Blood Money by Lana Sky

Chapter Five

“H-How?” I croak, craning my neck to face him. His grip on the leash keeps me hunched over. From this angle, I can only see his profile, stern and emotionless.

“How could I afford this?” He gestures with a wave of his free hand to the gardens. They extend as far as the eye can see. “Or how could I slip under your father’s radar for so long? Don’t play coy, Ada-Maria. Ignorance doesn’t suit you. In fact, I’ll humor your questions, so ask them while you can.”

I suck in a breath. I’m shivering, my teeth chattering despite the sweat I can feel beading over the back of my neck. It’s swelteringly hot in the direct sun.

“Where are we?”

“That question I won’t answer just yet,” he says with a laugh.

The chain flashes in the light as he manipulates it so that I’m fully upright, no longer leaning over the railing.

“Try another.”

“My father…” The rest of the words die in my throat. I don’t expect the tears that fall, blinding me to everything else. Wracking sobs rip from my chest, and I welcome them. I don’t care if it’s a display of weakness. At least I can’t hear. I can’t think.

As long as I give into the fear, I’m unaware of anything else.

Until my windpipe is being crushed by the pressure of the collar. I’m on my knees, gasping for air. I’m choking…

I’m dying…

“Look at me.”

I sputter as the pressure loosens enough for me to look up into the impassive face of the man before me. He’s crouched on one knee, the chain wound almost entirely around his fist.

“I won’t tolerate your fear,” he tells me. “Your sniveling attempts at innocence. I am not one of your many, many paramours, Ada-Maria. When you speak to me, you speak with conviction. No games. Understood?”

The chain clatters as he loosens his grasp, letting nearly the entire length pool on the courtyard between us.

I flinch back, bracing my hands against the stone beneath me. This dress is too small, bunched around my thighs, the neckline gaping below my chest enough for him to see everything at a glance.

I bolt upright onto my knees, grappling to cover my exposed breasts.

He laughs in a way that makes me feel completely naked. Stripped. Every low chuckle creeps beneath this gauzy fabric in a way his eyes—or his hands—never could.

“What did you really mean to ask me?” he prods.

I rub my throat until I catch my breath again. “You killed my father.” It feels so strange to admit. A part of me doesn’t believe it.

Someone like Roy Pavalos can’t just die. He can’t wind up turning on a spit over an open fire.

He was larger than life, a creature I always assumed was too big to ever fall. Even a jail sentence wouldn’t stop him for long.

“There now,” Domino growls, his eyes gleaming. “Continue.”

I lick my lips to gain enough traction to croak a single word. “Why?”

“Why gut your father like a pig?” He smiles, and I recoil, feeling my heart hammer against my ribcage. It’s not the expression alone that inspires the reaction—objectively, it’s a beautiful grin, enhancing the strange greenish hue to his eyes—but what alarms me is the fact that it’s real. He’s enjoying this. “I’m sure you can think of several reasons. I want you to pick one, Ada-Maria.”

I manipulate my tongue to reply. “He trusted you.”

And he did, allowing his virtual shadow to accompany him everywhere. At his office. Family gatherings. His political meetings. There wasn’t a place Roy Pavalos went without his trusty protector Domino.

Part of the reason was that, as a man in his position, his life was always in danger. But there was another explanation, one my father would boast about on any occasion where he happened to drink too much wine. Smiling with pride, he’d discuss the origin of how he met his valuable friend and asset. Hell, I think he staked part of his political campaign on it.

Roy Pavalos, el Salvador.

The savior of all.

“He saved you—”

Stars explode to life before me, rivaling the intensity of the sun. My ears are ringing, my tongue flooded with the taste of salt. When I gasp in shock, I realize why. My mouth is on fire. Throbbing. Bleeding…

And Domino’s fist is raised, his eyes so dark they suck all the warmth from the world itself, like smoldering coals feeding on anything remotely peaceful. He is hell incarnate.

“I knew you were a dumb cunt, Ada-Maria, but I didn’t believe that you were ever that goddamn foolish.”

He’s already storming toward another part of the terrace. Belatedly, I realize that the chain is still in his grasp. I watch the pool of gold on the paving stones unravel, growing smaller and smaller until…

I’m tugged forward, forced to scramble to my feet to keep my airway clear. The ability to breathe is a luxury he makes me chase him for. Eyes streaming, throat burning, I nearly gasp in relief as he finally comes to a stop before an area I recognize with chilling familiarity.

“Your father didn’t rescue me from some barrio with the promise of cash and freedom in America, Ada-Maria. Do you want to hear how we really met?”

His hand swings out, shoving me onto the nearest couch. I fall back, nearly sliding off the surface entirely. Panicked, I realize that my dress rode up my hips as a result, exposing everything from the waist down. I snatch at the hem, yanking it into place, not that he seems to notice.

Or care.

That piercing gaze is fixated in the distance. In the past, I suspect, far beyond me.

“That bastard got himself in deep with a particular cartel,” he murmurs. “One of the many he toyed with. They sent an assassin to cut off his dick and return it to the boss on a silver platter. Until someone took the liberty of cutting off the bastard’s head and rescuing dear old Don Roy from certain death.”

He cuts his gaze to me expectantly, and the chain rattles against the stones like a drumroll to herald the question he deliberately left for me to answer.

“Y-You?”

He nods. “Si. I rescued that crooked motherfucker, and he welcomed me back with open arms. Hell, he practically begged me to ensure his safe passage back to his dear wife and loving daughter. I hadn’t planned on that, you see. I didn’t expect worming my way into his life would be that damn easy.”

I flinch. It’s such a callous admission. He sought out my father. Earned his trust. For five years, he worked for him diligently without a word of complaint, as far as I knew.

“Why?”

He laughs again, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “Why? Because the best revenge, dear Ada-Maria, is done slowly, over time, so that it ripens nice and sweet. Slowly enough so that when the time came, and I finally looked that bastard in the eye as my true self, all would become clear. How blind he was all along. How he trusted his wife and whore of a daughter to a snake. For a man who prided himself so damn much on his honor and his vigilance, he didn’t even realize that the man he entrusted his life to had introduced his precious daughter to cocaine, and ensured that his wife found out about every little dalliance and indiscretion. Every cheap, desperate secretary or intern that he’d fuck in the cabana on the estate. Don’t look so surprised, Ada-Maria,” he scolds, eyeing me from over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believed yourself the tragic little heroine of your own fucked-up fairy tale? No. God himself isn’t anywhere near as malicious as I am.”

The worst part is I don’t even know if he’s lying or not. My mind is a blur as the past and present meld. A million little things I never inspected in full, now seem woefully important.

I took drugs at the first party I snuck into on my own. Daddy had been too absorbed by his new campaign, and I convinced myself that a small act of rebellion would secure his attention. I only wanted him to hear me, for once. To truly consider my request to study abroad—everyone else with less money and even fewer brains than I had was already pledged to some prestigious university or the other.

No one else had been destined to die in Terra Rodea because their father thought they had more use as a prop to sell his political career than as a human being with an ounce of self-determination.

My way of reclaiming a shred of that control had been to find the most dangerous man I could and let him do whatever he wanted…

As long as he gave me a little sliver of freedom to hold onto, all I had to do was shove it up my nose.

“Did you think you were so unlucky?” Domino asks, his tone mocking once more. “You were always a pawn. Though I will give you some credit—you were never as easy to predict as your father. Don Roy was a smart motherfucker.”

A genuine hint of admiration in his voice breaks through the hate.

“It took effort to outsmart him. Years of patience, and research, and waiting. But you? You were like a fucking rabbit born without an ounce of self-preservation. So desperate. So weak. At every turn, I found myself overestimating your sheer stupidity.”

“What did you want?”

The way his eyes slice through me reveals a hint of irritation he usually conceals. As he clenches his jaw, I think I know why—I had the nerve to interrupt him.

Hiss.The sound of the chain plays like an ominous soundtrack—a constant reminder of the power he holds in this situation. The ability to choke me should he choose to.

To kill me.

And yet, I sense that I’ve contradicted his very statement. I’ve unnerved him.

So, I keep talking. “Why pretend? Why play the puppet master. Why kill…”

I still can’t admit out loud what my eyes—and my nose—confirmed to be true. Papa is dead. And so much of the person I’ve strived to be dies with him. All of the secrets I’ve kept. All of the lies I told. Maybe Domino Valenciaga is my punishment for all of it…

“I’m rethinking my decision to spare you.” His tone is so blunt. The sheer implications of his words land a second too late. I wince, clenching my teeth together so violently they clatter.

His decision to spare me…

At the expense of someone else.

“You killed Tristan.”

His death isn’t as easy to doubt. I saw him. I heard the impact of his body hitting the floor. I tasted his blood and felt the heat of it bathe my skin. I saw the bloodied socket where his head used to be.

“You’re a monster. You’re sick. You’re—”

Cling!The musical chime echoes as he whips his arm through the air, gathering up another loop of the chain. Due to the shortened length, I’m pulled upright, forced to sit on the edge of the couch.

“There will be plenty of time for hysterics later,” he says, his tone devoid of anything but ice. “You want to prolong your pathetic, worthless life, Ada-Maria? Then it’s time for me to ask the questions. Just one, to make it easy for your little brain to handle—where is the file?”

I blink.

His eyes cut to slits, and the chain becomes taut between us. I gag, my eyes watering. Helpless, my hands fly to the base of the chain, tugging to lessen the pressure on my throat.

“Don’t play dumb now.” He takes a step, then another, winding the chain all the while until he’s standing before me within arm’s reach. “You may help him win the horny bachelor vote when it comes to political prospects, but you and I both know that he’s kept you close all this time for more than that. Think, Ada-Maria. Where is the Inglecias file?”

Inglecias.I haven’t heard that name in so long. Just that particular arrangement of syllables triggers a reaction in me—I gag, hunching over, in case there’s anything left in my stomach to bring up.

There isn’t.

I realize he’s watching, but I’m not faking being the dumb blond for once. He’s served my father long enough to know more about the Inglecias incident than I do. I barely remember it, let alone a file. Though honestly, I’ve spent the past decade trying to forget.

The past.

Pia.

Everything.

“Where is it?” Domino demands.

I look up, eyeing him through my tousled hair. He looks different, his head cocked expectantly, his eyes practically glowing with interest. This isn’t a random request. He’s desperate for it, this file on one of the vilest periods in my family’s history.

My heart races with dread as to why he’s interested in that particular incident, but—physical reaction aside—I don’t hesitate to say, “I don’t know anything about a file.”

He frowns, his brows furrowing.

Cling!He jerks his fist, and I’m crashing onto the floor, dragged toward him by the force he easily applies to the collar. It hurts. Fire lances through my windpipe, and I fear that he’s crushed it this way. I’ll die slowly, suffocated by the damage.

Somehow, I manage to sputter down spurts of fresh air as he finally relents.

“You’re lying.” His voice is a chilling array of deep, resonating notes—but I’m beginning to pick up on the rare hints of emotion when they do peek through. It’s easy, in a sense, given how flat he usually sounds. Anger adds color to the rich baritone. It will haunt my nightmares forever after this.

If I live…

“Pia, Navid, and Rosa Inglecias. Don’t tell me your father didn’t keep a record of what he did to them.”

Because Roy Pavalos kept records on everything. From political rivals to the names of the lowest-ranked reporter who might be brazen enough to publish an obscure blog post about him. He knew everything about everyone.

Except, it seems, Domino Valenciaga.

“You would know,” I whisper, and he raises an eyebrow, flexing his wrist.

I tense in anticipation of more pressure, but he merely tugs. Just a tease.

“One might think I would,” he says softly. With his free hand, he captures his chin, stroking the dark stubble there.

Of all the times to have this thought, this is the least advantageous. It creeps in regardless, the biting, underlying truth that I always considered him attractive. Repressed, rebellious girls have repressed, rebellious thoughts. Like fantasies of seducing their father’s trusted bodyguard and convincing him to steal her away. I’ve always consoled myself with the caveat that if I truly wanted him, I could have him. After all, I could land any man I wanted with a bat of my eyelashes and a wink.

It was a lie. No matter how many times I tried to meet his gaze in the past, Domino barely paid me any notice. And every taste of his indifference just fed my little private hunger more. There’s something alluring in being ignored. Especially when the whole damn world seems to crave being inside your body. Or your head.

He never seemed to want either.

Now I know why.

“What did my father ever do to you?” I ask, my voice hoarse and broken.

“That is a tale for another day.” Abruptly, he releases my chain and snaps his fingers. “Ines?”

The woman takes just seconds to appear. “Yes, sir?”

“Take Ms. Pavalos to her room. See that she bathes and rests—” His attention returns to me, his tone far more cutting. “You’ll need it, Ada-Maria. Later tonight, we will discuss your transgression and how you may make amends. Adios.”

He walks away, leaving my chain untethered. Dazed, I stare after him, barely aware when a small figure stoops to grab the chain and gently winds it around her fingers.

“Here, Miss—” I jump as Ines appears by my side, pressing something cool against my hand. When glimpsed on my palm, it’s unsettling just how small and delicate the golden chain appears. So light, I barely feel the pressure when held, and yet my throat is on fire. I can only take a few breaths at a time before needing to swallow just to relieve the burn, wincing at the sensation.

“This way,” Ines calls, reaching for my hand.

I find that I can’t tear my gaze from the man pacing the balcony with his back to me. I get the sense that I’ve confused him somehow. I’ve irritated him further.

Everything—from his behavior to the violence I’ve barely let myself relive—feels like I’m only seeing part of some elaborate puzzle. Or a game.

My father was known for them. When other men invited their guests to the strip club or lavish parties, my father hosted chest tournaments fueled by liquor and bets.

If one of you can beat me,he’d say to preface the event, I’ll give you whatever you fucking want. Anything. My house. My money. My ass.

A harsh laugh would trigger everyone else to join in, lightening the mood despite the thrill of competition he loved to foster.

I’ll let you have it all,he claimed. You only need to beat me once.

Suffice to say, no one ever could.