Chapter Nine
All she wanted was for someone to look at her and see the person she hid so well
~ Unknown
Amara
He said I’d be safe here, and yet the only thing I’m feeling is turmoil. We entered his father’s estate about an hour ago, through the cast iron gate and what had to be a fifteen-foot burnt orange wall. The same color is on the outside of the house while the trim is white, brightening it up a bit.
We parked the SUV in one of the three garage bays. However, their garage isn’t like any I’ve seen before. It’s built into this giant wall of stone. The doors must be thirty feet apart, and instead of rolling up like a normal garage door does, these open in the middle like a set of French doors. The only difference is how they’re in a circle. We walked up a stone path, passing a cross statue and entered through the front door.
I remember the way my eyes darted as we walked and ventured into the home. Why? Because I thought this was my uncle’s home. Dante quickly put that thought to rest, though. It’s almost as if he could read my mind. His father purchased this when he became leader of the Cartel.
We’re sitting in a massive living room. The walls are an egg custard color. An earth-toned fireplace is to my left between the two couches and a glass coffee table is a few feet in front of me.
“I don’t understand why we’re sitting here,” I say to Eduardo.
He’s sitting beside me a foot or so to the left. Meanwhile, Dante is still suffocating the air around me. He’s hovering, like an annoying bee. “Francisco wanted to meet you. I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”
“My ears were burning!” A middle-aged man comes into the living area, clad in an all-black suit. With one glance I instantly know where Dante inherited his good looks from. Francisco is a very handsome man, and that’s putting it lightly. His eyes are dark just like his son’s, but they seem to have some sort of kindness underneath. Or at least, his eyes look kind. I’m not really sure how to explain it. He has a gold watch on his left wrist while a gold cross necklace hangs around his neck. His lips are thin and his cheekbones are high. His hair is mostly black but there are bits of white going through it.
“Amara was growing a bit anxious, I’m afraid.” Eduardo explains lowly. He must think I can’t hear him, but I definitely do. I shoot him a glare.
Eduardo is a good friend, but he doesn’t understand what this is like. I’m in the home of the man who was part of my uncle’s demise. Now, I was never a fan of Rafael, and I only met him once when I was a small child. But, does it matter in situations like this? I share the same blood as Rafael and depending on the type of leader Francisco is . . . he might kill me to send a message. It might not even matter that I’m pregnant.
God. What the hell am I thinking? Eduardo wouldn’t have brought me here if his cousin was going to slaughter me. Or . . . I don’t think he would’ve.
Francisco kneels down in front of me, which makes the situation that much worse. He’s a taller man, so he’s about eye level with me. “Amara, you have nothing to be anxious about here. I am terribly sorry for the trauma you’ve been through this last year, and so very grateful we were able to get you out before you gave birth. If we hadn’t . . . I would be fearsome of what could’ve happened to you, or your child. Now, there is nothing to fear here. I can imagine you’re a bit on edge because of whose house you’re in, no?”
I release the breath I’ve been holding and nod. “Yes, more than you could possibly fathom.”
“Look, I’ll sum this up for you. I have no problem with you or the rest of your familia, because it’s my understanding you were never fond of Rafael. Everything I’ve been told is how your papá had kept his distance from him.”
“He did. We only met Rafael once when I was a small girl. I believe that was something my abuela had requested before her death.” I say, breathing a bit easier.
“Understandable. She wanted her children and grandchildren to surround her. God rest her soul. Now, I hope you feel a bit better about being here with us. It’s my understanding you don’t want us notifying your familia? I must admit . . . I don’t understand that. Would you care to explain why you don’t want them to know you’re safe?”
I should’ve expected a question like this, but I’ll repeat what I did to Eduardo. “I don’t want my family to know all that I endured. I don’t want them to know about my miscarriage, or the baby I’m carrying now . . . unless I choose to keep it, because I don’t know if I want to. It’s not that I don’t care for this child, because it’s part of me. I do care. I care so much that I want it to thrive, to grow up in a family with a mother and father who love one another more than anything. I want it to be safe, to not have to wonder if its mother or father will be coming home or not. With my life . . . in the club . . . things are so uncertain. One thing could go wrong and completely throw a wrench into our world. I want the best for this child, and even though I hate to say this, the best probably isn’t me.” I fight back tears as I finish speaking from the heart. I’m
