, Keyna.” I release her wrist and step back, turnin’ my focus to Marcelo, effectively dismissin’ her. “Gotta talk with Marcelo.”

With a huff, she spins around, her heels stabbin’ the tile floor with each jarrin’ step in her retreat. But I don’t give a fuck. She can be pissed all she wants. I never promised her shit.

I lift my chin in silent command for my men to close the doors so Marcelo and I can speak privately.

Once the doors close, Marcelo raises his brows with a smirk. “Seems you’ve got some women troubles.”

“Nah. Keyna’s just more stubborn than most.” Soberin’, I slide my hands in my pockets. “You obviously stuck around to talk about somethin’.”

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