Bad blood

She stares at me, those bright blue eyes wide with something dangerously close to pity. “Do you know the difference?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” With a growl, I slam the glass down so hard, a piece chips off the bottom and skids across the bar.

She sighs. “Santi, you’re my big brother. I love you. But I’m family, not one of your men.” Lowering her gaze, she spins a silver bracelet on her wrist. “I wear the Carrera name, too.” she adds quietly.

“And the Santiago brand.”

Lola stiffens, her palm dropping from her wrist to cover her right hip. “That’s not fair.”

She’s right. She didn’t ask to get stalked and kidnapped by one of our family’s enemies. She didn’t carve a rival cartel’s initial into her own skin.

None of that was her fault.

My sister may have grown up as a cartel princess, but she’s hopelessly idealistic. She still sees the good in people.

“Life isn’t fair, chaparrita. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

I brace for another argument. To my surprise, she inhales a breath and exhales resignation. “Ugh. I outgrew that nickname years ago, Santi.”

She didn’t, but “shorty” likes to think of herself as a cartel badass in stiletto heels.

“Too bad your height didn’t follow suit.”

Groaning at the jab, she leans in and bumps my shoulder. “I’ve missed you, you big asshole.”

My lips twitch, a rare smile threatening to break across my face. “I may have noticed your absence, once or twice.”

“Careful,” she says, lazily spi

Anyone else would be picking up their teeth after such audacity, but my little sister is given liberties no one else is allowed.

In America, I am an island—a solitary extension of Mexico’s underground. An empire of one. The men in my i

Family is priceless. Other than power and vengeance, it’s the only thing I live for, and the one thing I’d die for. And, for as much danger as my sister’s presence brings, it also brings comfort.

Reaching across the bar counter, I tip her chin toward me. “No more surprises, okay? When I give you an order, it’s for a reason.” Her protection and my sanity.

She nods reluctantly, so I let it go.

Lifting my glass, I motion around the bar. “So how long have you been here?”

Her gaze travels toward the empty chair of my soon-to-be-ex-floor manager. “Long enough.”

Growing up as the child of one of the most feared men in the world doesn’t allow for the luxury of ignorance. She knows his fate.

That off-beat silence dances between us again, and this time it’s laced with tension.

As if desperate to change the subject, Lola surveys the bar. “Swanky place, Santi. It’s different.”

And by different, she means flashy.

Un-Carrera-like.

Legado Casino is a purchase my father and I didn’t agree on. The kingpin of Mexico’s Carrera Cartel is old-school. He prefers to fly under the radar. Keep a low profile. Remain an international ghost and blend in.

Fuck that.

I’ve run our East Coast operation his way for two years. All it’s gotten me is a one port cocaine distribution and ridicule on the other side of the river. Now, it’s time to do things my way. I’m making noise and lighting ca

“Different.” I repeat. “So is that dress.” I narrow my eyes at the skimpy black material suctioned to her body like Saran Wrap. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Those pale blue eyes darken. Trophy eyes, my father calls them. Ones that left a string of shattered hearts and broken bones back in Mexico. “Don’t start.”

I don’t plan to.

For now.

“Come on...” Placing my empty glass on the bar, I stand and offer her my hand. “I’ll give you a tour.”

Lola slides out of her chair with a grin. “Does it include a free stop at the blackjack table?”

“No,” I murmur, dragging her behind me.

It’s going to be a long fucking summer.

A half hour later, I’ve paraded Lola through Legado’s main casino floor, four more bars, a world-renowned restaurant, two spas, and finally the executive offices on the third floor.

The minute I open the door, a short, perky blonde pushes away from her desk and catapults herself out of her chair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carrera, Mr. Spader confirmed your appointment for tonight.”

It’s about time.

The Atlantic City Gaming Commissioner has kept me waiting for forty-eight hours. That’s not how I do business. People wait on me, not the other way around.

“Thank you, Audrey.” Pressing my palm against Lola’s back, I maneuver her toward my office, adding over my shoulder, “By the way, you’re fired.”

“I d-don’t...” she stutters, her eyes glazing over. “What did I—?”

Do? Nothing. She’s simply not needed, and I always trim excess.

My focus returns to Lola as she takes a leisurely stroll around the executive office lobby.

“Cheerful setup you have here.” She folds her arms across her chest while taking in the dominant dual color scheme. One that carries through to every single office—especially mine.

Black and red.

Two colors that not only match my mood, but hide more incriminating colors.

Yet I don’t owe her an explanation, so I don’t offer one.

“So, you’ve kept me in suspense long enough.” Circling around me, she perches on the corner of the desk. “What am I going to be doing here all summer? Director of Marketing? VP of Operations?”

“Secretary.”

One word, and my sister’s face drops. “Santi! I’m your sister, not your damn secretary.”

Dios mío. Did I not just order her to stop questioning me?

She needs an internship for college credit, so I’m giving her one.

I’m on her in less than two strides, my hands gripping her slim shoulders. “That’s right; you are my sister. And that’s why I can’t have you flaunting your ass all over my casino. You’re a liability, Lola. I need you in a position that keeps you out of the public eye but always in my sight.”

A muffled sniffle causes me to glance over my shoulder, where I find Audrey watching us with glassy eyes and quivering lips.

“Why are you still here?” I demand.

Blinking, she backs up, nearly tripping over her own feet.

“You okay?” Lola asks. When Audrey nods, she swings her heated gaze back to me. “I don’t want to spend three months locked in an office, Santi.”

“It’s the safest place for both of us,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You have to admit, you’re a goddamn magnet for trouble.”

That’s putting it mildly. Carrera women are the sirens of the underworld.

“Santi, you—”

A crash interrupts her, and we both turn to find Audrey on her hands and knees, frantically shoving the strewn contents of her purse back inside it as if her life depends on it. We watch in silence as she stumbles to her feet, clutching her bag to her chest and trembling as she closes the door behind her.

Lola sighs. “You’re a bastard.”

“Don’t start,” I warn, shoving a finger in her face before turning toward my office with her right on my heels. “She’ll be well compensated for her troubles.”