Page 140 of Heart of a Villain

“In bed doing what?”

“I fucked her to sleep.” He raised the glass, allowing the lights from the ceiling to pass through the dark liquid. “Also, she won’t be working here anymore.”

Alessandra went from stroking her pearls to stroking the area just above her cleavage. “Why not?”

“Because I wanted her.” He turned to Lorenzo. “So I took her.”

“She can still work here,” Alessandra argued. “That’s why we let her back into the mansion, into Chamas?—”

“Feel free to keep talking if you want to die.”

Cipriano cleared his throat.

Adrían raised a finger. “Chefe, I’m not done.”

Lorenzo and Alessandra looked to Cipriano, no doubt expecting to see offense and affront on the cartel leader’s face, but there was none. Lorenzo might have known Cipriano longer, but they never had a relationship almost as close as father and son. Cipriano knew who he was, how he operated, and for someone as loyal as he’d once been, there was virtually no such thing as insubordination.

The desire to have him lead Chamas practically dribbled from Cipriano’s lips, but both Cipriano and Lorenzo had been destined not to get what they wanted the minute he was born.

“I have a question,” he prefaced. “When she was working under Chefe, she wore a chef’s coat. Why do you have her wearing a general staff uniform?”

Alessandra raised her chin. “I didn’t want the staff to feel as if they were beneath her.”

“They are.”

“In your opinion.”

“Right now, my opinion is the only one that matters. Chefe, I thought you said your daughter was a respectful woman? Whose fault is it that she didn’t develop any manners? Learn who the fuck you’re talking to before you open your mouth, princesa.”

Cipriano chuckled. “Her mother.”

Alessandra gasped. “Father, really?”

Cipriano, still chuckling, shrugged.

“How about a toast?” Lorenzo suggested. “To friends, old and new. Those you want to drink with…and those you want to stab in the throat.”

Adrían, ignoring the unconcealed jab, lowered his glass slightly. “All right, then. Saúde.”

They all raised their glasses.

“Saude!”

He drained his fruit wine.

Lorenzo drank from his glass, eyes on him.

“Problem, Lorenzo?” he asked. “Or do you simply find me attractive? Or maybe you’re still upset that I took?—”

“You talk too much, friend,” Lorenzo hissed. “How about some nightshade to help you shut that mouth?”

“Nightshade?” Adrían held his glass out in front of him. “You son of a b?—”

The glass fell from his hand, shattering on the ground. Then, what sounded like another glass splintered, the noise weaving between coughing, gagging, and gasping noises that weren’t coming from him.

Lorenzo’s smug look vanished. “What’s going on?”

“What is happening?” Cipriano asked.

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