I can’t remember the last time I slept.

It’s never been for longer than an hour or two. Tonight, I am completely restless. I can’t even get comfortable in my bed knowing she’s here, under the same roof.

I was weak out there.

So fucking weak for her.

But how the fuck was I supposed to resist her after all this time? It was only a few days that she was away, but it felt like an eternity.

Her skin on mine, after what felt like fucking years, was euphoric as hell.

This is why I didn’t want her to come back. I’m only weak for her. I only buckle beneath her touch. Only she can do this to me—make me lose control of myself.

She owns way too much of my body, has claimed my fucking soul, and she knows it. She fucking knows it.

The night shifts into day, the sun creeping over the horizon. The house is mostly quiet, giving me time to think.

I spark a joint, standing on the balcony, inhaling deeply and letting it cloud my lungs.

I hear a door slide open and look up. From where I am, I can see Gianna stepping onto her balcony, looking at the ocean. She inhales deeply, and then exhales, opening her eyes.

Her fingers push through her thick, wild curls. Those fucking highlights. I don’t know why she did that to her hair. She was fine without them. Natural looks best on her, not that she isn’t fucking sexy right now, wearing only a white robe, her hair damp like she’s just gotten out of the shower.

Her eyes drop and she looks to her left, down at me. Our eyes latch, only for a brief moment. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but I frown and pull away, putting out my joint and walking back into my room.

* * *

I spend most of my time in the office, looking over maps, making calls, trying to get any fucking lead that I can. All of it is a fucking dead end. No one has seen or heard from Hernandez in days.

Just when I feel like giving the fuck up, Guillermo comes rushing into the office.

“Jefe,” he pants, stopping on the opposite side of my desk.

“Yeah, Guillermo?”

“Nito said he saw a man in a wheelchair being pushed around in Lantía. No arms or legs. He thinks it’s Henry Ricci.” Just as he says that, Gianna steps into the office.

My jaw clenches when she asks, “When did you hear that?”

“Just got off the phone with him,” Guillermo answers.

Gianna looks over at me. “We should go. It takes about an hour and a half to fly there, right? We might be able to catch him.”

“You don’t know why he’s there. It could be a brief visit—a waste of time,” I tell her, waving a dismissive hand.

“That doesn’t matter. He’s around. He can lead us to her. Tell the guy who saw him to keep an eye on Henry.”

I look at Guillermo who is silently agreeing, his head doing a simple nod, like she’s right. Of course she’s fucking right. It’s a quick flight, but I don’t trust it.

It makes me skeptical. Why would Henry return to a city he was captured in? What game are he and Hernandez playing at?

“Load up. Get ready,” I command, and my men take off in a flash.

Gianna comes closer and Patanza waits at the door, watching her. “I’m coming to help,” Gianna insists.

“I told you I don’t need your help.”

“I don’t care. I’m going anyway, and Clark is coming with us. He’s resourceful.”

I cock a brow, opening the top drawer of my desk and taking out a pistol and a carton of bullets to load it. “You trust Clark?”

She swallows hard. “I didn’t at first, but now I do. He’s had my back ever since we left, hasn’t made me doubt him since.”

“Emilio spoke to the security guard who had the DEA agents taken care of. Gonna tell me about that?”

“Yessica sent them after me.”

I stop what I’m doing, frowning up at her.

“They came on her behalf. Ordered me to get off the jet when we were about to leave Colorado. I got off, and I just…blacked out. I shot them.”

I don’t give a fuck about any of that. “Wait—she knew where you were…

I feel my blood running cold now, my pulse picking up in speed. How the fuck is that even possible? I covered my tracks. I made sure she would never even find out I sent Gianna out of the country…unless the DEA was keeping tabs when she landed in Colorado. Found out about Big Jack. Found out where he lived and how close he and Lion were as siblings…

“Emilio has already let Clark call to tell Big Jack to pack up and move to the safe house until this is over,” Gianna announces, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blow a breath, placing a hand on my hip. “Goddamn it, Gianna.”

“What, Draco?”

“She could have found you there.”

“Good thing I didn’t stay then, right? She won’t find me here.”

“No one can be trusted. Don’t you get that?”

She looks at the open window. “I’m here. You’re here. If she tries to come for me, you and your men will be around. That’s all that matters, right?”

I stare her down. She thinks she’s so fucking smart. I can’t stand it sometimes. “Patanza, get Gianna ready.”

Patanza nods and turns, marching down the hallway, bobbing her head at Gianna before disappearing. Gianna gives me her back and walks to the door. Before she gets away, I call her name and she pauses, looking over her shoulder.

“You and your cousin will fly there with us, but only so I can keep an eye on you both. Try any shit, and I won’t have a problem slicing your throats.”

“Won’t you?” she responds, and I swear I see a smirk tug at the corner of her lips before she walks away, her full hips swaying in the process.

* * *

When it’s time to go, she walks downstairs in black cargo pants and a sleeveless, dark gray shirt. Her hair is pulled back into one single braid, her face clear of all makeup.

Even without it, she’s still so goddamn flawless. I can’t fucking stand it. Her bold green eyes are set on mine, sparkling from the sunlight streaming in through the skylight windows.

She walks down the stairs in calf-high black boots, and strapped around both her thighs are leather holsters, guns tucked away inside them. Around her waist is a leather belt, a smaller pistol inside the holster.

It takes everything in me to look away, not gawk like some fucking love-struck idiot.

I can’t stare at her, no matter how badly I want to. I can’t let her know I still want her. What happened last night was a fucking mistake. I shouldn’t have fucked her. It made me look stupid and weak, and I can’t afford to be that around her.

Not anymore.

When she’s down the steps, I give a hard look at Patanza, whom I’m sure told Gianna what to wear and how to strap herself up. Patanza is just as loaded, if not more, with holsters, knives, and guns.

Clark trails behind them, pleased, I’m sure, to have his guns in his possession again.

It’s only for now. I need all the men I can get. I don’t know what I’m walking into going back to Lantía. If he’s willing to sacrifice his own life by helping me, then fine, but just in case he pulls some bullshit, Patanza has her eye on him. She’s my best shooter.

“We’re ready,” Gianna declares, and I lower my gaze to hers.

Turning my back and marching for the door, I tell them, “Let’s go.”

Guillermo pulls up to the curb with the van, and Sebastien hops out, pulling the back door open. I step aside, letting Patanza and Gianna in first.

Clark follows behind them, peering up at me on his way. Before he can get inside, I press a firm hand to his chest and grip his shoulder, stopping him. “Only reason you’re alive right now is because your cousin wants you to be, but if I see you do anything shifty, I will end you.”

His mouth twitches, eyes hardening as they hold mine. “Trust me, if I was stupid enough to stand against El Jefe with no backup, I might as well kill my fucking self. Fret not, kingpin.” He claps my shoulder. “I’ve got your fucking back. You’ll see.” He jumps into the third row, right beside Patanza. Gia is on the second row, where I have to sit, and an exasperated sigh falls through my lips.

I climb in anyway, avoiding her eyes just as much as she avoids mine.

Sebastien is back in the driver’s seat, and Guillermo puts pressure on the pedal, taking off.

The ride to the runway is quiet.

Everyone, I’m sure, is thinking, mentally preparing themselves to take action. Everyone is strapped with guns, loaded, prepared for the worst.

I feel Gianna look over at me, but I don’t look her way. I keep my focus ahead, watching the road. In an hour and a half, Henry might be gone. But he won’t get far. We’ll track him.

“Make sure Nito sticks around the mansion. Tell him not to get too close,” I tell Sebastien. He pulls out his phone and dials him, speaking in his native tongue when the line is answered.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment?” Gianna asks.

I look at her sideways before peering ahead again.

“It’s getting old, Draco,” she murmurs lowly, but I’m sure everyone in the car can hear her.

“No one asked you to come back.”

“I wanted to,” she says with venom in her tone.

“Shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me back. I know you did. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You spend less than two months with me and think you know everything about me.” A dry laugh escapes me. “You are sadly mistaken. Now shut up before I send you back to the house.”

Through the corner of my eye, I spot her fist clenching in her lap, edging to the strap on her leg where her knife is.

Her hand stops, and she groans, annoyed.

She knows better than to try me right now, but I’m a little amused that she considered it, however briefly.

We board the already running jet with haste, buckle in, and take flight in less than ten minutes. Gianna doesn’t bother sitting next to me. Instead, she sits beside her cousin, and Patanza is seated across from him, keeping watch like the hawk she is.

After landing on my private airstrip, we load in another van and drive through Lantía, the city I have admired since I was a niño.

I grew up here during my teenage years. Back when my life was easy. I was always on the beach, always playing fútbol, living a careless life. But then my father got deeper into the business. Life became even more dangerous. We bounced from house to house like a game of ping-pong.

The threats started coming left and right. My freedom, as I knew it, was over. Just like that.

As we pass by one of the elementary schools, I remember the teacher my father had to take and beat down because he would constantly grip the back of my neck and leave bruises. He pulled me from public school and had me homeschooled that same month. To this day, I’m not sure if that was a wise choice for him.

My thoughts were always closeted. I had no one my age to talk to, besides Thiago, and I only saw him once a week.

Fuck.

Thiago.

Mi primo. My throat thickens, remembering his eyes that day. The blood. His words. He was a fool. He thought I didn’t need him. He was wrong. We had our differences—I have differences with everyone—but he was family. The only family I had left, besides my mother.

I rub the back of my neck, looking out the window, at the children playing outside, some of their parents watching from the shade of their porches.

It doesn’t take long to reach the path leading to my favorite mansion. If I thought the rides were quiet before, it’s even quieter now. I don’t hear a single breath, just the crunch and pops of the rocks beneath the tires.

The palm trees clear up and the home appears.

My home.

The creamy stucco was always my favorite, the roof a dark chocolate, offsetting the overall appearance. There are no lights on. The house looks completely vacant and dark inside. Every window is pitch black, the curtains drawn.

Guillermo pulls up to the front of the house and parks.

“No cars,” Clark says, peering around. “Sure about that lead, man? Or are we wasting our time?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Guillermo grumbles.

“Unlock the doors,” I order. The doors unlock and I ease out, the bottoms of my boots crunching on gray and ivory pebbles. My eyes shift up to the open gate ahead. My men know never to leave my gates open. Someone has trespassed and may very well still be around. “Keep quiet. Don’t shut the doors.”

Gianna steps out of the car, leaving the door open for Clark to follow after her. Patanza comes out behind me, strapping her AK-47 around her. She looks up at me and then over at Gianna, who side-eyes me.

“Someone was here,” Patanza murmurs, looking at the open gate. We get to the gate, and I look down when pebbles transition to sand. There are thin, straight tracks of a wheelchair, along with footsteps.

A noise sounds from a distance, a familiar one. The creak of my backyard bridge. Loud and rickety. Mamá has bugged me to get it fixed for years, but I kept it that way so no one could sneak to or from my house without me seeing them.

As a child, it would wake me up at night, and sometimes I’d see my father walking to the shed, going to handle business.

Gianna rushes ahead as soon as she looks up from the tracks and hears it.

“Gianna!” I snap in a low voice, but she ignores me, still running.