Tainted blood

Like I wasn’t even a Carrera.

My father pins me with a lethal stare. “Remember that hate, Santi. Feed it. Build upon it. Use it to your advantage. But whatever you do, never underestimate the same hate that burns for you.”

“So, who will be joining me in this ring of fire?”

His lips twitch. “It remains to be seen. The universe has seen fit to deny Santiago an heir.” The twitch becomes a smirk. “Still, a rebel can’t escape his destiny.”

I have no idea what he means. Pápa has never been one for directness. He enjoys pulling people’s strings and making them dance for his own entertainment—until he’s bored enough to cut them and get to the point.

I usually don’t take the bait... But this has my attention.

“Who would anyone try to run from power?”

“You’d be surprised. Not everyone is like you, Santi.” The pride in his voice makes my chest swell. “But there are some who refuse to see the value in our way of life.”

Then those people are as blind as they are short-sighted. Respect is everything in this world. When I grow up, I’ll have everyone’s, one way or another.

“Who are these idiotas?” I scoff.

“The sons of Santiago’s second-in-command and a close business associate. They’ll form the next generation of the Santiago Cartel, despite their present distaste for it.”

“Does this ‘dream team’ have names?” My sarcasm is pushing boundaries, but he doesn’t look pissed about it. Instead, he seems amused by my newly-inflated balls.

“Edier Grayson and Sam Sanders.”

I test them out in my head, deciding I don’t care much for either one.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his stare turning deadly. “Grayson is the older of the two.”

That must be who was driving the sedan. Which, by default, makes the jackass with the big mouth Sanders. I grit my teeth, his words cemented in my head.

“He’s a Carrera. He’s their look-out. He gave the signal. Don’t you see? This whole meeting was a trap. He deserves to die like a dog for that.”

No, he deserves to die for being a lying shit. It’s just like pápa has always told me—a Santiago doesn’t deal in truth, he plays whatever narrative fits his needs. 

I could’ve died right there in the goddamn snow, protecting the girl, and it wouldn’t have mattered. To them, I’ll never be more than that dog who should’ve stained the snow red.

I hope pápa is right. I hope someday those two boys accept their destiny. Then, when I’m in charge, I’ll show them exactly who deserves to die. 

But that still leaves one unanswered question… Who is the girl in the red toboggan?

“Muñequita,” I murmur.

“What was that?”

I shake my head quickly. “Nothing.”

I’ve already told my father about the stolen sedan parked outside the church, but I’ve said nothing about who was inside it. And I sure as hell don’t tell him about her.

Choices have consequences.

There’s a stretch of silence as pápa drains what’s left in his glass, then clears his throat. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts. How’s your side?”

“Filleted.”

I laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to have been born into a normal family. One that watches America’s Most Wanted instead of starring in it.

“Get some sleep, son,” he says, rising slowly from his seat. “We have about four hours until we land in Mexico City.” He motions toward my swollen eye. “We’ll both need our strength to deal with your mother once she sees your face.” With that, he disappears into the small bedroom at the back of the jet.

Left alone with a million questions, I recline my chair, allowing a single word to stain my lips once more.

Someday, I’ll return.

To rule.

To reign.

To blur the sky with bullets.

Someday, I’ll see my muñequita again. And when I do, I’ll tell her about the night I chose her i