Caroline Mason flies to Paris the next morning, and I follow. Like in Rome, she manages to evade us in the city. We’ve been here for a week and I still haven’t found her.
No one’s ever run from me before, certainly not for this long or this successfully. The part of me that’s intrigued and almost proud of my fiancée’s cunning gets smaller and smaller by the day. This has gone on for far too long now.
I need her back.
I’m agitated, unable to focus. Partially worried about being away from London for so long and also not giving a flying fuck about the business so long as she continues to evade me.
My thoughts are consumed by her. By whether or not she enjoyed her dance class. By visions of another man clasping her waist and pulling her close as she crossed a wish off her bucket list.
Poisonous bile burns my throat just thinking about it.
And now she’s in the most romantic city in the world, beautiful and smart and no doubt wearing pink, and my eyelid twitches almost incessantly the longer I go without finding her. When I do, I’ll tie her up and inflict the same torment on her as she has on me these past weeks.
My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I groan when I see the name flashing on the screen. I knew this call was coming, it was only a matter of time.
“Jefe,” I say, answering.
To the cartel, that’s my title. But there’s one man who outranks me, one man who’s earned the respect of being addressed as such for far longer than I have.
My father.
“Hijo,” he answers, voice warm. “How are you?”
Tomás da Silva is ruthless, a coldblooded murderer who’d hang his own flesh and blood by their entrails if they betrayed him. He’s someone who’s feared globally except in remote parts of the world where internet access is still limited and thus his name hasn’t circulated, but when it comes to his children, he’s as close to a big softie as a cartel king can be.
He’s indulged us our whole lives. It’s why when Adriana came home from the first day of kindergarten claiming she’d made a new friend named Valentina and asking if she could live with us, he agreed. It’s why when she begged to go to London on a graduation trip, he let her.
It’s why he greenlit an expansion in Europe. Not because he was power hungry, but because I am.
I’ve missed his warm voice and his guidance. We haven’t spoken much lately, partially because I’ve been busy but equally because I’ve been avoiding him. It’s time to face the music now.
“I’ve been well. Business is booming.” That part is still true, regardless of where I’m currently located. “How about you?”
My father hasn’t been the same since Adriana passed. The first hit came when we lost my mother to cancer when I was ten. He’d survived, barely. Losing Adriana was too much for him. Outwardly, he seems much the same. Only those closest to him can see how weathered his soul is. He’s tired and I’m doing him no favors by worrying him.
He doesn’t answer my question, instead getting straight to the reason he’s calling.
“You’ve been neglecting your duties.”
I grit my teeth to stop myself from barking back an answer and exit the car instead. We’ve been driving across Paris all day, going from neighborhood to neighborhood, clearing them one by one as we searched for Tess.
I hear car doors open as my men follow me out of the car and onto the Rue de Rivoli, a famous street bustling with small souvenir shops and overrun by tourists.
Unlike with Arturo, I can’t just simply deny my father’s allegation.
“I’ve been busy,” I answer, holding the phone close to my ear as I walk casually down the street. Passersby give me a wide berth when they see the tattoos and the dark expression on my face.
“Busy searching for your runaway fiancée.”
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding side to side to keep my temper in check. Clearly, someone’s been giving him reports on my actions and whereabouts. It’s not too difficult to figure out it’s Arturo.
“I’m close. I know she’s in Paris, it’s just a matter of days until I find her and bring her home.”
He sighs. “When I told you to get married, I didn’t imagine you’d attach yourself to a problem. She might be from a good background and give you access to London’s elites, but that won’t be of any use to you if she makes a mockery of you.”
“It’s a temporary setback. I’ll find her soon.” I set my voice in the way he recognizes and knows means I’m not going to change my mind.
He ignores me.
“I’ll find you someone else,” he offers. “You remember Cardenas?”
I smile. “I’ve only been gone a year, of course I do. He’s one of your generals, he oversees the Caribe region.”
“He has a daughter, Claudia. She’s been living in London for twelve years now. She came for her studies, met an aristocrat, married him and never left. He died a couple of years ago and left her a substantial fortune on top of all his connections. She could make a very good match.”
If only those few closest to me would stop trying to get me to find someone else. If only they understood that I would if I could. I stop outside a souvenir shop and lean against one of the arches framing the sidewalk, looking out at the road and the Jardin des Tuileries on the other side of it.
There’s no use having this battle with my father. If I pretend to be at least partially open to the idea, it’ll go a lot further for me than just outright refusing.
“I’ll think about it, jefe.”
He seems pleased by my answer.
“Good,” he says. “Everything else going well otherwise? How about…” he pauses. I don’t let him finish his sentence.
“We’re making good progress with the Leones. We captured two more guards yesterday. We’ll find the killer soon.”
“Good,” he answers, his voice taking on a distant edge. “Very good.”
The ache in his tone makes me want to kill every single Italian still walking this earth.
“I have to go,” I finally say, rather than causing him more heartache. “Take care of yourself, jefe.”
“You too, mijo.”
We end the call without any further words of care or comfort. We’ve never been those people, we wouldn’t know what to say.
