A warm, gentle breeze caresses my face. The wild scent of hibiscus swirls around me. Slowly, I open my eyes to a white gauze canopy billowing above me. I glance down at the cotton nightgown I'm wearing just as another puff of desert air blows through the open patio doors, catching the curtains and making them ripple in the fading sunlight. My body hums with familiarity, the kiss of hot, dry air on my skin, the steady chirping of cicadas in the distance. Home. I'm in my room in the villa.

"Mila." I turn toward the door and find my brother leaning against the frame.

"Gabe?"

He slowly approaches the bed and takes a seat on the edge. "What the fuck happened?" he says, fear in his voice.

"I..." I shake my head, frowning. "How did I get here?"

"You mean to tell me the Lord of Narnia didn't send you through the fucking wardrobe?"

The thought of Ronan sends pain lancing through my chest. My throat tightens. "He's dead," I whisper.

Gabe lifts both brows. "Dead?"

"I killed him and ran."

A large grin shapes Gabe's face and he leans over, hugging me tightly. "I'm so proud of you, Mila."

"Thanks," I mumble. "The last thing I remember, I was in the woods in Moscow. Something was wrong. I was ill."

His brow wrinkles. "Two days ago, the guards saw a black SUV push you out into the ditch in front of the casa." He shrugs. "You were out of it, but fine other than that." He scratches over his chin. "Fucking strange..."

"What the fuck?" A fissure of unease winds through me. Why would anyone take me from Russia and leave me outside Gabe's gate? It makes no sense. I don't have any friends in Russia, unless... I chew on my bottom lip. I did have one friend. Once. Back when we both had a mutual enemy in Ronan Cole and I was very much invested in his demise.

"You're sure he's dead?"

"I slit his throat, Gabriel. Not even the devil could survive that."

He nods. "So, it was all to get close to the pale fuck?" He eyes me suspiciously. "Not because you had some sick, twisted form of Stockholm-syndrome or some shit?"

I swallow hard and steel myself. "I did what I had to do, Gabriel."

"Si..." He squeezes my foot through the sheet. "Well," he pushes up from the bed and crosses the room. "Maybe Don will stop being a dickfuck since you're home." He taps his hand over the doorframe and walks off.

I throw the covers back and slide out of bed. "Let me grab a shower and we'll make a start," I say, walking to my ensuite. This is what I need, a distraction. Work. My cartel.

I turn the taps, letting the water heat up as I strip out of my nightgown. Steam pours over the glass door and I step inside, relishing under the scalding spray. When my fingers brush the long scab that sits between my breasts, I close my eyes and I can still see the feral lust that swam in his eyes when he cut me. I can feel the primal craving, the want, the need to watch him cut me and fuck me in ways no other man ever will. My eyes prickle with unshed tears and I rest my forehead against the cold tile, taking a deep breath. He was my own beautiful form of madness and I killed him before he consumed me. Reasoning with myself makes it hurt no less, and the idea of right and wrong does not make this love any less real. I turn my face into the water to disguise the tears as they slip free, as I let myself cry over the man I loved for a few minutes. Then I take every shred of weak emotion that I have and shove it in a box in the very recesses of my soul. From the ashes of Ronan Cole, I will rise, his lessons in power firmly embedded in my mind and his loss reminding me never again to lose myself in a powerful man.

After I've showered and dressed, I go downstairs. Gabriel, along with some of my men, sit at the breakfast bar drinking beers, a soccer game blaring from the TV.

"Boys," I say with a smirk as I grab the remote and switch the TV off. Groaning, their attention swings to me and a new guy lets out a slow whistle. Gabriel sucker punches him in the gut. I lift a brow and eye each one of them. "The Los Zetas are taking a shit on our territory and you want to watch a game?"

Gabriel glares at me.

"You've let them fuck us long enough. This ends now. I have a plan."

"I'm more concerned about whether the other pasty Russians are going to avenge their pale lord. The Los Zetas aren't a threat. The Russians are," Gabe says.

I shrug one shoulder. "They'll know it was me that slit his throat. Who knows if they will come or not. But we need get this shit with Don out of the way. I can't wage a war on two fronts." I grab Gabe's beer and take a swig. He snatches it back and wipes the top with his shirt.

"Just think you can come back and throw fucking orders around, Jesus..." Gabe says.

"I can't? I built this cartel—"

"We built this cartel," Gabe says, glaring at me.

"Well, that little deal you made with the Russian to acquire all the extra territory—I paid for it. And now I am the one who has to make moves to ensure we keep it. Everything you see here," I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the room, "I made it happen while you were still crying over our dead fucking parents." I jab my finger into his chest. "Do not forget it." I turn away, heading for the office door.

"Fucking PMS..." Gabe grumbles under his breath before I slam the door to the office.

The room is quiet. I inhale the familiar scent of cheap cigarettes as I trail my fingers over the cherry wood desk, my muscles instantly relaxing when I take a seat behind it. Various bits of paperwork lay strewn across the desk, most of it written in code that I need no help deciphering. After all, this is the inner workings of my business. I'd forgotten how much I missed it. That sense of power and independence rises in my chest, somewhat filling the empty void that has taken up residence there. I have more territory thanks to Ronan, and now I'm going to use it to expand my business.

I pick up the phone and dial Don's number. "Hola," he greets.

"Don," I say, dropping my voice an octave, "I hear you've been causing trouble for me."

"Camilla." There's a pause. "There are rumors going around that you're dead."

"Don't be ridiculous." I snort. "I was away, but I'm back now so you get to deal with me instead of my brother."

"Good." I hear the smile in his voice. "About time I spoke to the one with the balls."

"Let's meet, shall we?"

"Yes. Lets."

Don is going to regret crossing the Juarez cartel...in time.

Let this be my first lesson from Ronan I implement. Rage is weakness, a mere lack of control, and power is rooted in control. I will fight back the urge to kill him and everyone he knows. I will manipulate him and play him to my advantage before I end him.

The dry desert heat instantly embraces me when I step out of the car. Don Cala, leader of the Los Zetas cartel, is leaned against the hood of a Range Rover. Several of his heavily armed men linger around him.

A small trail of dust whips up in front of me as I approach. A few more men step out from behind another car with rifles clutched in front of them.

I narrow my eyes and glance at Don. "Well, this isn't a very friendly reception."

"What did you expect?” He spreads his arms wide while pushing away from the car. “Your brother has proved difficult of late."

"My brother is only protecting the interests of the Juarez cartel. Our territory is just that. Ours. You try and take it and there are going to be repercussions. This is the cartel after all, Don." I smirk.

His jaw clenches. "He worked with filthy Russians to take out Jésus."

"No," I snap, "he was smart enough to broker an alliance that you could not, because you are too set in your ways. In this world, we must evolve or die."

"You do not have the man power to hold all of Juarez."

I smooth a hand down the front of my dress and paint a smile over my lips as I move closer to him. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, war is not good for business. You and I have always worked together. I think we can come to an agreement."

He smiles wide, his eyes sweeping over my body in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes. "I have an agreement for you," he says as he lifts his hand. All hell breaks loose. I duck, yanking up the skirt of my dress and taking my gun from the holster strapped to my thigh as bullets fly around me. The second my finger lands on the trigger, I feel the cold touch of metal to my temple. Fuck. I'm completely outnumbered.

"You shady shit, Don." I huff a laugh. "This is either brave or stupid."

He snorts. "You place too much value upon yourself, Camilla."

One of his men snatches my gun from my hand. Don grips my jaw, dragging me to my feet as a twisted grin pulls at his lips. "Though you certainly have your benefits." He turns to one of his men. "Bind her wrists."

Great. This is just what I need today. Fuck knows what he thinks he's doing. He can try to pick off territory all he likes, but the Los Zetas are a small cartel. They're no match for Gabriel. They're going to die.

After miles of driving, we stop in front of a villa nestled in the desert hillside. Two men drag me from the car, pushing and shoving me toward the front door of the house. I'm marched through the open foyer and down the hall into what looks like an office. I’m thrown into a chair with my hands still firmly bound behind my back. I yank against the cable ties until they cut into my wrists, sending a pain shooting up my arm. Don paces in front of me with his chin dropped to his chest and his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong, Don?" I say through gritted teeth. "Are you just now realizing how fucking stupid this was?" He whirls around to face me, back handing me across the cheek so hard my head snaps to the side. With a smile, I spit a mouthful of blood on his wooden floor. "Well now, you know how to treat a girl."

Snarling, he grips my jaw and shoves my head back. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"You're not man enough to make me stop though,” my smile widens, “are you?"

Don takes a knife from his pocket, then moves behind me. With one swift movement, he cuts me loose before yanking me up by my hair and throwing me to the floor. I glance up just as the other men take a few steps back.

"Film this," he says. "I want her brother to see exactly what I'm doing to his sister." A sadistic laugh rumbles up his throat before his weight falls on top of me.

My instinct is to fight him off, to get away from him, but I force it back. This isn't the first time I've been kidnapped. This isn't the first time a man has thought to break me in the most basic of ways. And I know, just like everyone who has come before him, Don will fail. Instead of fighting like he wants, I spread my legs and smile. I remember the first time I tried to kill Ronan. How I threw a knife and missed so he pinned me to his dining room table. He wanted to scare me, to make me believe that he would rape me—I spread my legs and pull Don closer just like I did with Ronan. As much as I hated Ronan, even then, there was a purely sexual part of me that wanted him. I want nothing from Don.

He slams his palm against my cheek and smashes my face into the worn rug. His hot breath blows across my throat as he brings his face close to mine. "I'm going to enjoy fucking you, Camilla. I've thought about it so many times." Laughing, he pulls away and I stare straight at him as he shreds my dress. There’s an almost manic need evident in his eyes, and I fight a smile because he's weak. Ronan would have never given in to such base desires, but then Ronan would never have resorted to anything so vulgar as rape. It's beneath a man as powerful as him. I used to think that men like Don were powerful, but oh how times change.

There’s the clink of his belt buckle and then, like an over eager teenager, he thrusts into me. A wave of disgust rises in the back of my throat, but I don't react. Grinning, he swipes his tongue up my cheek. "Oh, come on, Camilla. Aren't you going to scream for me? At least pretend you enjoy it."

"Oh, I'm sorry." I laugh. "Is it in? I didn't realize."

He snarls and slams into me. I smile at him for a few seconds, watching the way his face contorts and his teeth mash together.

"You know, I'm almost impressed. I thought you'd be a two-strokes and a squirt kind of guy."

"Shut the fuck up!" I laugh, and he grabs my throat, slamming my head back against the floor. My vision swims for a second. Black dots dance in front of me. Don's dick softens and he pulls away with a snarl. "Fucking bitch," he spits, and I smile.

In a flash, he has a knife at my throat. There's a sudden wildness in his eyes that has me on edge. His hand trembles as he presses the blade into my skin. I clench my teeth against the bite, aware of the warm blood rolling down the side of my neck. Him fucking me means nothing, but him cutting me feels like a betrayal, as though I'm giving him something that belongs only to Ronan. I'm sure that at any moment he's going to drag the knife across my neck and end it all. Right here. Right now.

His expression tightens before he slowly inches away from me. "I'm sure your brother will appreciate the show."

When I sit up, I make no effort to cover myself. If he seeks to humiliate me then I will have no shame. "You think sending my brother a video of you failing to keep it up will make him hand over Juarez?" I laugh, and his jaw ticks.

“Take her,” he says, and his men drag me from the floor, leading me into the hall and up a set of stairs before shoving me inside a room with a dirty, single mattress and a bucket in the corner. Lovely.