Page 53 of Ravaged Hearts

I did the slowest of blinks and gave Jorge awhat the fucklook before returning my attention to my father.

Carlos didn’t recognize me. What had happened to him? Had he suffered some kind of head trauma? Did he have amnesia?

Jorge tilted his head and sighed. “Not a good day, then. Don Carlos”—he crouched beside my father—“it’s Elena. Your daughter has come to see you.”

My father’s frown deepened. “I know that,” he snapped as if Jorge were a fool for mentioning something so obvious.

Jorge rolled his eyes and gestured for me to come nearer.

I took one step forward and clasped my hands before me, not knowing what to do with them. “Hola, Papi.”

Calling him a name that indicated any kind of affection between us sickened me, but I was supposed to be returning home with my tail between my legs, so I figured a little ass-kissing was appropriate.

My father cast his eyes over me again, looking more closely this time. “Have you come for lunch, Lenita?”

Carlos called me by the nickname he’d used since I was a child, so he hadn’t completely forgotten me. But he seemed to have no understanding of the significance of my presence in his home. He hadn’t even balked at the scars on my face. It was as if he’d seen me only days ago and my being here were a regular occurrence. Before trying to trade myself for Natalie, I hadn’t stepped foot in Mexico in twenty years.

“Lunch. Yes.” I smiled politely. “Excuse us for one moment.”

I walked back inside and gestured for Jorge to follow. “What’s wrong with him?” I whispered.

“He was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Alzheimer’s two years ago, but he’d already significantly declined at that point. Sometimes, he talks about your mother like she’s still alive. He has good days and bad days, although there are more of the latter now. I wasn’t sure how he’d react when he saw you.”

My mind worked overtime trying to grasp what this meant. My father barely recognized me. Jorge treated him with kid gloves, as though the most powerful man in Mexico were incapable of tying his own shoelaces. One thing was certain: There was no way the confused man on the balcony still ran the PCC.

My eyes met Jorge’s. “You’ve taken over.”

He nodded, although he didn’t look as happy about his position as I would’ve thought. Then again, Jorge had always been close with my father. After Carlos had plucked ten-year-old Jorge from the streets and given him a home, treating him as an adopted son, Jorge had repaid him with unwavering loyalty.

My once betrothed worshiped the ground Carlos walked on, and the fact that I didn’t only made him resent my position even more. After all, I had the one thing Jorge wanted but could never have—Carlos Espinoza’s blood pumping through my veins—and I would rid myself of it in a heartbeat if I could.

As much as my attitude toward my father disgusted Jorge, I’d always been the key to legitimizing his claim to the PCC throne. But I was little more than a symbolic tool to solidify his position, and, as Jorge had so eloquently put it, breeding stock so he could shape mini Ortegas into psychotic monsters just like their father and grandfather. No thanks.

With Jorge running the show, I was at his mercy and didn’t have my father’s protection at all. That explained why he’d been so aggressive at the church. I had to tread carefully.

It also meant my target had shifted. Jorge was now the biggest threat, and he’d be so much harder to kill than Carlos. Ihad no emotional sway with the abomination before me, and if he suspected I was a traitor, he’d take great pleasure in making me suffer.

“Wait.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why does everyone still think Carlos is in charge?”

Surely, Jorge would’ve jumped at the opportunity to claim leadership and pound his chest.

“When Carlos started getting worse, he made me promise to keep his illness a secret. He has his pride, you know? He doesn’t want his rivals or the authorities to see him as weak.” Jorge exhaled and placed his hands on his hips. “Your father has always been good to me and doesn’t have much time left. The least I can do is let him leave the world with his dignity intact.”

There it was. A small glimpse of humanity peeking through Jorge’s hideous nature. I sometimes wondered what kind of man he would’ve become had my father not molded him into the sadistic prick he was today.

Then Jorge’s expression hardened, and as he stepped nearer, I tried to hold in the shiver of revulsion that threatened to force its way through my body. “I’m upholding your father’s wishes, and I expect you to do the same. I know you hate me, but we belong together. You’re an Espinoza, after all, and violence runs through your veins as much as it does mine.”

I sneered. “I’m nothing like you.”

“No? Then why do you look like you want to kill me?”

I mean, he isn’t wrong.Because if I had a pistol in my hands, I’d already have unloaded a full clip of lead into him.

I held his stare. “What sane persondoesn’twant to kill you?”

The asshole smirked. “I don’t mind that you wish to hurt me. I respect it, even. It’ll definitely make things more fun on our wedding night. And wewillmarry, Elena. Then you and I will make heirs strong enough to carry the Pacific Coast Cartel into the future. This is what you were born to do.”

What I was born to do?

---