The scent hit her first, and on its heels, a memory. Warm and whole and welcoming, as seasoned and satisfying as the empanadas on the stove. For a second, Natalia allowed herself to linger on the back steps of her parents’ DC home, hand on the doorknob, feet firmly planted in the present but her heart lodged painfully in the past. She took a deep breath of oil and meat and spices. Heard her mother’s laugh. Saw her sister’s grin. Felt her father’s hand, warm and large and gentle on her shoulder.
And let the loss, the pain, the rage, envelop her. Harden her. Remind her that there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to keep what little she had left.
In Ana Maria, her sweet, shy little sister, Natalia found purpose and drive, if not forgiveness. And she could live with that. Ignore every line she crossed and every sin she committed by focusing only on the promise she’d made.
Protect your little sister.
And she would, even if that meant tucking away the mounting stress and anxiety and sense that things were unraveling, faster and faster with each passing day. That they were nearing a breaking point—an end or a beginning, she wasn’t sure, but change was coming, violent and permanent all the same. It was an unnamed threat Ana Maria didn’t need to know about, so Natalia took a breath. Forced herself to calm down and wait on the back steps until she could transition from problem solver to big sister.
Pulling a smile to her face, Natalia pushed open the door to her childhood home in Washington, DC, and stepped into the kitchen. “You’re trying to make me fat, aren’t you?” She hung her purse on the fancy scrolling hook by the door her mother had installed to keep track of her father’s perpetually missing keys.
“It’s my fondest wish.” Ana Maria stood at the lemon-yellow Lacanche French range their father had bought their mother one long-ago Christmas, turning an empanada with a practiced flick of her wrist.
“We agreed years ago—you’re the brains, I’m the beauty. It seems unfair you should have both,” Ana Maria said, carefully spooning three more pastry shells into the popping grease.
“Remind me. Which one of us made the dean’s list last semester?” Trying to force away the thoughts of just what Ana Maria’s education had cost, the concessions Natalia had carefully extracted from their uncle, the things he’d demanded in payment. She turned her thoughts to the only thing that mattered—a ten-year-old promise that had become the strength that convinced her to fight. For her mother. Her sister. Both soft, delicate, and so easily broken. Natalia had thought of them as her uncle’s associate—a nameless man whose face she would never forget—had plunged inside her, his hands wrapped around her neck, his eyes wild and dark and excited.
It was the one and only time Natalia had allowed herself to consider escape. She’d been so close. So tempted. But as her attacker’s face had grown fuzzy, as her cries had turned rough and inaudible, painful scrapes of sandpaper against her vocal cords with nowhere to go and no one to hear, she’d thought of the sister she’d leave behind. The sweet, naive girl who hadn’t spoken a single word in the three months since their uncle had murdered their father at the dinner table. Of the way Ana Maria had lost weight, lost light, lost hope.
And she’d thought of the promise she’d made.
It had been enough to send her fingers scrabbling until they met the heavy crystal of the highball on the nightstand next to her, still half-full of the cheap whiskey she’d never forget the scent of. Had given her the strength to slam it against her attacker’s temple and, finally, to thrust a broken shard into the soft skin at his throat, severing the carotid artery by luck as much as desire.
When she’d walked from the room, dress torn, chest and face covered in blood, she’d expected her uncle to kill her.
Instead, he’d found a new use for a niece he’d considered expendable. And Natalia had found her only source of leverage.
But she’d survived. Grown. Changed. Until she became lethal, feared, relentless. Until everything she’d ever been or hoped to be had been stripped from her, leaving behind only the promise she’d made and the determination to see it through.
No matter what it cost her in the end, Natalia would see Ana Maria out of this life, away from their uncle, and out of the cartel. Free to pursue the dreams Natalia had once held for herself.
A yell echoed down the stairs followed by the shatter of glass against the wall. Wonderful.
“His temper’s been foul all day,” Ana Maria whispered, her eyes still trained on the ceiling. “Started drinking early, too.”
That explained the empanadas. Ana Maria only ever cooked when she was stressed or upset about something, and they both knew from experience the best way to manage their uncle’s drunken temper was to smother it with food and keep well clear until it passed. Hopefully, the empanadas would do their job, because there’d be no avoiding Hernan Vega tonight. Not for Natalia, at least. He’d want an update, good news she didn’t have.
“Where’ve you been, anyway?” Ana Maria asked, turning back to the range and flipping over the three pastry shells to reveal a perfect golden hue. “You’re usually here when I get home from class.”
“I had a meeting with Mitchell Grimes.”
“The private investigator?” Ana Maria asked. “Why?”
“Tio needed some work done.” Natalia pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the fridge, mostly to keep herself busy. Nothing good could come of Ana Maria’s involvement—a lesson they’d learned the hard way.
“What’s wrong?” Ana Maria turned to where Natalia had taken a seat at the butcher-block island. “And don’t say nothing—I know you too well to believe it.”
“Company business.” Natalia shrugged and took another bite to buy herself a little time.
For the most part, Ana Maria escaped their uncle’s attention—and avoided the worst of his temper. So much like their mother, Ana Maria was soft-spoken, gentle, and acquiescent when confronted—she was neither threat nor asset where the cartel was concerned, which was half the reason their uncle permitted her a degree of freedom. The other half was that with every passing day, Ana Maria grew into a more beautiful, refined version of their mother—a woman their uncle often claimed to have loved beyond all reason.
But how much of the violence, of the danger, did Ana Maria need to know about to stay safe? And how much could Natalia share before the knowledge began to stain her sister in small but irreparable ways?
There was no place in the cartel for a woman with a soft heart and a gentle disposition.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, just a problem with our accountant.”
Ana Maria turned back to her cooking, her grip tight on the spatula, but otherwise didn’t move as the empanadas sizzled in the pan. “Stephen’s always so polite—he hardly seems like the type to cause trouble.”
Natalia repressed a frustrated sigh. She spent so much time working to keep Ana Maria untouched by the world around them. Sheltered. Innocent. Even a little naive. But every now and then, Natalia’s success had unintended consequences. It seemed almost inexplicable that Ana Maria could be so trusting of the people around her, that she could still see inherent good in just about everyone, that she’d mistaken Stephen Milner’s wandering eye and taste for beautiful things as anything remotely genuine. But then, history had shown her otherwise. Somehow, Ana Maria still wanted to believe the best of people.
Natalia knew better.
“Have you seen him lately?” Natalia asked, studying her sister’s profile. Surely she would have said if Stephen had been coming around.
“No.” Ana Maria placed the last of the empanadas on the cooling rack and flicked off the burner. “Is he all right?” she asked, joining Natalia at the kitchen island.
“He’s missing,” Natalia explained, leaving out the part where Milner had made off with millions. “If you see him, I want you to call me, okay? Don’t talk to him, not even to say hello.”
“That would be rude,” Ana Maria said, sprinkling flour across the work surface, then rolling out a new sheet of dough.
Natalia caught Ana Maria’s wrist, firmly lacing her fingers around the delicate bones. “I mean it. Promise me that if you see him, you’ll walk away and call me.” The last thing she needed was Ana Maria caught in the cross fire or for Milner to try to use her as leverage. When it came down to it, their uncle would choose money and vengeance over his niece, no question and no hesitation.
Ana Maria huffed, then rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Natalia withdrew her hand and watched as Ana Maria cut the dough into long diagonal strips, then again going in the opposite direction until she had rows of neat triangles.
If Milner had any sense at all, he’d eat a bullet before he’d let Hernan’s thugs take him alive when they found him.
And they would find him. Of that, Natalia had no doubt. Her uncle wasn’t the smartest man, and generally too prone to fits of temper and decisions made in the moment. But when it came to a grudge, to an insult, perceived or real, he was nothing short of possessed. There was nowhere in the world Milner could hide that Hernan would not find him. If it took one month or ten years, her uncle would neither forget nor forgive.
Everyone who worked in Hernan’s orbit understood that defiance and betrayal were bought and paid for in blood and death. He’d only ever made a single exception, spared one life.
Some days, Natalia wished he hadn’t.
“Is that why he’s so angry?” Ana Maria asked, casting her gaze to the ceiling, though the upstairs office had fallen quiet.
“Yes. Try to stay out of his way, okay?”
Ana Maria nodded, then pulled the muslin cover off a bowl full of spiced fruit. With movements born of plenty of practice, she scooped spoonful after spoonful onto the pastry she’d cut, then sealed together the two triangles of dough with the tines of her fork. It was something Natalia could watch her do all day, the rhythm familiar and easy and almost enough to make her believe that their circumstances were different, that their lives were normal.
Someday, she reminded herself. Though lately, “someday” was beginning to feel more and more like a promise she’d never be able to keep.
Cartel business was mercurial at best, but throw in a botched assassination attempt and millions of dollars that, sooner or later, the company would come to collect . . . The pressure would turn far stronger men insane with paranoia.
But the precarious situation made it almost impossible for Natalia to interfere. The constant movement of drugs, she could live with. Even her own father had never managed to turn all their family’s holdings legitimate. No, it was the human trafficking that kept her up at night. The knowledge that where her father had held some level of compassion, some sense of boundaries and decency, her uncle did not. For him, every life held only the value he assigned it. No more, no less.
The thought of where those women and children ended up haunted her. She knew all too well the life that awaited them. It was short and brutal and devoid of any warmth or comfort. And even under the best of circumstances, there was so little Natalia could do to help. Not without risking her own life, and therefore Ana Maria’s safety.
It had been months since Natalia had dared make any sort of tip. No matter how much it ate at her, she couldn’t weigh the life of a stranger against the life of her sister. If Hernan caught her, there’d be no pity, no second chance. Under the best of circumstances, he’d kill her.
She didn’t have to wonder. Didn’t live in fear of the unknown. She knew exactly what he’d do. Years ago, he’d sat her down and laid out every detail. It was the only time she’d seen him stone-cold calm.
Natalia shivered.
“What the fuck is all this?” Hernan asked, stumbling down the last few steps and into the kitchen. Natalia straightened in her chair, even as Ana Maria pulled a strained smile to her face.
“Dinner, Tio. I thought you might be hungry.” She turned and used a pot holder to pull a heavy white plate piled with empanadas from the warming drawer. “Here, I’ll set your place at the dinner table and bring you something to drink.” She moved to brush past him, but he caught her forearm and jerked her to a stop.
“I’ll eat here,” he said, pulling her around to the island. “You,” he said, jerking his chin at Natalia, “make me a drink. Then get back in here.”
Quietly, Natalia rose and cast her sister a careful look as she went into the dining room and the dry bar they kept fully stocked. When she returned, Ana Maria was back in front of her work area, neatly arranging fruit into pastry triangles. Natalia did her best to ignore the way the skin at her sister’s forearm was still red and angry-looking.
“I have to replace the fucking accountant,” Hernan said as Natalia set a glass at her uncle’s elbow. “Where’s the goddamn ice?” he asked, staring into his drink. Given his mood, Natalia had no doubt that if she’d served it that way to begin with, he’d have slapped it off the edge of the counter and demanded it neat. She went to the freezer and withdrew the tray of square ice cubes, reminding herself she couldn’t afford to react to the whims of his mood.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable, Tio,” Ana Maria offered, turning back to the stove and lighting the flame beneath a new cast-iron pan of oil.
“Has Whitney, Smith and Brindle recommended someone?” Natalia asked, popping an ice cube into his drink.
“Fucking bastards are falling all over themselves to replace the thief they sent me.” He grunted and crammed half an empanada into his mouth. “Should tell them to go fuck themselves for the trouble they’ve caused. Instead, they throw a party.”
A party? That sounded like Whitney, Smith and Brindle. It would no doubt be both opulent and public—the perfect venue to mitigate her uncle’s unpredictable nature. He was just too stupid to see it for the attempt at control that it was.
Hernan tossed back the last of his whiskey. “They’re sending some asshole with an expensive degree looking for an illegal thrill and a cartel payday. Pendejo probably spends his nights jerking off to Narcos.” He snorted. “I want you,” he said, jabbing his finger at Ana Maria, “to introduce yourself to the accountant.”
“But why?” Natalia snapped out before she could think better of it. “Ana Maria’s got no experience in the business, no head for numbers—”
Hernan cut her off with a harsh look. “Your sister has everything she needs—a woman’s body and her mother’s looks; it’s time she put them to use.”
Panic dropped, thick and heavy. “No, I—” Lightning fast, her uncle struck out, the back of his hand catching Natalia across her cheek and snapping her head to the side, the power of the blow driving her to her knees. Before she could recover, Hernan was on her, his fist in her hair and his other hand wrenching her arm up behind her back. In moments, he had her bent over the stove, her face hovering inches above the hot, popping grease.
“You think to question me? To tell me no?” he hissed. “You forget your place.”
With her free hand, Natalia scrabbled for purchase, her fingers gripping the edge of the stove. She flinched, the grease turning hot enough to pop, little flecks landing against the smooth skin of her cheek. Her own stupidity had led her here; she couldn’t afford to make it worse. She forced herself to go still and calm, to relax against her uncle’s unrelenting hold.
Now is not the time, she reminded herself. If she struck out or fought back, the situation would turn fatal for one of them.
And she couldn’t guarantee she’d win. Or that Ana Maria wouldn’t be hurt.
Out of the corner of her eye, Natalia watched, absorbing the little pops of grease without so much as a flinch, as Ana Maria rushed forward. “No!”
But it was too late; the second Ana Maria touched Hernan, he used the hand he’d planted in the middle of Natalia’s back to strike out, catching Ana Maria across the cheek.
Silence descended on the kitchen, the sizzle, pop, spit of the grease the only thing Natalia could hear above the buzz of rage filling her head.
“Tio, please,” Ana Maria implored, her voice soft and scared. Trembling fingers touched the skin of her cheek, her large cornflower-blue eyes blinking away tears that were probably as much a product of shock as they were pain. “She didn’t mean it,” she whispered.
Natalia held herself perfectly still, willing herself to wait, to let the situation play out. The moment Hernan had removed the hand from her back, he’d given her the opening she’d need to twist away. But now, as he stood stock-still, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d hit Ana Maria—something he’d never done before—Natalia forced herself to remain still and compliant, to rein in the urge to take him apart, bit by bit, and damn the consequences.
“She’s only protective of me,” Ana Maria whispered as she lifted a trembling hand and slid her palm along Hernan’s arm, down toward his wrist and out of Natalia’s sight. “As are you. Please.”
On a curse, he jerked Natalia away from the stove, away from the heat and the grease and the very real fear that this time he’d go too far, that this time he’d hurt her too badly, and pushed her toward her sister.
“You,” he said, advancing on Natalia even as she pulled Ana Maria behind her, “will not contradict me again. And you,” he said, jerking his chin to Ana Maria, who at least had the good sense to stay still and quiet behind her, “will do as you are told. A man never opens his mouth so much as when a woman opens her legs. I trusted our last accountant—a costly mistake I won’t make twice.”
Natalia stood, still and quiet, barely daring to breathe as he stared them down.
“I’ll take care of him, Tio,” Natalia whispered, her body tight under the weight of the risk she was taking. She knew better than to openly oppose him, knew that managing him required subtle and careful manipulation. But she’d sooner find a way to put a knife in her uncle’s back than send her sister to some ambitious asshole’s bed. “It’s like you said, he’s looking for the cartel experience—an illicit thrill—Ana Maria can’t give him that.” True, and they both knew it. Ana Maria, although beautiful, was far too gentle to entice someone who wanted to take a walk down a darker path. Most men who looked at Natalia’s sister saw something lovely and fragile, something they wanted to possess and cosset. A trophy to place on their mantel. And those who didn’t? The men who saw something they could break or defile or ruin? They feared Hernan’s wrath enough that they kept their thoughts to themselves. So no, Ana Maria couldn’t offer this accountant anything he hadn’t already experienced at his fine schools and fancy parties.
But Natalia could. “He wants the cartel life—let me give it to him.”
Hernan stared at her a long time, his dark eyes dilated with booze and rage. “And if he proves a problem?” he asked slowly.
“Then I’ll give him that experience, too,” Natalia offered quietly, bile building in the back of her throat.
“Fine, but I’ll hear no complaints. You’ll take what he gives, and you’ll do it without protest.” He stepped forward, pulling himself up to his full height and glowering down at her. “Fuck him. Break him. I don’t care so long as you find out if this pendejo is who he says he is. Because if you don’t, if he cheats me, I’ll kill you right after I dispose of him. Are we clear?”
Natalia swallowed and nodded.
“Good. Then get this shit cleaned up.” He grabbed his drink off the counter and stomped his way back up the stairs. When the door to his office slammed shut, Natalia took her first full breath since he’d held her over the stove. To her horror, tears stung her eyes even as pinpricks of fire stung her cheek.
Ana Maria stepped around her and quietly flicked off the burner. The sight of her trembling fingers against the heavy steel knob had Natalia pulling herself together.
“You’re so stupid sometimes,” Ana Maria mumbled.
“I know,” Natalia agreed on a relieved sigh. “But I’ll take care of Tio, and I promise, no matter what, you don’t have to deal with that accountant.”
“Right. Because you will,” Ana Maria ground out, her voice a strangled, garbled thing. She pulled away, her eyes dry and her mouth a firm, tight line. “You can’t protect me from everything, you know.”
“Sure I can,” Natalia said, a fond smile pulling at her lips. When her sister frowned, when her lip curled in distaste and her eyes creased with frustration, she looked as indignant as a wet cat . . . and so damn young it hurt.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Ana Maria whispered.
It was a statement Natalia had thought a thousand times before but never given voice to. That Ana Maria had let it slip from her lips as a toneless, leaden fact settled heavily on Natalia’s shoulders. Because no, they couldn’t keep doing this. Not anymore. Hernan had crossed a line Natalia could not ignore—he’d struck Ana Maria. And though Natalia had seen the shock on his face, felt the hesitation in his grip, the door was open. She couldn’t afford to pretend it wouldn’t happen again.
Or that the next time wouldn’t be worse.
For so long, Natalia had allowed herself to linger in the fragile peace she’d brokered with Hernan—defiance had always been too dangerous, too risky, the odds of success too narrow and the consequences of failure too great.
But now, all that had changed. She couldn’t wait anymore. Couldn’t hope things would get better.
She just didn’t know what to do about it. Somehow, everything—and nothing—had changed.
“You don’t have to look out for me, you know,” Ana Maria said, turning away and slipping a roll of plastic wrap from the drawer.
“Of course I do,” Natalia scoffed as Ana Maria used shaking hands to cover the fruit-filled empanadas she hadn’t cooked. “You’re my baby sister. If I don’t watch over you, who will?”
“But who’s looking out for you?” Ana Maria asked on a whisper.
Natalia swallowed hard around the truth she’d known for a very long time and forced a smile to her lips. “You, of course.”
Natalia had never, not once, doubted how much Ana Maria loved her. And in so many ways, so many little, normal, sisterly ways, Ana Maria did take care of her. Made sure there was always a fresh homemade meal. Kept up with the house, called when she was late. Kept yellow—a color they both agreed Natalia could never pull off—out of her closet.
But when it came down to it, when it was life or death, Natalia was on her own.
Always had been. Always would be. And nothing and no one was ever going to change that.