Page 16 of Thorns of Blood
I was curious to meet him but wary. The fact that he was related to Perez Cortes didn’t win him any favors, but I also knew how easy it was to be misjudged in this world. Keeping my mind open for the moment, I followed the driver to the newest leader of the Cortes Cartel.
The trellises ended and I came to a stop in front of the most spectacular house and compound I had ever laid eyes on. And I’d seen my share.
About fifteen small cottages with red-tiled roofs were positioned strategically on an incline, with a three-story gray building that stood to the side with a flat, grass roof. Another section of the compound had fewer cottages, but they were larger and spaced out by lush colorful flowers.
One building, a brick mansion with French windows and doors with wide terraces on either side, dominated them all. I imagined its views were what made up for living out here in the middle of nowhere. A large lagoon-style pool started beside the terrace and stretched all the way to the edge of the forest.
It was like a tropical utopia.
The seclusion, grandeur, and scenic views made up a private sanctuary, surrounded by a private militia.
I started to climb up the stone steps that led to the mansion at the top of the cliff. I worked out regularly, but even so, by the time I had reached it, I could feel sweat gathering on the back of my neck. The air at this level was cold but still slightly humid, and it filled my lungs each time I heaved a breath in.
But fuck, the view was amazing. I’d climb these steps every day willingly in exchange for a slice of paradise. Vague outlines of buildings lined up one side of the city in the distance with the ocean and vast stretches of dense forest on the other.
My guide led me to a table arranged with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. He lifted a bronze dome to reveal a salad, cold meat, and fish, all delicately prepared.
“Mr. Cortes will be with you in a minute,” the butler said, then left me alone. No security. No staff. No cameras.
Pushing my hands into my pockets, I admired the view while waiting for my host. It felt like being swept away in the clouds here, and I tried to remember the last time I was somewhere so remote.
The sound of footsteps had me turning around, and I watched a man walking toward me. Tall as me, but definitely older, although no less dangerous.
Silver hair framed his face, which was all sharp angles and dark stubble peppered with grays. Thanks to my sister and her friends, I knew it was a look women found attractive.
It left me pondering why this man was known as a lone wolf.
His tall frame screamed danger and dominance in ways that had all my instincts rushing forward. I schooled my face into its usual cool facade—the perfect gentleman.
My Italian suits, suave manners, and charm always fooled people. They expected less from someone who was arrogant and usually never saw me coming.
“Nice to finally meet you face-to-face, Giovanni Agosti,” was my host’s greeting as he extended a hand. “Kian Cortes.”
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I said, shaking his hand firmly.
Kian nodded, waving me toward the terrace with its sleek bamboo furniture.
“Quite a remarkable place,” I commented as we sat.
“We like it here.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“More or less,” he answered vaguely before his eyes darted to the glass doors and he issued a command in Portuguese. An old lady with weathered skin came out with a tray, carrying steaming mugs of coffee and tea. “I’d stayed mostly away when my brother was alive, but when the compound was leveled and he was killed, I rebuilt it.”
She gave me a smile, then spoke carefully, as though she were racking her brain for the words in English. It had me wondering how many guests came out here, how often she was able to serve lunch out here in this garden. “Tea and coffee are locally made, but if you need something milder, please let me know,” she said, eyes flashing with a hint of Brazilian pride.
It was a challenge if I ever heard one, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. “Thank you.”
Then, to prove I wouldn’t need anythingmilder, I took a healthy drink of coffee, the warm liquid trickling down my throat. For being locally grown, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was one of the best coffees I’d ever had. Deeply rich but earthy, with a discernible bitterness. Very savory.
I shot them a surprised look and Kian chuckled. “It’s my hobby. Growing coffee.”
“Wow, definitely don’t give up that hobby,” I complimented. “If you’re selling any, I’ll take a pallet.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cabrera,” Kian told her, his voice warm, and she disappeared into the house. Then he returned his attention to me. “Now, Giovanni, what can I do for you?” he asked, relaxing in his chair.
And it was exactly that—his comfort, his ease around me—which told me this guy was lethal. He didn’t need the security. He didn’t need to remove my weapons from my body before meeting me to ensure his own safety. I may be the newest head of a rival cartel, but this man possessed a certain quality that told me he didn’t cower.
