It’s hard to believe this is the place Mad comes home to at night now. The wide driveway curves down from the gate, shaded by palms and acacia that give way at the end to pale stucco walls and elegant Spanish Revival archways overlooking the city. A dark, heavy wooden front door is set back at the end of a stone path only a few yards from the curb, but I keep going until I find a larger parking area beside a garage door at the side of the house. I pull the bike to a stop against the wall and cut the engine.
The sound of a car approaching makes me turn, and a black SUV coasts down the driveway. The garage door kicks into motion and a light comes on inside, illuminating a row of shining specimens of automotive glory.
I’m enthralled by the array of chrome and steel—each one a vintage masterpiece—and it’s an effort to divert my attention from a sweet little ’57 Thunderbird back to the SUV when it stops before entering. Baz and Benny step out, followed by Arturo, then the driver pulls the rest of the way into the garage.
“They are works of art, like everything in my collection,” Arturo says, following my gaze to the cars. “Your brother mentioned you have a passion for restoring them. Is that right?”
I vividly recall the gallery of priceless paintings and sculptures and other artifacts in its own secure wing of the house, but I’ve never seen the cars before. “Mad’s not lying. But some dreams just aren’t in the cards for most people. Maybe someday I can reclaim that passion if I survive this assignment.”
Arturo nods sagely. “You survive and I’ll give you one of these beauties. Your choice.”
It’s an effort to school my features into neutrality, but I give the cars another scan and my dick gets a little hard. Shaking my head, I say, “I already told you I don’t need more incentive. I’d do this for free.”
He shrugs. “I’d consider it a bonus, not incentive, but the offer stands. I expected you’d have been here and gone already. What kept you?”
I cast a sidelong look at the twins, who diligently keep their eyes on me. At the slightest nod from Arturo, they both relax and turn to head inside, mirror images of each other as they yank off their silk ties and shed their tailored suit jackets. The boyish energy emerges from their pinned-down personas the second their leashes are off.
Arturo calls after them, “Tell your mother we have another guest for dinner tonight.”
“Aye, Papá,” one of the pair answers with a small salute before jogging to catch up with his brother.
I know “Papá” is effectively a title for the old man, but I still ask under my breath, “Please tell me those two aren’t yours. If they are, Elle needs to know.”
Arturo chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “No, I’m just their mentor. You did see what was on that flash drive, didn’t you? I have only ever fathered daughters.” He steers me toward the front path into the house and I fall into step beside him.
“That’s a relief. And thanks for the dinner invite, but I don’t think I can stay. I’m already disobeying orders by stopping in LA, and Zavala is not a patient man.”
“No, he is not. But he is also not a stupid man. I don’t think you would have stopped if you believed he was truly a threat to the treasure you left in his care. I made a point to do some digging after we spoke. You can rest easy for now.” He pauses at the front door and pulls out his phone, swipes the screen, and shows it to me.
The image allows me to relax for the first time since César Zavala forced me to my knees and tortured me into confessing my sins against him and his organization. Except he didn’t need to lay a finger on me personally to get me to talk, because he held in his arms one of a handful of people in the world I would die to protect. Like I told Arturo, I didn’t need any more incentive to finish this assignment.
“She’s safe,” I breathe, taking the phone from him and swallowing hard as I blink back tears. I tilt my head back and stare up at the sky. “Oh God, you have no idea how much this means to me.”
He takes his phone back and offers a grim smile. “On the contrary, I know very well how much it means. You shouldn’t waste time just because the threat seems diminished—it isn’t. One thing Vicente Amador and I have in common is that we have always respected and treasured the women in our lives, and to such a degree that we now find ourselves at war over the fate of one of them. César Zavala is not so sentimental. You spent more than two years working for the man, so I hope you understand this. He will kill her if you fail to deliver, but as long as you have something to offer him, he will keep her safe. I will send this to you so you remember what a precarious place she is in right now.”
We enter the house and he closes the door behind us, gesturing to another room just off the foyer—his office, the last room I saw before leaving California three years ago. Once inside with the door closed behind us, he says, “Now, there seemed to be something pressing on your mind that you weren’t willing to speak of in front of the twins. I imagine it’s related to whatever it was that kept you busy for the past few hours, rather than your
