eight
Manuel Contreras wasn’t a soft man. In fact, he preferred to think of himself as hardened steel, no soft edges or warmth of any kind. In his world, with the type of people he dealt with, it was just easier that way. He needed to be feared and revered in order to stay at the top of the food chain; otherwise, he’d be cut down fast.
But no man was without a soft underbelly. As a human being, made fallible, he had one major weakness: his daughter.
Victorjia was the perfect combination of her momma and him, a blend of his Mexican bloodline and her mother’s Cuban. She was exotic in her beauty and smart as a whip, and she was the gentlest creature he’d ever met. Again, because of her mother.
Paola had been the love of his life, the only person capable of making him a good man, and for a time she had. She’d saved him from the darkness of the streets that threatened to devour all young men and briefly they’d made a life together anyone would be proud of.
The day she died had been traumatic and life changing for him and their baby girl. Cut down by thugs while leaving the bank—a simple errand that should have seen her home safely—she’d lost her life too soon.
Just a random shooting. A case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, the policia had claimed.
Manuel didn’t care what the excuse was. He wanted justice. He wanted revenge.
Months of lax investigation resulting in nothing finally made the decision for him, and Manuel packed up his daughter and sent her off to live with her abuela while he took matters into his own hands.
It took a few years, a lot of money, a lot of blood spilled, and too many crimes that he wasn’t proud of to get there, but eventually he had tracked down Paola’s killers and exacted his own justice.
Pieces of them were scattered everywhere now. No one would ever find them.
Now, his little girl was an adult, a woman as gentle and beautiful as her mother was. He texted her regularly, sent her gifts to let her know he was thinking of her and made sure she wanted for nothing.
Yet he hadn’t seen her in the flesh in over a decade.
He couldn’t help it. It was like looking into his dead wife’s eyes, standing before the ghost of the woman he loved but could never again see or speak to. Even Victorija’s voice was an exact match for her mother’s.
The pain he felt through even a simple picture could not be expressed, for it was debilitating. He’d managed to avoid physical contact with her all these years, but that time had reached its end.
When Victorjia called him two nights ago to let him know she was on her way there, to his home, and planned to stay, he’d been unable to deny her. He could deny her nothing. She hadn’t offered a reason beyond wanting to see him, to connect with him as a father and daughter should, and now he had little more than minutes before she arrived on his doorstep.
Madre de Dios, give him strength. He’d cheated death more times than he could count, but he held zero confidence he would get through this alive.
The gentle hum of a car engine touched his ears, and Manuel perked up, instantly on alert. But not for danger, despite his fight or flight responses kicking in.
He knew without a doubt what that sound meant, but he left his comfortable leather wingback and moved to the floor-to-ceiling, multi-paned window overlooking the long and winding drive to witness it for himself.
The black beamer coasted toward the house, reaching the brick that formed a roundabout encircling an overlarge, stone water fountain in the image of cherubs urinating, before coming to a complete stop outside the front door.
Manuel drew a deep breath as his finger went to his suit jacket and fastened the single gold button. This was it. His world was about to shift yet again, the past reaching out as if from the grave to run its icy fingers down his spine.
He could almost feel Paola’s cold breath on the back of his neck as he watched the driver exit the vehicle and round the car to the rear passenger door, opening it and standing back to allow his daughter to pass.
White sandals preceded long, tanned legs as she stepped out, and he gasped. The pictures hadn’t painted a clear enough picture. Victorjia didn’t just look like her mother. She could pass for her twin!
As those big, brown, doe-like eyes looked up at his Spanish-style mansion, her expression unreadable much as his own most days, Manuel decided it was now or never.
Turning away, each purposeful stride he took carried him closer to a reality he was as unready as he was unprepared—and undeserving—for.
He gave a nod to the valet who opened the door with perfect timing so he never broke stride. Stepping out into the sunlight, Manuel took his first close-up look at his daughter in ages…and tried not to lose his breath.
That soft gaze of hers swept from the imposing house’s façade to him, taking him in, in much the same fashion he was. There was a difference between having knowledge of someone from a distance and actually standing before them in the flesh. There was something profound about the moment, as terrifying and exhilarating as it was.
Still, as Manuel took the two stone steps down to the driveway and met his daughter halfway, he couldn’t shake the sense of dread that filled him.
As much as a part of him—deep, deep down—liked the idea of having her under his roof, he wanted her gone from his life.
It was too dangerous to be near him. His world wasn’t made for soft, weak things. And while Victorjia was his daughter, he saw her mother so ingrained in her every nuance that he imagined there wasn’t much of the tough, hardened man he was in her.
But she was here now. Nothing he could do about that. So he’d just have to make sure nothing happened to her.
Men had already been assigned to her detail. She would go nowhere without eyes tracking her every move and the moves of those around her. His daughter would not become a casualty of the wars he waged. She would remain as untouched and clean as the day Paola birthed her.
“Mija, how was your trip?” he asked as he opened his arms and his little girl stepped inside to wrap her arms around him in a giant hug that caught him a little off guard.
“Great, papito. The drive was long but worth it.” She pulled away and looked up at the house again. “And wow, this place is huge! Did you build it yourself?”
“It was an inheritance of sorts,” he said smoothly as he turned and began climbing the stairs once more. “Come, daughter, let’s take this discussion inside.”
“Okay, just let me grab my bags.” She spun around, fully prepared to retrieve them from the trunk, which made Manuel smile because it was such a common thing to do. Something he hadn’t done in years, because when you climbed the social ladder, certain things were expected of you, and since acquiring servants, there wasn’t much that he did for himself anymore.
Grabbing her arm, Manuel towed his daughter back. “No need, mija. That’s what I have people for. Come, let’s go inside. I need a drink,” he muttered to himself as he began leading the way.
They weren’t more than a foot over the threshold when Victorjia began commenting on the décor, the flooring, the expansive space, the lofty ceilings, and every other big and small detail that he had long grown immune to.
“I never imagined I would be surrounded by such majesty,” she awed, her head tilted back so far and for so long, Manuel wondered how she kept her footing.
Then again, she was his daughter. Maybe she’d inherited his instincts.
“It’s nothing less than you deserve,” he told her. When they reached the kitchen, he directed her to sit at the long, curved counter. “What would you like? Margo can whip up anything you’d like.”
Running her palms over the sleek granite’s black, mirrored surface, her reply was distracted. “I’m not hungry. Maybe just a glass of water.”
Manuel cast a look at his maid. “Water for her, and my usual please.” No matter how far he’d risen, it didn’t mean he had to be a dick to those he employed. Respect, not fear, are what garnered loyalty. That was a lesson most in his world never learned, and it earned them a dirt nap pretty damn fast.
Manuel had no intention of meeting his maker until he was damn good and ready.
After their drinks were placed in front of them and Margo made herself scarce, Manuel stared into his glass of chardonnay, markedly avoiding eye contact with his daughter. “How was your trip down?”
“Pretty decent,” she said happily. “I made the driver take me around the downtown area before we came here so I could explore a bit first.” He flashed her a disapproving look, and she twisted her lips. “Yeah, because of that right there. I figured I wouldn’t be getting out much.”
Despite their lack of in-person contact, she knew him well. “It’s not safe to go out alone,” he lightly scolded her. “That’s why you will have someone with you at all times, wherever you go.”
“Even to the bathroom?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scowled at her, but it was without malice. “In this house, you are free to do as you please. Outside I must stress caution.”
She gave him a look he’d seen on her before during one of their infrequent video chats. “When are you going to tell me what you do for a living? I assume it has everything to do with how you can afford all of this, as well as why you have armed security around every corner.”
“It’s not as serious as you make it out to be,” he said, purposefully dodging the question. She would do better not to know the intimate details of his life.
“Right. And you say that as if I didn’t notice all the cameras in every corner of every room, and I’m sure that the guy you had carry my bags to my room isn’t outfitting everything I own with tracking devices either. I’m not stupid, papito. I know you’re not as clean as this house would suggest.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “This isn’t a discussion for today.”
“Is it for any day?” she pressed.
He ignored her question and touched his feet to the floor, pushing the barstool back. “Forgive me, mija, I have some business I need to attend to.” Leaning in, he pressed a brief kiss to the side of her head, ignoring the way her dejected look made him feel. “I’ll be down later for dinner.”
“Sure.” Her quiet reply trailed after him as he left the kitchen, eager to get out of there and away from her. The overload of emotions was overwhelming. He needed space and time to regain his composure and organize his thoughts.
When he reached his study, Manuel closed and locked the door behind him before pouring a stiff drink from the collection of liquor bottles on the ornately carved credenza, and then seating himself behind the sprawling desk in the corner overlooking the expansive and immaculately tended lawns.
Somewhere out there laid the decomposing body of his female predecessor.
Interesting how such morbidity didn’t affect him as it would with most people. He’d grown immune to so much in his lifetime. Yet, the vision of his only child still rendered him virtually immobile. That was a weakness, and one he couldn’t afford to have or be known.
Somehow, he was going to have to find a way to rectify that.