I have a lot of dresses to choose from, but tonight I decide to wear something a little more formal. It’s a sleeveless midnight blue cocktail dress with midnight blue heels and gold jewelry to accent. I bought the jewelry from one of the market stands too, along with the gift I have for Mrs. Molina.

My hair was done by Juanita, one of the housemaids who is also the nurse around here. I didn’t know she was good at doing hair, too, but when Draco brought her in and she offered, I let her.

She styles it half up, half down, so that it swims at my shoulders, braided into two French braids at the middle and leading into full, brown waves that cascade down my back.

“I love it.” I smile at her through the mirror. Though I say it in English, she beams, clearly noting that I am more than happy with what she’s done.

She takes off to let me finish getting dressed. Before I know it, there’s a knock at the door, and Draco steps in. When he catches sight of me, his eyes grow round and he stops where he stands.

His eyes travel up and down repeatedly, as if he can’t believe I’m the same woman he had tied up in the shed, or the same woman that almost killed him nearly a week ago.

He looks at me like the name he calls me—reina—and I can’t help myself. I blush. “Is it too much?” I ask, looking down at the points of my heels.

“No.” He steps forward and extends his arm, reaching for my hand. “You look fucking amazing, Gianna.”

My upper lip quirks up. “Is everyone here?”

“Not yet. And that’s a good thing. I want you to come with me to the terrace for a quick drink.”

I nod and hold his hand tighter. He leads the way out of the bedroom and I shut off the lights, my heels clicking as we descend the hall. He keeps straight, going toward the doors that lead out to the terrace.

The sun is sitting on the horizon when we step out, the breeze gentle. It toys with the ends of my hair, ruffling the loose strands of Draco’s.

There is a table covered in white linen in the corner. On top of it is a heavy-bottomed decanter filled with red wine and two wine glasses beside it. Draco lets me walk ahead of him and then he shuts the doors.

“Can’t wait until tonight to drink, huh?” I laugh.

He puts on a small smirk, walking toward the table to pour wine into each one. “Just one glass. In the form of our own celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?” I lean against the rails and watch as he picks up one of the glasses to bring it to me.

“Life,” he murmurs. “Together.”

“Together?” I accept the glass but keep my eyes on his.

“Yes.” He looks me over thoroughly before picking up his wine. “I want to trust you, Gianna. I want you as my partner. The woman I come home to after a long day.” I don’t speak but I know he’s expecting me to. Instead, he continues. “I know I did things to you—things you didn’t approve of. I know you want to get past that just as much as I do, but I can’t regret it.”

I frown when he says that and then look away.

“I won’t regret making you into a better woman. A stronger woman. I won’t regret bringing the Nicotera out of you.”

I pick my head back up, locking on his hard brown eyes again. He comes closer, using his free hand to slide it under my hair and cup the back of my neck. “Do you still hate me?”

“No,” I respond.

“But you don’t trust me.”

“Not completely,” I answer honestly.

“How can I get you to trust me?” he rasps against my lips.

I think on it for a second, my fingers tightening around my glass, glossed lips pushing together. “I need proof. Pictures of you and Daddy. Or even your father and mine. My mother. Anything that proves you aren’t just making this all up—me being promised to you. I need to know he cared about you the way you say he did.”

“Proof,” he repeats, as if he’s thinking. “Fine. I’ll show you after the party. But for now,” he sighs, pulling away, “let’s drink to a good night.”

I smile. “Sounds good.”

He holds his glass in the air and I do the same. When he brings the rim to his lips and sips, I follow his lead, holding his eyes, tasting the tart wine on my tongue.

He takes a few more swigs before placing the glass back down on the table. “There is something else,” I proclaim. “About Ronaldo. Where is he?”

Before he turns back around, I see his shoulders tense up, one of his fists clenching. He turns gradually, straightening his back. “I already told you his name isn’t Ronaldo.”

“Well, Henry—whatever.” I hold the glass tighter, preparing for his wrath. “What did you do with him? When we went to the shed he wasn’t there.” I wince, just thinking about the shed that was full of blood when we left.

“Why do you even fucking care, Gianna?”

“Because he was my friend in there. He was the only reason I pushed forward and wanted to get out, even when it seemed all hope was lost.”

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring up. “And why do you think that is?”

I shrug. “He’s a good person.”

“No. He’s a fucking weasel and he knows exactly what he needs to do to survive. He knows exactly who you are, Gianna. He’s not a fucking idiot. He knew his only chance of getting out was through you.”

“You keep saying he knew like he’s not here anymore . . .”

Draco cocks a brow, not backing down.

“Did you kill him?” I whisper.

He blinks, still not responding. Instead, he turns his back to me and pours himself another glass. After guzzling it all down, he releases a loud sigh. “Don’t worry about him anymore, do you understand? He isn’t your problem and whatever you feel for him is out of guilt. Whatever you told him, forget it. Whatever you remember of him, fucking erase it from your memories. He is worthless and he cannot be saved. Any kin of Toni’s is fucking worthless to me.”

He marches for the doors, shoulders still hiked up. “You won’t speak of him to me anymore, Gianna. And I mean it.” He glares hard at me and as badly as I want to back down, I don’t. I hold his gaze because I know he’s wrong about him. I know good people when I meet them. Daddy knows good people too. He hired Ronaldo for a reason.

Instead of protesting, though, I shrug. I don’t know where he is anyway. I can’t save him. For all I know, the rest of him has been chopped up and he’s been fed to the sharks.

If I want to move forward, I can’t dwell on my past anymore. I wanted to help, I really did, but if he’s not here, how can I?

“Fine, Draco.” I place my glass down on the table and walk his way. “I won’t speak of him anymore.” His hunched shoulders relax a bit and he lifts a hand, clasping my chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“That’s a good niñita.”

* * *

The purple and blue color scheme didn’t turn out to be so bad once the flashing gold lights I bought from the market were added. They’re Christmas lights, but they work and Mrs. Molina loves the feel they give the room—a bright, cheerful atmosphere that pushes out the fear and darkness, if only for now.

Tonight is her night, and everyone should feel relaxed right now, including Draco, which is why I don’t bring up Ronaldo anymore. The guilt is eating me alive though. I promised, but I was too late. I couldn’t help. Now he’s probably gone.

The party is just starting when we enter the room. The dining room has been cleared out. The table has been taken somewhere else for the night and the room has been filled with small, round tables. It’s like a ballroom now.

Latin music spills out of the speakers, loud enough to cover up even the nearest of conversations. Even with the music, though, there is still a lot of laughing and chattering.

Laughter is good. This night should be fun and simple.

Most of the tables are surrounded by guests—people that I don’t know, and not so sure I want to meet. I know Draco won’t make me meet them either. I assume the people here work for him in some sort of way or he has a claim on them, but it doesn’t mean he trusts them. He just knows they aren’t foolish enough to betray him.

He isn’t a people person. He doesn’t care about crowds, but this is what Mrs. Molina wanted. A big 60^th birthday bash. And she got it. It’s not huge—I don’t think there are more than fifty guests—but I admit, it’s a great feeling to walk into a room and not feel like everyone wants to hold a gun to your head.

The guards are still around, dressed in different clothing. Black button downs and black dress pants. Their guns are still on display though, but I’m sure it was requested by Mrs. Molina to not have them so visible that people become uncomfortable.

It’s hard to feel festive with a gun in your face.

Patanza is wearing a pair of black pants and a black pinstriped vest, scoping the room with a drink in her hand. Of course she has skin showing. It just wouldn’t be Patanza if she didn’t.

I look to my left at the table closest to us, and I’m surprised to see Morales is here. I get a kick out of that. He’s the heavyset man whose expensive car I completely destroyed when I tried to escape this place.

He sees me strolling in with Draco, arm-in-arm, and turns his nose up at me, but comes in our direction anyway.

I guess he’s still pissed and blaming me for having Draco draw that gun on him that day. I don’t care. I still don’t like him. He carries himself like he’s better or smarter somehow, but I’m sure the whole room knows he’s far from it.

“Jefe!” he yells when he gets closer, holding out his arms and expecting a brotherly hug.

Draco swipes a hand across the tip of his nose. “The fuck are you doing in my house, Morales?” he bites out.

“I was invited, Jefe,” he says in a placating voice. “By your beautiful mother. She wanted me here.”

Draco stares at him. Hard. Morales presses his lips and looks at me, knowing he can’t battle his glare. “And you . . . the lovely woman who wrecked my beautiful Mercedes. You know I miss that car, don’t you?” His accent is thick.

“No me importa,” I return, shrugging. I don’t care. His eyes stretch wide, as if he wasn’t expecting me to know any Spanish. Yeah, I’m not just some stupid American bitch that wrecked his car. And he knows it. He focuses on Draco’s grip on my hand and then brings his eyes back up.

“Well, I’m going to get a drink,” he continues in Spanish. “You two have a good night, huh?” He claps Draco’s shoulder but Draco growls at him, a deep, throaty, feral one.

Morales’ eyes stretch and he backs off in an instant, spinning around and rushing to the bar set up by the window.

“What’s up with him?” I ask.

“He’s an ungrateful son of a bitch,” he grumbles, leading the way through the crowd. “Got him a car that cost more than the worthless shit he brought here, and he complains about the color to me. If he didn’t have such a large connection to my cartel, I would have spooned his fucking eyeballs out, that way he’d cherish the fucking values of life, not gripe over material shit.”

“I guess I should take partial blame for that. I am the one who completely destroyed that car.” I laugh and his mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink and find your mother.”