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

  I may have almost been a queen once, but now I’m a little rougher around the edges than royalty might require from a lady—if I’m going to claw my way back onto the throne, who better to do it beside than a man who’s just as rough?

  Maybe I’m just trying to justify my impulsive behaviour, or maybe it’s because I’m a little hot for the way that blue jean jacket tugs on Montoya’s broad shoulders like a waterfall over two powerful boulders, or maybe I’m just crazy. The reasoning hardly matters, I’ve made my decision.

  Screw playing it safe, I’m going for the brute.

  3

  Angel

  I’m not deaf, I can hear the whispers, I just don’t care. I’ve stopped by this stuffy gala for one reason and one reason only: business, and no dirty look from some senator or glare from his mangy wife is going to make me turn back now.

  They can walk on eggshells around me all they want, but I don’t go anywhere on tip-toes. I march, and right now, I’m looking for my next destination. There’s a fat, balding accountant somewhere in this big ballroom who owes me answers, and I’m going to get them from him even if it means pulling a few of his teeth in public. The elites in this room wouldn’t dare do anything about it. They know what I’m about, even if just peripherally, and they know it’s not worth getting in my way.

  “Hello.” A frilly white dove with shiny caramel skin and a bright smile suddenly stands before me, blocking my path. Her shimmering brown eyes barely go up to my chest, and the fact that I have to tilt my neck downwards to meet her gaze only serves to piss me off more. What the hell is this? This woman isn’t fat, she’s not balding, and I doubt she’s an accountant. I’m not here for her or her weirdly traditional outfit. What is this, a fucking quinceaneras?

  “No, thank you.” I wave her off. Stupid girl. She stands like a statue as I march past her. I swear to god, if I made this trip downtown for nothing, someone’s going to pay. André Cuadrado better be here.

  I cut through the overdressed hordes, hunting for my prey. My intel says he’s here, my gut says he’s here, so he’s definitely fucking here, I just have to make the catch.

  It doesn’t take long to spot the loathsome accountant. He’s cornered a waitress by the kitchen door and he’s stuffing appetizers into his slimy gullet. The pig. Getting fat off of my money. I should have known he’d be near the food.

  “Hey!” I shout, and the crowd parts. André slowly turns around, his eyes as wide as the saucers he’s munching off of. He’s not a quick man, and before he can even think about trying to run, I have my fingers clenched around his collar.

  “Angel!” André chokes jovially, like he thinks he can fool me. I’m the last person he wants to see and no greasy smile is going to convince me otherwise. Plus, where does he get off calling me by my first name? He’s not my friend. My grip tightens around his collar as I push him backwards until the fat of his shoulder blades shakes the wall beside the kitchen door. André’s feet flail off the ground, catching my shins in the process; it all only serves to make me angrier.

  “What went wrong with my payment, André!?” There must be a thousand eyes on us right now, a thousand witnesses. Those silent guards out front had all the weapons money could buy, but they also had the brains to recognize me. I’m not here to socialize and the second someone speaks up against me is the second shit will start to get real. Nobody here wants that; they all live in their lavish cocoons and fantasy worlds, and they’re happy to keep it that way.

  André stammers over himself, clearly searching deep into the pit of his excuse-bin for something to ease my anger. What he finally comes up with doesn’t help my temper. “Please, not here, Angel. That’s my son!”

  The fool, like another witness is going to change my mind. I follow his pudgy finger over to an even chubbier young man, who has a pig in a blanket hovering just in front of his gawking lips. There’s little doubt in my mind that they’re related. The kid couldn’t be much younger than me, but I decide to give his scumbag father one small piece of mercy—it’s the only piece he’s going to get.

  “Fine, let’s do this in private,” I growl, sliding André along the wall until his cushy back hits the kitchen door. I push and we blast through into the heat of the galley.

  Flames skip up behind us and sweat drips down the porky accountant’s oily skin. “Why hasn’t the payment gone through on my new building yet?” I demand to know.

  André’s beady eyes search wildly for more excuses, but I hold my gaze just as steady and firm as my grip around his collar. Soon enough, the scared energy drains from his eyes and he’s left to accept that there’s no more running from me or my questions.

  “They haven’t accepted it yet,” André mutters, unable to meet the fire raging in my eyes. His lazy stare droops down to my knuckles. I try to shake some sense back into him.

  “Why not?”

  André hesitates to answer, or maybe he’s just starting to pass out from the heat—another shake seems to wake him up. “They’re having second thoughts about associating with you,” he drools.

  “Bullshit!” I hiss.

  “No, I swear it!” André pleads. “They’re scared... I mean, can you blame them?”

  I take note of the situation I have the accountant in—pinned against a steel counter with flames lashing dangerously close. I guess it’s understandable, to be scared of such things.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I sneer.

  “Because I was scared.”

  I don’t like that answer. “Coward. You weren’t so scared when you took my money.”

  “Money is my job, Angel... this is not.” André gestures meekly to the violent state of our meeting. I toss the useless piece of junk aside and he stumbles on his stumpy legs until he finally manages to catch himself against a knob.

  “So, are they going to reject my offer for the building, then?”

  André lifts himself up, fixing the few remaining strands of thin light brown hair that tumble down his blank forehead. “You have an image problem, Angel,” he wheezes. “And if you ever truly want to go legitimate, you’re going to have to stop acting so... well, like this. At least, in public.”

  He’s not wrong, my advisors have all been spewing similar sentiments, but I’ve tried the quiet route before, and it’s so frustrating that I always come back madder than ever. There isn’t anyone I trust more than myself to do the jobs that need to get done—it doesn’t hurt that I also happen to love the outlet of all this savage violence; it’ll be a cold day in hell when I willfully give it up.

  “And what do you recommend?” I sneer, already knowing the answer.

  “Lay low for a while. Let your hired muscle do all the dirty work. Get a girl, settle down, pay for some puff pieces. Hell, maybe one day you could even run for office. Right now, you’re too wild. Just because you’re the leader of a cartel, doesn’t mean you have to act like one. The most successful criminals are the ones the public can’t distinguish from your average businessman or politician.”

  André seems to realize the mistake of what he just uttered nearly as quickly as I do. My clenched fist is back around his stretched collar before he can even blink.

  “Did you just call me a criminal!?” I whisper furiously, right up close to his ugly mug.

  “Angel... I’m... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean anything by it. It was an honest mistake.”

  What I do for a living is no secret, but saying it out loud is blasphemous. I’m hardly worried about the Colombian authorities, but the American feds have been known to bug events like these, and any word that could be used against me in court is a word that I’m willing to kill for. “There’s nothing honest about you,” I snort, pushing André as far away from me as I can. I’m suddenly done with this scene. I’ve gotten the information I came here for, and it’s not what I wanted to hear. Now, I just need to let off some steam, but turning this fat accountant into a punching bag isn’t going to get me anywhere. I still need him. He’s not out of the woo
ds yet.

  “I’m sorry,” André ogles his fat feet. “But Angel, you should listen—”

  I raise a single finger in the air and the accountant immediately shuts up. “I’m done with you,” I tell him, turning around before stopping in my tracks and taking one last look back at the mess of a man behind me. “Oh, and if you ever call me Angel again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

  André gulps. “Yes, sir, Mr. Montoya...”

  And with that, I’m gone. The crowd in the grand ballroom parts for me as I storm back outside to my motorcycle. The security guards and the bellboys make way and before any one really knows what hit them, I’m back on the open road, looking for a fight.

  “That’s not what I was told,” my top advisor, Juan Arias stares coldly out of my office window. A hot breeze drifts in and lifts the gauzy white drapes up around him, shrouding his figure for a split-second. I lean back in my leather chair and stare at the gothic mural painted on the ceiling.

  “So, you’re saying André lied to me.”

  Juan shrugs and steps away from the window. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying I was told something different. The Diaz developers might have really told André that they were bowing out of our deal because they are scared, but I’m telling you that’s not what they told me.”

  “... What am I going to do about that lying pig?” I hiss to myself, cracking my knuckles and daydreaming about how they’ll feel covered in his thick blood.

  “Angel, you’re missing the forest for the trees,” Juan insists, sitting on the edge of my desk and rapping his jewel encased knuckles against the cherrywood. “André hardly matters in all of this. He’s just a small fry, a middleman with no say in anything.”

  Juan is reasonable as always, but my gut’s telling me that something is off, and I can’t seem to get that gala out of my mind for some reason—I can only assume it’s because of André. He’s a bigger fish in all of this than Juan is willing to consider. “But if the Diaz group is truly afraid of us, then they would probably be too scared to tell us, right?”

  Juan shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have agreed to our offer in the first place if they were really that scared. Sure, there’s been an uptick of necessary violence ever since we shook their hands and signed their documents, but those bastards knew what they were getting into when we came to them.”

  “Maybe they didn’t,” I remark, my mind still attached to that stupid gala. What the hell am I missing?

  “Angel, everyone knows what we do. It’s the worst kept secret in the country.” Juan lifts himself off my desk and runs a heavy hand through his slicked-back hair. “... But that doesn’t mean we have to live up to all that fire and brimstone. Even if the Diaz developers truly aren’t scared of you, of us... it’s not a bad idea to nip your public image problem in the bud before it gets too hard to handle—your display at the gala didn’t exactly do us any favors.”

  I twist in my black leather chair, turning away from Juan. “Speaking of the gala, I want a list with the name of every person that was in attendance, understand? Something about that night isn’t sitting right with me.”

  “We should stay away from most of those people, Angel. They might have been willing to look the other way while you roughed up someone else, but they’re not going to tolerate you going after them. They’re too powerful to stand for that.”

  I turn back around and shake my head. “No, there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  The truth is, I don’t quite know yet. There’s this teasing blank figure floating around in my mind that just won’t leave me alone, and I can’t quite seem to grasp it for long enough to get a clear look. “Just do it,” I command.

  Juan sighs. “Very well.” He’s the only one in this world who can give me attitude like that and live to tell the tale—well, him and my brother Dante. Juan has been working for my family since the days of our father, and after my father passed, alongside my mother, he made sure that Dante and I were taken care of—or, rather, he made sure we weren’t thrown in a grave right beside our parents. Then, when I became of age and decided that I was ready to take back what was mine, he was right there by my side, helping me make things right. So, I can forgive his occasional displays of emotion, especially considering he always ends up doing what I ask.

  “By the way, have you seen Dante lately?” I inquire, when we’ve left my office and called it quits for the day. Despite everything else weighing on my mind, there’s always this constant lingering worry about my little brother. He’s been so distant lately, even more so than usual, and I can’t help but be concerned. I practically raised the bastard, after all—and every time I see him sulking about the compound, I can’t help but feel like maybe I didn’t do enough, like maybe I failed. I hate feeling like a failure.

  “He’s been out of town for the past couple of weeks, but I thought I heard rumblings of him returning today. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  The spoiled brat. I love Dante to death, but I can’t help but be a little jealous of his carefree lifestyle, jetting around the globe with models and celebrities while I’m chained to this golden throne. As the younger brother, Dante’s gotten to revel in all of the benefits of my revived empire, without any of the responsibilities. I’ve tried to give him jobs in the past, but he usually just pawns them off to someone else.

  Oh well, as long as he’s safe. He may be a cruel bastard, but there are already so few people in this world I can trust. The last thing I need is to risk my brother just to keep him busy.

  “Is there anything else?” Juan asks at the end of the hall, before we part ways for the night.

  There is. There always is. Right now, it’s that fucking gala. I just can’t seem to shake it from my mind. What am I missing? “I’d like to speak to André again,” I mention. “He’s left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “I can’t imagine you’re going to get much more out of him,” Juan responds. “I heard you roughed him up pretty publicly, if that doesn’t get him to tell the truth about our delayed payments, then nothing will.”

  I’m not so satisfied. “Find me that son of his,” I sneer. André may think he’s too important to my business to be disposed of, but his son is a different story. Maybe another kind of threat is in order. “I’m going to pay André another visit, but this time I’m going to bring a familiar guest with me.”

  “Very well,” Juan replies, clearly biting his tongue. He knows better than to push back too hard when I’ve got a hunch; it’s worked out well for the both of us in the past, so why start questioning it now?

  “Have a good night, Juan,” I dismiss him.

  “And you, sir.”

  My old advisor slips into the darkness down the hall and I’m finally left alone. But the silence does little to quell my curiosity. For some odd reason, my heart keeps tugging me back to the scene of the gala. What the hell am I missing?

  I don’t wait around for it to come to me. A humid midnight breeze wraps around my body like a wet blanket as I step outside and sniff the air for direction. There’s something out there calling for me, and I’m going to find it.

  Sleep can wait. Right now, I’m hungry for answers.

  4

  Catalina

  Well, this is nice.

  I don’t know what I was expecting. Carlos’s father is an accountant to the stars, numbers-man of nearly every high profile business man and politician in the country, so why did I figure we’d just meet at some greasy burger place in the slums?

  “My lady,” Carlos Cuadrado offers, pulling out my dining chair for me. I respond with a tight-lipped smile and sit. This is the second date I’ve been on in as many days, and I can only hope this one goes better than the last. Carlos isn’t exactly a looker—he’s a little on the plump side, and that’s being generous—but he was one of the few young men that I was introduced to at the gala who didn’t make it seem like they would be doing me such a great favor if we dated. The bastard
s. Do they get off on making a girl feel small? I’ve had enough of that in my life, thank you very much—and that Montoya asshole dismissing me like he did earlier in the night only made me feel all the smaller. I wanted to shrink inside a hole and disappear forever, but I’m not a quitter.

  Still, I haven’t been able to get that loathsome dick out of my mind since he brushed me off so flippantly—but boy have I tried. After my failed stunt with him, I was suddenly all ears to every senator’s son and chocolate factory heir that Mayor Luis wanted to introduce me to. Maybe I had gotten off to a bad start, maybe I really did have to rein in my spice. Hell, my newfound demur demeanour got me enough first dates to fill a week, but I’m hoping I don’t have to go on them all. The first one was bad enough; the sandy-blonde spoiled brat thought I was applying to be one of his maids-with-benefits—like hell I was. He’s lucky I didn’t lunge at him.

  Here’s hoping that Carlos is a little more modest.

  “So, where are you from?” my date asks, stuffing his napkin into his popped collar like a bib.

  I contemplate doing the same. My belly is rumbling with hunger, but I also have to be on my best behaviour. Luis has called me so many times over the past few hours with reminders on how act around these men that I’m starting to think in his voice. Only salads! No spilling! If he wants to, let him order for you!

  Whatever, I can do those things. It’s the disrespect I can’t stand. So far, Carlos has been good on that front.

  “I’m from a little town called Barichara,” I tell him, it’s not a lie. I’ve lived there for years now with Marcela, but it’s not where I’m ‘from’—still, it’s best if I don’t spill all of my dark secrets on this guy right away.

  “Never heard of it,” Carlos says, fiddling with his cutlery and eying the floor for a waiter.