Page 29 of Hostile King

Nausea crashes over me in a wave. Teresa shudders as if recalling the trauma in vivid detail and André clears his throat as he cracks his knuckles.

“I need a cigarette.” He looks to his mother for permission to leave the table. “Then I’m going to crash for a few hours. I’ll check in with Tomás later. Okay, Mama?”

“Aren’t you hungry, son?”

He sets his large, inked hand over the top of hers. “I’ll have something later. It’s good to be home again.” The cocky, self-assured cartel prince pushes his chair out from under the table and simultaneously leans over to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Love you loads, Mama.”

“I love you, too, André.” Her whole face brightens as she declares her motherly love for the towering beast of a man with a revolver stashed in the waistband of his jeans. “I wish you’d come home more often. Maybe the next time you fly in you could bring a woman you’re interested in settling down with?”

He swipes his bottom lip with his thumb and chuckles. “Come on, Mama, you know that isn’t going to happen. There are too many blondes out there to tempt me. I have no intention of picking one woman for the rest of my life.”

She sighs lightly and shakes her head, all the while smiling at him.

“Show our guest to Tomás’ suite.” Her zesty gaze cuts to mine. “I’m sure you’ve a lot to process. Take your time, Carina. I’ll be floating around if you need anything.” Teresa folds her napkin in half and drops it onto the table. “I have to check on the flamingoes at the reserve.”

I bite my lip as the contradiction of violence and peacefulness washes over me. Where Elias had pet tigers to clean up corpses, Teresa mothers glorious pink birds. However, I’m not fooled by her show of cordiality. While she was married to a murderous kingpin, I’m sure her own hands weren’t kept clean of blood.

A maid bustles into the kitchen and begins to tidy the breakfast dishes away once Teresa clip clops away from the table.

“This way, Carina.” André jerks his head.

He quietly leads me through the many corridors lined with family photographs of the Souza brothers as handsome teenagers and an array of oversized potted plants. Eventually we reach the belly of their home like I’ve been swallowed by a whale.

Grand archways reveal rooms for every occasion, each one decorated to match the feminine spirit of their mother. A gleaming tiled floor stretches beneath my feet, sprawling towards the rear of the property where creamy carpeted stairs flow downwards and splits a misleading airy foyer in two.

Sunlight floods in from a glass roof, the beams catching a waterfall of crystals hanging from an exquisite chandelier.

It’s quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, as if the property was erected on mountainous terrain and built to fit the landscape with natural light as the muse.

“Tomás’ room is at the bottom of this hallway.” André yawns and scrubs his face. “If you need anything, dial zero and the housekeeper will get whatever you need—like clean clothes. You can wander about the grounds if you feel like it. The border is guarded better thanLa Modeloprison. No one can get in or out unless Mama gives her consent.”

He stops at the double doors.

“Mama expects us to join her for supper every night. That’s the only rule here. Seven o’clock sharp.” Then he pivots on his heels and starts to walk away.

“Do you know why I’m really here, André?” I call after him. “We both know your mother wouldn’t look twice at a woman who wasn’t a fitting princess for her eldest son.”

His pace slows and with his back to me, he says in a husky, exhausted timbre. “She’s not interested in a princess, Carina. She wants him to marry his queen.”

9

TOMÁS

I check my phone again.

It’s the latest habit I’ve acquired since Carina left for Bogotá. André hasn’t returned my call from earlier, after I left a voicemail telling him to give the rehearsal dinner a miss. I’d rather he didn’t leave Carina alone with the guards.

Maybe he’s not the best guy to lie low with her until the spotlight shifts to Bianca. But I’d prefer to have him on board than some asshole I don't trust, even if my brother is a horny son of a bitch.

He’s already reassured me that everything isfine, that Carina isfine,but knowing he gets to spend time with her while I’m stuck in a fucking pantomime is slowly killing me. Evicting her from my life has been the hardest task to endure.

I knew it would be difficult. I just never expected it to be this mentally challenging.

Yesterday, I’d asked Dré to take a few photos of her while she was sleeping. He laughed out loud until he realized I was deadly serious. Half an hour later, a gut-wrenching photo popped up on my phone screen. I had no idea it would rip me apart like it did.

Carina was submerged in pool water with only her freckled face in the shot. Those fiery eyes of hers drilled into the camera lens, her lower lip nipped between her teeth as she paddled alone, deep in thought. I’d pay a million dollars just to know what she was thinking.

From a distance, he’d caught her off guard and zoomed in. She was oblivious to my underhanded spy tactics through my brother's eyes. When I asked him if the presidential suite was to her liking he answered with a vague comment about women and luxury.

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