Envy: A Dark Mafia Romance (Criminal Sins Book 1) Read online

  Catalina

  Three months earlier...

  “Ugh, it’s so stuffy!”

  The traditional Colombian dress tightens around my waist in suffocating bunches, it’s white frills and colorful yellow lining washing down my legs like sand dunes until they cover my feet, hiding all of my well-earned curves along the way.

  “Shush, girl. You’re not in America anymore. If you’re going to get a powerful Colombian man, you’re going to need to show off your roots, not your butt!” Marcela giggles, tugging one of my shoulder straps up my arm. I get the other one myself.

  “These are barely my roots,” I roll my eyes. “And it won’t be any of theirs, either. From what I’ve heard, none of these powerful families spend much time in Colombia at all; their kids are all like me, educated abroad.”

  “Sure, sure,” Marcela dismisses, picking up the eyeliner brush for another touch up. “But it’s not about reality with these people, it’s about appearance. Sure, most of the influential men at this gala will have grown up far from these hills, only coming back in the summer to vacation, or in the fall to open buildings, or in the winter to run for office, but they don’t want the common man to know that—and if they see you dressed up like this, they’ll know they’re not just getting a hot, fiery-piece of Carne Asada, but also a political tool they can use in the spotlight.”

  I check out my fractured reflection in the cracked glass mirror bolted over Marcela’s fireplace. “I’m no tool...” I whisper out loud, though it’s more for myself than anyone else. “I may be looking for a marriage of convenience, but if any man thinks they can use me for their own personal gain without giving me something in return, they better be prepared to see me walk away,” I twist my hips, popping out my butt in a sassy show of defiance. “At least they’ll have a nice view.”

  Marcela just shakes her head. “You better get all of that fire out of you now, there will be no room for it at the gala. The men you’ll be meeting aren’t like the men of this town; they won’t be used to women who talk back. They’ll want docile and subservient, and if you want any chance of landing a good one, that’s what you’ll have to make them believe you are.”

  I huff sarcastically and slouch my shoulders, breaking the impeccable posture that Marcela has whipped into me over the years. “I won’t be able to hide my true self forever.”

  “Just until they put a ring on your pretty little finger,” Marcela half-jokes, throwing the eyeliner brush aside and stepping back to admire her handywork.

  “I was already supposed to be a queen by now...” I remind her for the 10000th time, sighing a little more somberly than our playful little banter may warrant. The memory of what I’ve been stripped of, and how I was stripped of it, always manages to darken my mood to a dangerous extent. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, heavy storm clouds are always just around the corner, threatening to crush me under their dark weight; the only way to hold them off is with a little bit of inner fire.

  Marcela pats me on the back of my hand sympathetically. “I know, dear, and you will be again, but only if you play by the rules, their rules.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, but what other choice do I have? I’m practically stuck in Colombia because of my family’s lengthy criminal record. All of the other good countries in the world are shut off to me, along with every opportunity that they could provide. My only way out is to meet someone good and powerful enough to wipe my slate clean. “Whatever,” I pout, dismissing my sadness for cheek, “as long as they speak English. My Spanish is rusty...”

  “Just don’t lose your head,” Marcela warns, referencing to my famously spicy temper. It’s not my fault I act on impulse sometimes, it’s in my blood.

  Some good that did my parents...

  I shake that negativity from my head.

  “No promises.”

  “Ms. Alzate,” the bellboy practically bows as he opens up the front door of the Grand Casa hotel in downtown Cali for me. I smile back at him, strutting inside while desperately trying to swat away all the gnawing insecurities about being in such a lavish place. I deserve to be here, I remind myself, unsure if it’s true or not, don’t let anyone tell you any different!

  I’m pointed down a dimly lit hallway. The extravagant walls are lined with larger than life portraits of conquistadors and kings, each bordered by polished white marble statues of tiny cherubs and heroic angels—they’re a nice change of pace from the ominous grey gargoyles that loom outside. I follow the sconce lights to the towering double doors at the end of a dark red carpet. I’m either later than I thought or earlier than I expected, because there isn’t another soul to be seen on my walk to the ballroom, other than the security who stand out front of the giant angel wing doors.

  Maybe this was a mistake. My gut tightens and I subtly scan my surroundings for some route of escape. It’s not like I’m being led to an execution chamber, but after all that I’ve been through in my life, it’s become a second instinct to always be looking for a way out.

  There aren’t any false doors or trick lights to disappear behind, though. Of course. These people I’m trying to integrate with aren’t criminals—at least, not in the common sense. They don’t fear for their lives every second of every day. They aren’t in need of quick escapes. In fact, the last thing any of them probably ever want to think about is leaving their inner sanctum of power and influence and control. Their big worry is keeping people out; keeping people like me out. Well, they’ve made a big mistake, because I’ve finally gotten an invitation into the big-boys room, and I’m not leaving without something important—even if that means I have to stuff some silverware down my panties on the way out.

  The coral-winged ballroom doors are guarded by four gigantic men wearing dark suits and even darker demeanors. I catch my reflection in their black sunglasses as I approach. My white dress flutters like a grounded dove as I pull out my invitation and hand it to the nearest agent.

  He’s not as friendly or knowledgeable as the bellboy out front. I’m left to stand in the hallway while he turns his back and disappears behind a small door carved into the wall. My stomach rolls with nerves and I desperately try to control my breathing. The closer I get to my destination, the more anxious I become. This is a big moment in my life, and what I make of tonight will have huge ramifications for me and my bloodline from now until the end of time.

  I can’t screw this up—but first, I need to be let in.

  It feels like an eternity before that small semi-hidden door just off to the side of the grand ballroom entrance squeaks back open. The giant security guard ducks under the doorway and gives a subtle nod to his companions. I wonder if he works for the government? Probably. From what I’ve heard, there will be plenty of mayors and senators at this shindig, and they’ve all brought their spoiled sons to gawk at what their country has to offer them.

  It takes two of the burly agents to push open the epic double doors before me. I straighten up and take a deep breath as the chitter chatter from inside the ballroom washes over me like a roaring wave. I’m nearly overcome by the weight of it all before I can even take my first step inside, but somehow, I manage. I always somehow seem to manage.

  Whether anyone notices my entrance or not is hard to tell—I’m too focused on not tripping over my strappy sandals to look anyone in the eyes—but the moment I hear the doors click shut behind me, the world goes quiet.

  Blood rushes to my ears; the only sound is my breathing. I want to close my eyes and gather myself, but I know if anyone is watching, doing such a thing will make me look weak. I can pretend to be docile and subservient all I want, but I can’t appear to be weak. I won’t appear to be weak.

  “Ah, Catalina, I’m so glad you made it!” The semi-familiar voice is muffled at first, but when a smooth hand gently falls upon my shoulder, the oppressive silence that has invaded me dissolves and is replaced by that overbearing chitter chatter that echoes off the unending ballroom walls.

  I follow the hand t
hat has brought me back down to earth and I can’t help but let a natural smile slip. It’s Luis Morelos, the mayor of the little town I’ve been living in for god-knows how long now. He’s who invited me here; he’s who has been sheltering me, despite my past, despite my family’s underworld connections, despite the darkness that seems to follow me everywhere I go. He’s a good man, and I’m glad to see him. I’m even more thankful for the opportunity he’s provided me: a way out. A path back to normalcy—well, my normal.

  “Mr. Morelos,” I curtsy. He chuckles and studies my traditional garb, an impressed scrunch coming over his face.

  “I like the dress, very appropriate.”

  I do a quick scan of the room. All of the men are dressed in perfectly fitted designer suits. Most of the woman are in gorgeous gowns that show off their tall slender figures. “I feel a little underdressed,” I think out loud.

  “Nonsense,” Luis chuckles. “Marcela was right to have you wear it. I wonder where she got the idea from?” A sly smile tiptoes on his lips as he taps his nose suggestively.

  The distinguished man couldn’t be over 65. He has thick salt and pepper hair and smart brown eyes and a face that says he’s seen some hard days but those are long behind him now. He’s been a government worker for some time, and he’s managed to squeeze his way into some pretty high circles.

  I politely giggle at his playfulness. Luis has been good to me, even if I know his intentions aren’t completely altruistic. He’s well aware of the slice of power my family left behind in their destruction, and he knows that once I get with the right crowd, I’ll be in a position to reclaim some of that wealth and influence. He thinks that he’ll be first in line to prosper from my resurgence—and, well, he’s not wrong. If things go as planned, then I’ll make sure he gets his slice of my pie. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have been given this chance to get my foot in the door. Now, it’s up to me not to screw it all up.

  If only I could trust myself as much as others seem to trust me.

  “Let me introduce you to some people,” he offers, pointing me forward through the crowd of nearly indistinguishable wealthy people. I spot another darker skinned girl in a traditional outfit similar to mine. She slides through the crowd like a ghost before disappearing behind a wall of shiny suits and glittery dresses. My stomach lurches a little at the idea that we’re both being put on a sort of auction block. I wonder if she’s been through anything like what I have, or if she’s just a beautiful village girl some scout picked up on his way home from a vacation in the countryside?

  “Catalina, this is Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, and this is their son Mateus,” Luis snaps me back to reality with a subtle nudge to the elbow. “He just graduated from Oxford law school this past spring, right?”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Martinez proudly booms. He clasps a vise grip around his slender son’s shoulder and shakes. The pale young man smiles coyly and seems to be making a great effort not to take too much pride in his accomplishment. “Top of his class!”

  I go into auto-pilot, lifting my cheeks with a polite smile and even bowing ever so slightly as I reach out my hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you all,” I say. The dad takes my hand first, but it’s the heat of the mom’s eyes that really hit me hardest. She’s staring me down like a butcher judging her fresh meat. Am I up to grade? Am I worthy of her son’s fine palate? I can’t imagine my simple dress is helping my cause in her judgmental eyes. A fire flickers alive in my belly at the challenge, but I stifle it with a kick. I’m not here to tell off snooty moms, I’m here to bag one of their rich sons. “I’m Catalina.”

  “Ah, she speaks good English,” the mom remarks, acting like she hasn’t already heard my name twice.

  “I went to school in America,” I explain, fighting back the fire in my belly with all my might. God, I hope this guy isn’t interested in me, I already know visiting these in-laws will be a different kind of hell.

  “Ah, yes,” Mrs. Martinez retorts. “They have much better public schools there than we do here.” I let the little jab pass, not bothering to correct her. Mrs. Martinez doesn’t need to know that I went to one of the most prestigious private schools that money can buy—for a few semesters, at least. I’ll keep the darkness of my history at bay for as long as possible with these people. They don’t need to know my past, not yet.

  I turn my attention away from her and let my eyes fall on Mateus. He’s cute, in a thin geeky kind of way, but his gaze doesn’t meet mine. Instead, he seems to be trying to find a way to see through my modest dress.

  Ugh, pervert. Whatever, at least he’s interested. Isn’t that what I’m here for?

  Before Mateus can say anything inappropriate, or really anything at all, a sharp roar cuts through the ballroom walls. All eyes turn away from their conversation as an annoyed hush temporarily ripples through the stuffy room while the rumbling rips by. It seems to stop at the far corner of the grand room, idling for a moment, like a very loud motorcycle, before finally cutting off.

  “I guess that means Montoya’s here,” Mateus hisses condescendingly, after a moment of awkward silence. His rich brown eyes nearly roll out of his head, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t be saying such things in the presence of whoever he’s talking about.

  “Who’s Montoya?” I find myself asking. The curiosity of that thunderous roar is vibrating behind my chest like a divining rod. How out of place that sound was amongst all of this hushed civility...

  “A brute,” Mateus scoffs.

  Sounds fun. “What’s a brute doing at an event like this?” For some reason, I want to tease Mateus, not cater to him. Maybe it’s just an instinctive defence mechanism against his critical mother, or a rebellion against his wandering eyes, but I know immediately that this isn’t the man I’m going to use to get back to where I belong. I’d break him like a twig before he could ever put a ring around my finger.

  “Probably looking for some easy pickings,” Mateus smirks back. His x-ray specs are on me again. There’s barely any cleavage on this heavy skirt, but that’s not stopping this kid’s slimy gaze from slithering down my neck like a garden snake.

  Still, I can’t help but laugh. There’s some fire in this creep yet. He’s practically calling me a whore. Fine. I’ll show him a whore. Where’s this Montoya fellow anyway? “I’ll let him know if I find any,” I subtly sneer back, before I feel Luis’s hand gently wrap around my wrist and tug me backwards.

  “Excuse us for a second,” the mayor smiles, tight-lipped and clearly a little ticked-off. When I’ve been dragged behind a group of oblivious gala-goers, Luis finally stops and I’m able to wrestle my wrist free from his grip. I cross my arms defiantly, feeling childish, but already knowing what he’s going to say. I already know that he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “What was that!?” Luis whispers, desperately trying to keep his frustration hidden from the other guests. “Didn’t Marcela tell you that these aren’t like the men back home? These guys don’t want a challenge, they want a servant.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be that kid’s servant,” I grit.

  Luis pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a step back. “Mateus is from a very wealthy and influential family, Catalina. His dad is chief of police in Cali, his mom’s an heiress, he could be president some day!”

  “So, I guess I’m not going to be first lady,” I respond flippantly. “There are other men here, no? Why get stuck on one weedy brat?”

  Luis sighs. “Mateus was a good match for you.”

  “Not anymore,” I smirk, very aware of how stupid I’m acting.

  Before I have a moment to collect myself and re-calculate the reality of my position, the grand ballroom doors blast open, and the crowd that surrounds us seemingly parts in response.

  Another hushed whirl fills the air as my gaze lands on a tall dark man in a blue denim jacket and black aviator sunglasses. His black windswept hair barely budges as he marches into the ballroom, more like a soldier than a
rebel—but he looks so out of place among the suits and the dresses that I can’t seem to see him as anything other than a hunky insurgent.

  No security guard comes to check him, though. In fact, those big burly men who watch the door seem to cower behind the biker.

  A biker. At a gala. God, what a douche. Who shows up to an event like this dressed like that? A fire broils in my belly, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m just as annoyed as every other stuffy person in here, or if it’s because I actually kind of respect the act.

  Slowly, the blood rushes from my ears and I hear the new arrivals name being whispered on the wind. Montoya. So, that must be him. I wonder how much it would piss someone like Mateus off if I threw myself at someone like that?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  I don’t get far before Luis’s fingers are back around my wrist. I’m tugged to a standstill. “No, he’s off limits,” the nervous mayor says, but that just makes the fire in my belly all the hotter.

  He should know better than to forbid me from anything, especially when I’m in this type of mood. I wrestle free from his grip. “He’s rich, right?”

  Luis gives a reluctant grunt that confirms my hunch.

  “And he’s powerful? Connected?”

  Another grunt in the positive.

  “So, what’s the harm?”

  “You’ll become an instant pariah,” Luis whispers as I slip away into the crowd.

  His words hardly deter me. I welcome the challenge. My nerves seem to melt away in the fire of this type of competition. It feels like I’ve already chosen my path—I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, I usually do, but when I get like this, not even I can stop myself.

  Plus, there’s something about the tall, broad, brooding stranger in the dusty jean jacket that has me locked in. The closer I get, the hotter I become. Montoya looks more like a bad boy from back home than the hoity-toity ‘men’ who Luis expects me to court. If I have to play this high-stakes game, why not at least do it my way?