Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  In the courtyard I see that all the plates and candelabra have been cleared away. Even the lights from the pergola have gone. The setting is no less pretty for the lack of romance but this place is forever tainted. I pause by the table and run my finger lightly across the wooden surface. How different the evening could have gone. The finale would have been the same, though. A shiver of longing courses through me. Dante and I are like two magnets from opposing sides, drawn together by forces we can’t even hope to understand.

  Turning to leave, I notice a small door built into the brickwork. It opens easily to reveal a large paddock. Two horses are grazing nearby. The nearest, a grey, lifts his head in my direction and chews thoughtfully as I edge closer and hook my elbows over the fence to watch them.

  There’s a noise behind me as Dante appears in the doorway too. Instantly my stomach drops and that beat re-awakening between my thighs. He’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt that barely contains those massive shoulders and stretches tight across his broad, muscular chest. I blush as flashbacks from last night steal into my mind. There was a cruelty and viciousness to his touch, but there was an unexpected gentleness too. He calls to a bleaker part of me whilst I seem to curb the very worst of his debasement.

  “Do you ride?” he asks, inclining his head at his horses as he leans his elbows over the fence next to me.

  “Is that a loaded question?” I mutter and a gleam of amusement lifts his grim expression. “No,” I add quickly, “not anymore.”

  How do I tell him that I adore these animals but I haven’t ridden for five years, not since Ryan’s death. How my every waking moment since that day has been a carefully controlled study in risk aversion; that I’ve done everything in my power to avoid more anguish for my parents; that I miss my former life with all of my heart but I don’t have the confidence to go back.

  “How did you know I was here?” I say, changing the subject.

  He points to a small security camera mounted to the corner of the house.

  “Oh. Do you make a habit of spying on women?”

  “Only the ones who hold my attention.”

  “Until the next pretty face comes along…”

  “I’m not interested in pretty. And you can get that thought out of your head because it’s never going to happen.”

  His certainty is dizzying. A look of white-hot heat passes between us. “You have horses here, I never expected that,” I say, moving back from the fence. I need to put up a little distance otherwise I’ll be tumbling headfirst into his darkness again.

  “I have everything you could ever want for here, Eve. You just need to open up your heart and mind and take it.”

  “This will never be my home, Dante.” I scowl at him, trying to add more gravitas to my conviction.

  “It already is, my angel. How many times do I have to say it? You’re mine now. Your old life is inconsequential.”

  “Not to me it isn’t!” I find this argument as exhausting as it is repetitive. He’ll never let me go and I’ll never stop fighting for my freedom. “How big is this place anyway?” I say desperately.

  “Big enough.”

  “That’s not an answer. I thought we were going to be honest with one another?”

  “I didn’t agree to anything. I never explain myself to anyone, you know that.”

  I grit my teeth in frustration. He takes everything and gives me nothing in return. I will never be more than his captive, his pretty little fuck doll to use and abuse at will. Why do I feel so disappointed by this? Do I want more? I stare at his horses again but I barely see them.

  “You like the grey,” he states, following my gaze.

  I nod mutely. “He’s beautiful.”

  “I acquired him three years ago.”

  “Acquired?”

  “Someone owed me.”

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  “I need to go away on business. I leave in an hour,” he announces, watching my reaction carefully.

  Is my heart aching with relief or consternation? Happiness or resentment?

  “How long will you be gone for?” I mutter eventually.

  “A few days at the most. I’m leaving a squad of my best men here to keep you safe.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “Out of the question,” he says brusquely, thrusting his hands into his pockets and tensing that perfect jawline of his. “My destination is hours from Miami.”

  And he’ll never let me leave remember?

  “But I miss America so much.”

  There’s a pause. “The rules of the game have changed now, Eve. What do you think will happen when you leave my protection? That maid,” he adds with an edge to his voice, “the one you have such a vested interest in has kindly announced your name and our… connection to every criminal cartel in the world. If I send you back to Miami I guarantee that in less than twenty-four hours my enemies will have shot you dead in the street.”

  This news ricochets throughout my body. “You did this,” I gasp. “You’ve forced yourself into my life and infected it with your evil… oh my god, my parents!” My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “They’re in danger because of me, because of whatever this is. I have to warn them, Dante!”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “What do you mean?” My knees start buckling beneath me. I clutch at the fence to stop myself from falling.

  “Your parents are safe.”

  They are? For the briefest of moments I dare myself to believe him.

  “They’re more than safe.”

  “How can you be so–?”

  “Imagine the irony of me sending a security detail to protect a DEA agent,” he muses, raising his eyebrows at me.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Why Dante? Why would you that?”

  He shrugs likes its no big deal. “Perhaps, my angel, I’m not such a monster after all.”

  15

  Eve

  I stand on the balcony and listen to the roar of his private aircraft as he departs for an unknown destination, on a mission he refuses to tell me anything about.

  I miss him already.

  The lines between lust and hate have never been more blurred. There is no black and white with us, only these contradictory shades of grey. Will there be other women for him on this trip? A faceless, meek alternative to our passionate fucking that comes with a million caveats? The idea plants a seed of doubt in my mind that keeps me tossing and turning for most of the night. Eventually dawn breaks but I have no phone, no laptop, no way of hearing from him. I’m still locked inside a gilded cage but now I’m pining for my jailor, not my freedom.

  I shower and dress quickly before heading downstairs. Sofía was conspicuously absent from the house for most of yesterday and I still want to talk to her about Valentina.

  I find her in the kitchen preparing a casserole. I stand in the doorway and watch her for a moment, unsure of how to announce my presence. Her head is bowed in concentration but I can see that she’s been crying. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her sweet round face is deathly pale but she still manages to raise a smile when she glances up and spots me.

  “Breakfast, señorita?”

  “Toast would be lovely,” I say, returning her warmth. “And please, called me Eve.”

  She busies herself with my request, removing the butter from the fridge and arranging a selection of spreads on the kitchen island in front of me. They all have American labels and they’re all my favorites – strawberry preserve, creamy peanut butter, Philadelphia cheese…

  “Were these bought for me?” I ask in surprise.

  “Señor Dante requested them four days ago, along with your new clothes and toiletries.”

  Why would he do that?

  And why would he protect my parents?

  He’s caught me off guard again. He’s switched up the rules. It’s all so easy for him, he knows everything about me and I know nothing about him. This inequality is something I’
m going to have to learn to live with. He’s content to give me his body and his gifts and precious little else but right now I’ll take what I can get, especially the five-man protection team watching my family, 24/7.

  “Sofía...?”

  She swings round and the smile freezes on her face. She knows exactly what I’m going to ask her. “Valentina did a bad thing,” she says gravely, shaking her head at me. “You don’t need to worry about her anymore.”

  “Is she ok? Did Dante hurt her?”

  “She got what she deserved, I see that now. Señor Dante is a good man,” she adds, her face unexpectedly softening again. “He is only trying to protect you.”

  A good man? Is she serious? In my world ‘good men’ don’t torture women.

  “I didn’t know… I never should have said…” I trail off helplessly.

  “This is not your fault, señorita, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

  I watch her plate up two pieces of piping-hot toast and then slice up an apple to serve alongside. There’s something so endearing and old-fashioned about her manner. She’s so pretty too…

  “Sofía, have you and Dante ever…?”

  Sofía bursts out laughing, her sweet face creasing up in disbelief. “Oh sweet lord, no! How could you think such a thing?”

  “Does he bring many women to this place?”

  “No señorita,” she says, suppressing a smile. “You’re the first.”

  That’s something, I suppose. Or perhaps I’m just his first foray into kidnapping.

  “Have you worked for him long?”

  “Four years,” she announces proudly.

  “And it doesn’t bother you that he’s a–”

  “Does it bother you?” she snaps, on the defensive. An uncomfortable silence falls between us. “Sorry, señorita, that was uncalled for. Please accept my apologies.”

  “No need,” I say gently, brushing it away. “I had no right to ask you that question.” I watch her rearrange the apple slices on the plate for a second time. My presence is putting her on edge. “Where are you from originally?”

  “Cartagena.”

  “In Colombia?”

  She nods and I watch her wipe down the kitchen surface with a cloth and repeat the same section three times. An unpleasant thought starts to surface in my mind but I subdue it just as quick.

  “Did you know him before you came to work here?”

  “Enjoy your breakfast señorita,” she says, cutting me off again and handing me my plate. I smile back at her ruefully. I hope I haven’t upset her, I know I can be a little tenacious at times.

  Twisting open the lid to the peanut butter, I start to spread thick, oozing layers to each slice of toast. It smells so rich and delicious, like lazy, Sunday mornings lounging about my apartment… I’m overcome by a wave of homesickness then and I drop the knife with a clatter.

  “You’ll see America again soon enough, señorita,” says Sofía gently, handing me a clean one. I accept it but don’t answer. I don’t want to talk about home right now. It’s too painful.

  “Do you blame me?” I say in a rush. “For getting Valentina into trouble?”

  “No, señorita.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Valentina knew what she was doing. She made a bad decision. Señor Dante treats us well. Loyalty is important to him.”

  Her gentle smile is so genuine that for a moment I almost believe Dante isn’t the devil incarnate.

  “Can I ask you a favor, Sofía?” I say, remembering my idea from yesterday. “Can you teach me some Spanish?”

  “Of course! If Señor Dante allows it…”

  “Do you have to ask his permission?” I feel deflated suddenly.

  “Yes, in all things. It’s just the way it has to be.”

  “But…”

  “I serve lunch at midday.”

  The message is crystal clear. No more questions allowed. I grit my teeth and stare down at my plate. “Do you mind if I eat this outside?”

  “Not at all. Señor Dante has granted you access to every area of his compound, all except sector six.”

  “You mean the warehouses?” I say, taking a bite of an apple slice.

  Sofía nods.

  “I’ll steer clear, I promise.”

  “You don’t have a choice, there are over two hundred guards patrolling that site,” she says, dropping her voice to a conspirative whisper. “No one enters there without his permission.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” I sigh, heading for the door.

  I decide to eat my breakfast on the beach. Despite the armed men stationed equidistant all around me, they’re starting to blend in with the scenery. It’s almost like I’m becoming immune to their lethal presence.

  Closing my eyes, I lick my fingers clean of every last trace of peanut butter. If I shut out my thoughts I could almost be back on South Beach, Miami.

  Almost.

  Kicking off my sandals, I dig my toes into the warm sand and watch a white hermit crab scuttle past, half-hidden in his shell. I wish I could have a disguise like that. I can’t do anything in this damn compound without Dante’s consent.

  I finish up the toast and then chase the edges of the tide all the way up to the rock pools at the far point. From here I can finally get a sense of scale about this place. It’s much bigger than I thought. There are miles and miles of beautiful coastline stretching far out into the distance and no hope of an escape. Maybe the best way to save my sanity here is to approach it like an undercover assignment. I don’t have my notebooks but I have a razor-sharp memory. From now on my eyes will miss nothing.

  On my way back to the house I take a detour past sector six. I can’t help myself. When I’m denied entry to a place I have a natural compulsion to go check it out. Is this where Dante’s men live? Is this where they train to be killers for cartels like the Santiagos?

  The barracks consist of eight large structures in total but I can only count their corrugated roofs because there’s a six-foot security fence topped with barbed wire obscuring my view. The men in the security towers nod briskly at me but they never take their hands off their guns for a second. The whole area has an eerie, regimented vibe to it that seems so incongruous next to the sweeping elegance of his mansion.

  Following the road past the barracks, I keep on walking until I find myself at the opposite end of the pony paddock I discovered yesterday. The grey lifts his head as I approach. Holding out the last of my apple slices, he moves leisurely in my direction before burying his velvet mouth in my hand and chopping nosily as I run my hand down his neck and ruffle his mane.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” I croon at him, admiring the flawless dapple markings on his hindquarters. He’s tall, at least 16hh, and his ears are constantly flicking back and forth as he nuzzles my side for more apple. He’s so inquisitive. He hasn’t developed that bored tolerance for humans that I’ve seen in other horses. I wish I could ride him but even if Dante consented I don’t have the nerve.

  “You like him?”

  I turn in surprise. The young guard, Manuel, from the other day is standing right behind me with two other men. He slings his gun behind his back and makes to come and join me by the fence but his companions look horrified. They grab his arm and start speaking in quick-fire Spanish but they’re shrugged off easily enough. The grey nudges me on the shoulder and whickers again as the guard approaches. “I’m not ignoring you, gorgeous,” I smile up at him, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

  “We had many like this where we grew up,” he says, batting the grey lightly on the nose. “This one is such a príncipe… ‘prince’ I think you say.”

  “Like his master,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

  He laughs and I can’t help thinking how attractive he is. He’s shorter and leaner than Dante but his eyes are much lighter and less burdened. “Señor Dante is no prince, he is more like a king… some say he’s the true King of Colombia.”

  They do?

  Immediately the other guys start fi
ring Spanish at him again and Manuel bites back with a retort. In the end they throw their hands up in the air and walk off, muttering darkly to each other.

  “What was all that about?” I ask him.

  The soldier grins. “They don’t think I should be making conversation with Señor Dante’s lady.”

  “Well, you can tell them I’m not Señor Dante’s anything,” I say crossly. “And I have a mind of my own, thanks very much.”

  “Ay-yai-yai! I did not mean to insult.” He throws his arms up in defense with a smile.

  “You didn’t… touchy subject.”

  I like this man. He has an openness and honesty about him, which makes me wonder how the hell he ended up in Dante’s army.

  “Are you from Colombia too?”

  He nods. “Most of us here are.”

  I’m getting that unpleasant feeling again but I slide it right to the back of my mind. Meanwhile the grey has given up on the lack of apple and attention and has wandered off to join the other horse.

  “What’s his name?” I ask, gazing after him.

  “Tramposa.”

  “Is that Spanish? What does it mean?”

  “Trickster, cheater.”

  “Does Dante name all his horses after his character flaws?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and laughs again. “I respect my jefe too much to answer that. Would you like me to saddle him up for you?”

  “Manuel!” calls a sharp voice, causing Tramposa and the other horse to throw their heads up. The smile drops from the guard’s face and he leaps away from me with a curse.

  A giant of a man is striding up the road towards us with the same unflinching, alpha swagger as Dante. He’s the man from the other night and I blush when I remember how much I’d kicked off in his arms.