Blood Ties by Lana Sky
Chapter Sixteen
Ihate the feeling of his breath on my breasts. Even if I don’t move to escape the punishing bursts of heat, I hate it. I hate how he holds me after, like he didn’t just insult me moments ago. Like the feel of my body in his arms is enough to please a man like him.
Someone so violent, so vicious.
I despise the way he can lull me into a false sense of security before I even realize it. Only when his nostrils flare, and his brows furrow do I remember where we are. Who I am.
And what he’s done.
“What are you doing?” I ask him in a whisper.
That simple question flips a switch in him. “My Ada,” he growls, shoving me from his chest as he rolls onto his side, putting his back to me. “Still begging.”
I don’t bother to deny him. I’m too tired. I merely lie back, looking up at the ceiling and count the many ways I’ve let him regain the upper hand again.
On second thought, denying him is the only modicum of power I have left. Still, not in the outright sense of the word. It’s more subtle than that, lurking in all the things he hasn’t said just yet.
“Why Domino?” I ask of the darkness surrounding us, so thick I can only see the outline of his muscular back, ghosted by a hint of pale light coming in through the windows. “Why that name?”
It’s so long before he so much as sighs in response. I think he won’t reply at all.
“Because Navid Inglecias is dead,” he says, startling me.
At first, I think literally—that he’s revealing yet another twist to this wicked plot he’s set into motion. Then I realize that he would sound far smugger if that were the case.
Not…exhausted.
“He died of a congenital heart condition,” he adds. “The poor bastard.”
“Why pick Domino?” I ask, though I’m not sure why I’m even curious. His origin means nothing as it relates to my ultimate fate. One he seems resigned to.
“If you were listening closely, Ada, I think you might be able to put the pieces together all by yourself.”
I bristle at the brush-off. Then I remember a name he mentioned once. Domin… Domingas.
“Carlos Domingas,” I say. “Did you pick the name as an homage to him?”
“Again, you prove that you are nowhere near as dumb as you pretend to be,” he says.
A compliment? “I don’t think even Don Roy made that connection.”
I can see how the name would appeal to someone like him. He could rub his true allegiance in the face of his enemy from the start. Considering how long my father kept him around, maybe he never made the connection at all.
“What about Valenciaga?”
I expect that he won’t answer directly or spin another riddle at my expense.
“My mother…”
Something in my chest gives way, startling me at the intensity of the emotion. Is this sympathy? When applied to him, I can’t tell.
I don’t remember Mrs. Inglecias much. Just that she was a kind, beautiful woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes. Pia spoke of her rarely, but I got the sense she respected her in a way I never would my own mother.
“Her mother’s maiden name,” he adds, his voice gruff. “An obscure enough distinction to hopefully go unnoticed by Roy Pavalos.”
He put a lot of thought into this, I realize. He had to in order to go five years undetected. The level of depth is mind-blowing, especially when I consider the trajectory of my life during the same amount of time. I lived in my parents’ home, on my father’s dime, and I implicitly trusted any man he brought into our orbit. Before now, if I had been forced to guess which of my father’s associates would have betrayed him, Domino would have been at the very bottom of the list. I would have never imagined he could be Navid, either. Namely for one reason.
“Your heart? How did you afford it?” I ask, rolling on my side. The box spring isn’t as forgiving as the mattress would be, and the material protests in grating creaks with every movement.
He sighs. “I’ll humor you, Ada-Maria. Would you like the long version or the short?”
I’m surprisingly curious to hear any ounce of information he’ll give, but I’m not foolish enough to waste his amicable mood on one story.
“Short,” I say, to play it safe and hope he hasn’t grown bored of me yet.
“As a favor to my mother, a kind, mysterious benefactor gave it to me out of the goodness of his heart. How is that explanation?”
“A lie,” I suspect. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their heart.”
Not even him, apparently.
“I’ll let you put the pieces together,” he says, cryptic once again. “In the meantime, I suggest you shut that pretty mouth of yours, unless it’s to beg.”
Because Jaguar is coming tomorrow.
And I have no idea what that heralds for me.
