King

Home . . . The house feels strange without my father in it. I haven’t been back since he died. Mom has been gone longer, but Dad was the primary presence in this house, so being here without him almost feels wrong.

The absence of Holland also feels wrong. This is for her own good. I keep telling myself that, and I truly believe it, but that doesn’t make the pain any less devastating. Mine is meager compared to Holland’s, however. Sebastián makes sure to tell me that every day . . . more than once.

I lost her, but she lost both of us, and I’m not sure she even gives two shits about losing me right now. She’s angry—well, angry probably isn’t a strong enough word. There is no word that adequately describes what she’s going through.

I almost went back to her yesterday during a weak moment. Sebastián informed me that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for over a week. When I spoke to Gloria, she told me she had a plan to get some IV fluids into Holland while she was tranquilized. I didn’t like that idea. It was sneaky and invasive, but from the sounds of it, she was going to starve herself to death in our bed if they didn’t do something drastic.

I was still going back and forth about it when I found out that Holland’s dad was back in town and he was going to visit her. Robert always had a way with Holland. She trusted him as much as she mistrusted her mother, and that’s a lot.

“King?” A voice floats up from the balcony beneath mine. Every window and door to the outside is open, and the perfect Puerto Rican breeze is blowing the sheer white curtains into the room. As unhappy as I am without Holland, my childhood home provides me comfort, which in turn fills me with guilt because Holland has nothing to comfort her. I’ve taken everything she cares about, ripped it from her unsuspecting hands, and left her to bleed to death in our absence.

That’s how she sees it, but I know better. She has something to take comfort in. She’s just forgotten it. Without Juliette and me to focus on, I’m positive she will finally turn back to the thing she loved most before us, the thing that makes her who she is . . . music.

“She’s awake,” Candy calls up.

“I’ll be right down.”

I enlisted Candy to help with Juliette for a few weeks. I wouldn’t trust just anyone with my child, but Candy is a mother, and she is in a relationship with my lifelong friend and head of security. She’s safe. She didn’t want to do it. She doesn’t want any part of my plan, and neither does Sebastián, really, but he’s more tolerant because he knows how real the danger of being a part of my life is. She hated detaining Holland at the grocery store while I cleared out of the house, but she didn’t have a choice. It was in her personal assistant contract . . . sort of. Candy was so happy to have the job that she didn’t think to have a lawyer look over the terms and conditions with a fine toothed comb. She trusted me because of my close relationship with Sebastián. Big mistake. There are only a handful of people that I wouldn’t think of fucking over in this world, and she’s not one of them.

Essentially, she is contracted to be my assistant in any way I deem necessary, with the exception of sex. When Juliette and I are in a regular routine, I’ll let Candy go home to Houston. I want her to keep close tabs on Holland until I’m able to come back or until she makes the very bad decision to quit.

Sebastián will never let that happen. He loves her, and being the head of security and the disposer of problems, he would never let Candy become a problem.

Hurrying down the hall in my bare feet against the the cool marble floor reminds me of being a kid and running through this rambling mansion. Growing up in this house, we had rules—lots of them—but most were meant to keep us safe from the many enemies that my father acquired over the years. There were heavily armed guards at the gates and every entrance to the house. My father built this house so that the back yard faced the ocean. He said it was easier to guard the house. He thought it was safer and easier to guard somehow. Ironically, he was murdered in his own bed by a hit man who swam ashore after jumping off a boat.

I have triple the number of guards my father had when I was a child, and I’ve installed the best security system money can buy. I’m not taking any chances with Juliette. My plan is to disassemble the Romano drug empire piece by piece over the next three or four years while Holland finishes college. By then, she will be an established musician well on her way to fame, and with the danger of the drug business behind us, I can return Juliette.

Descending the stairs, I hear the soft cries of my little princess, and when I enter her nursery, Candy is swaying back and forth with Juliette in her arms on the patio, trying to calm the storm.

“She’s getting hungry I think. Do you want to feed her, or should I?” Candy’s hand shields Juliette’s face from the sunlight while she bounces and sways.

“I’ll do it. Here, let me take her.” I reach out and she passes me a perfect little replica of Holland.

“Thank you, Candy, really. I want you to know how much I appreciate your taking such good care of her.”

“It’s not like I have much choice, King. You’ve sort of trapped me into being an accomplice to kidnapping.”

She’s pissed. She probably hates me, but there’s no one else I trust to keep quiet about all of this. She has a lot to lose if she doesn’t.

“You know it’s for her own good, Candy.”

“No, I really don’t. You weren’t there, King. She was so happy and proud . . . when she pulled out her phone and started showing me pictures of Juliette in that grocery store, I came this close to telling her to go home and stop you.” Holding up her thumb and pointer finger a millimeter apart, she shows me just how close I came to getting caught and, unbeknownst to her, just how close she came to losing her life if she had.

“But you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t. I’d like to keep my head securely attached to my body, thanks. For the record, I think this is all wrong. You can’t make decisions like this for her. She wanted to have a family. Maybe she would have gone back to the violin, but King, priorities change. People change. She had a baby, for Christ’s sake. How do you just rip that all away from her? And she loved you, like out of this world, crazy, bonkers love, and you just threw it away.” Her hands fly up above her head in frustration.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Candy. Being with me put her life at risk. Drug dealers are ruthless and evil. Some of them like to torture people just for the fucking fun of it. Every single cartel out there knows I wanted out, and they know she’s the reason why. If my business were to dissolve, theirs would too. They would lose their lavish lifestyles, their bottomless bank accounts, their status and respect. My staying painted a target on her back no matter how you look at it. I’m trying to save her damn life.

“And Candy, have you ever heard her play? Seen the way she melts into that instrument and becomes one with it? It’s spectacular . . . no, that word doesn’t even do her justice. Her talent is profound. She absolutely cannot waste it. We agreed when we decided to be together that she would still go to Juilliard, and I would get out of the drug business, and she didn’t keep her end of the deal.”

“Neither did you.” With her hands on her hips, she squints in the sun, watching me struggle to make sense of this for her.

“I was trying.”

“But you hadn’t done it yet, and maybe she was trying, too. You just didn’t know it. Maybe she just needed some time.”

She’s treading on thin ice, making me justify my actions and my love for Holland, and I’ve had just about enough of her smart mouth. She knows that if anyone else were saying these things, there would be no sunrise for them tomorrow, but she also knows I need her, and that’s making her brave . . . too brave.

“That’s enough, Candy.” I turn my back on her and head to the kitchen. She’s quiet as I leave—at least there’s that. I sigh and hold a kiss on my fussy daughter’s wrinkled up, angry forehead. She’s had trouble adjusting to formula, but thank God she’s doing much better. Those first few days were hell. It hurt knowing she wanted her mommy instead of the rubber nipple of a bottle, and honestly, I can’t blame her a bit. I want her mommy, too, but this is the best thing for her. I’m sure of it.