Page 95 of Corrupted Deception

“And me,” Aiden said, filling in the last point.

Cielo nodded, unperturbed. But for me, every name hit like a drumbeat in a death march. They were just points on a line to Cielo, puzzle pieces, but those names were pretty much my whole world.

“But you would have been wise to keep that video to yourself if you were behind this,” Cielo said to Aiden, “And Val Rojas didn’t know about my family’s merchandise until afterLos Cazadores Sangrientos’attack in Venezuela.”

“Then it boils down to two,” Aiden said which would have floored me if I hadn’t already been sitting down.When did that happen?

I stood up and glared at the man who lived in a very strange place between honorary uncle and ex-lover. “You don’t actually think—”

“No, I don’t, Char. But we’re talking about your father here. Do you really want to take that chance?”

“No.” But that didn’t mean I wanted to acknowledge the possibility either. It was like admitting the sun had exploded or the world had fallen away beneath my feet. Or the endless, black tunnel I’d been running down was really a giant fucking black hole. Thanks, but no thanks. Denial was my kind of river.

“We’ll keep this quiet for now—just until we know more,” Aiden said, then continued out of the living room and down the hallway.

I held my breath, waiting for the sound of the front door closing behind him. The moment it did, I turned on Cielo.

“That’s my whole world you just called into question, you know?”

He looked at me, his icy eyes intense. “Not your whole world,tempesta,” he said gently, throwing my equilibrium out of whack.

Then he kissed my forehead—not my lips. It was possessive and tender at the same time, making my heart clench—which it was doing far too often lately, in my opinion.

“I have to make a phone call,” he said in that same gentle voice, warm and deep, a voice I swore could have soothed the most savage beast.

All I could manage was a nod, and he left the room, down the hallway toward the front door. I watched him go, silently chastising myself.

What the hell did you get yourself into, Char? This is a seriously bad idea.

“A crash and burn and watch your stupid heart go up in flames kind of bad idea,” I told Ray who was no longer panting happily. I had a feeling he’d abandoned any hope we’d be playing tag in the house.

I had a different game in mind. One that involved a shot glass and a lot of liquor. All right, not so much a game as a pastime, but I was okay with that. I left the living room, headed for the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses from the cabinet labeled ‘liquor’.

Someone was pulling all the strings. Not Julio, though. Not Nacio.

“It’s not possible,” I told Ray, who’d sauntered into the kitchen after me. “And it couldn’t have been Val. So… who is it, buddy? Who’s pulling the strings here?”

Ray looked at me, but when it seemed no food would be forthcoming, he made a circle about the kitchen and left the room. Maybe he was going in search of the string-puller.

I placed the shot glasses on the counter, filled them up, and tipped them back, one after another. And still, Cielo hadn’t returned. I could hear the quiet murmur of his voice, tempting me. It wasn’t really the urge to eavesdrop—though, it wasn’t really eavesdropping in my own house, was it?—but the man. The tingling awareness of him that wasn’t so unlike the tingling warmth of the alcohol that was spreading through my extremities.

Ten years. Ten god damned years, and I was falling all over him again like some lovesick teenager.

The smart move would have been to kick Cielo’s perfectly chiseled ass to the curb. But who was I kidding? There was no way in hell I was going to do that.

Fuck.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cielo Luciano

When I hung up the phone, I listened for a moment, making sure Charlotte wasn’t lingering nearby, listening in to a call I didn’t want her to know about yet.

It turned out, she wasn’t listening in. I found her standing in the middle of a cherry wood kitchen, knocking back a shot. She refilled the glass as soon as she was done, and I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time she’d gone for a refill in the past few minutes. I watched her as she drank it. The flush in her cheeks that made her freckles stand out said she’d had at least a few.

She was beautiful, even more so than she’d been in high school. But it wasn’t just her curves or her features. It was the way she moved, the way she conducted herself—competent and confident. The way she’d learned to be lethal but didn’t wield that power wildly. It was impossible to look at her and see her as flawed or broken or disabled, no matter what any medical file said. Those things that were ‘wrong’ with her had helped to shape the woman she’d become.

She looked over at me and shook her head. For one brief, ridiculous moment, I worried she’d read my thoughts—and the woman was perceptive enough, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

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