Chapter Fifteen

Naz

" S tay in the car, mi alma ," I murmur, staring out at the mansion where she grew up.

"Naz," she says softly, my name a protest on her lips.

"Please, little one."

She huffs a breath, grumbling quietly. "Fine. But if you get hit again tonight, it's your only fault."

The ghost of a smile paints my lips as I glance over at her. "You think he'll hit me?"

She shrugs, her expression disgruntled. But I see the anxiety behind the mask, the worry. Even now, she fears for my safety, worries that we've pushed her father too far. And perhaps we did. Perhaps we should have handled shit a different way, gone about us all fucking different. Too late. We didn't.

And I know something she doesn't. Sullivan may hate me for taking her…but he loves her infinitely more. And Rojas just declared war on both our houses. On her. Nothing unites motherfuckers like us quite like giving us a mutual enemy to hate, to destroy.

It's time to destroy.

I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, watching the way irritation bleeds from her eyes, replaced with lust. It's good to see, not because we have time to fuck right now—we don't—but because after the trauma of tonight, I wasn't sure what to expect with her. But Brynna is a princesa to her fucking core. My princesa . She doesn't break. She's soft, malleable, able to endure because she can adapt.

People like me and Sullivan, people like Nicolas, we tend to think you need to be the opposite. That this world takes darkness and granite skin to survive it. People like Brynna know better. They live better. They endure because they adapt. They survive because it's who they are. It didn't have to be beat into them like it did with us. They were born with souls that never flag, with light that can't be tarnished no matter how much bullshit is poured over it.

"He isn't going to hit me, mi amor . Trust me."

Those are the magic words, the ones she can't resist. She trusts me the same way I trust her—with every fucking piece of me.

"Okay," she whispers.

I brush my lips across her crown, breathing her in, saying a prayer. That she's mine. That she's here. That Nicolas didn't get his filthy fucking hands on her.

"As soon as this is done, I'm going to work on putting my kid in you, mi alma ," I murmur.

She shivers, whimpering quietly. I know she wants it. She wouldn't let me fuck her the way I do if she didn't. Who knows? Maybe planting my kid in her will soften her bastard of a father. Heirs have a way of doing that.

I climb from the SUV, striding toward the front door. It takes five minutes of constant banging before Sullivan practically rips it off the hinges to glower at me.

"You've got a lot of fucking nerve, Leyva," he snarls, hatred painted across his face. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you right fucking here."

"I'll give you three. Follow me." I don't wait to see if he's following, I just turn on my heel, heading back toward the car.

Five seconds later, he mutters a curse, stomping out after me. His steps falter when he sees Brynna sitting in the passenger seat, but when she meets his gaze, he quickly glances away.

Stubborn fool.

I lead him to the back of the SUV, using my key fob to open the hatch.

He rears back when he sees Nicolas and Juan hog-tied inside, both bloody and battered. Both beaten within an inch of their lives. Neither is conscious now, but they were for most of what I did to them. I made sure of that.

I'm going to have to burn the SUV to get rid of this evidence, but the state they're in? Every one of their screams was fucking worth the effort.

"What the fuck is this, Leyva?" Sullivan growls, his eyes locked on the men in the cargo hold.

"A gift," I murmur. "Torture him. Kill him. Make him suffer however the fuck you want."

"Why?"

"He's been giving you information about my organization for the last year, and you never stopped to question why. He works for Rojas, Sullivan. Did you really think Rojas would leave you alive when he was done using you in his little game? If you did, you're a fucking idiot."

Sullivan's mouth tightens. "Don't piss me off, Leyva."

"No," I snarl, beyond playing nice. "You don't piss me off, Sullivan. They attacked tonight. They put their fucking hands on your daughter. And you could have stopped it ." I glower at him, rage boiling in my veins. "She's the only reason I'm not lining your body up beside theirs. She loves you. She needs you. So you don't piss me off, motherfucker. Take your gift and be grateful I'm standing here at all."

"Jesus," Nolan mutters, cracking. His hand shakes as he brushes it down his face, glancing toward the front of the SUV where Brynna sits in the passenger seat. He can't hide the worried lights in his eyes, the guilt or fear. "They attacked her?"

"Yeah, they attacked her." I slam the cargo hold closed, meeting his gaze. "It's the last fucking mistake Rojas will make. You may hate me. I don't care. But right now, I need you to hate him more. If she matters to you even half as much as she matters to me, love her enough to hate him more."

Nolan eyes me for a long moment and then jerks his chin in a nod, his expression softening incrementally, as if, for once, he's seeing what's right in front of him. He realizes that Brynna isn't a game to me. She's something I'll die to protect. "What do you need me to do, Nazario?"

I meet his gaze, mine filled with rage so cold it's turned to ice. "Keep her safe no matter what because every single motherfucker Rojas planted in my organization is going to die."

Nolan stares at me for a long silent moment, shock and distrust warring in his eyes. He wants to believe me, but he's spent so long looking for the knife in his back, he doesn't even know what the word means anymore. But he does understand love. He had a wife. He has a daughter and a son he loves, even when he fucks it all up. And that's what sways him now. "You're really going to kill your own men for my daughter?"

"They aren't my men. They belong to Rojas." I meet his gaze, letting him read the truth in mine. "And I'll kill anyone I have to kill because tonight is the one and only time anyone will ever paint a target on her back. I'm not you, Sullivan. I won't wait for them to come and pick them off one by one every time they insult or target her. I'm going to bathe this city in blood until every motherfucker in it knows exactly what'll happen if they even look in her direction."

"And Rojas?" Sullivan asks.

I smile coldly, viciously. "Felipe Rojas is already dead. His goddamn body just hasn't realized that it's time to stop flailing yet."

"Good," Sullivan grunts, satisfaction glinting deep in his eyes. "Destroy the motherfucker, Nazario."

"Keep her safe, Sullivan. Don't let anyone near her while I'm gone."

He jerks his chin in a nod, eyeing me sideways. "I'm still not on board with this."

"And I still don't care," I mutter. "Neither does she. She loves you, but her place is at my side. You won't stop her. You won't stop me, either. So you can either get used to the idea and keep your daughter in your life, or you can cut off your own goddamn nose to spite your face. The decision is yours. But you and I are done with this bullshit. This is the last time she'll be in the middle between us. Take it or leave it."

I don't wait for him to respond, instead striding around to the passenger side to wrench open the door. I kneel beside the car, at her feet. She reaches out for me immediately, placing her hand against my cheek. Her bottom lip quivers.

"I have to go, little one," I murmur, turning my face into her palm. "I love you."

"Please be careful," she pleads, those emerald eyes eating me alive, as if she's afraid this is the last time she'll see me. But that isn't going to happen, not today or any other day. This pretty little princesa is mine. Nothing is taking her from me—not her father, not Rojas, and certainly not death.

It takes three days to purge my organization of the stain Rojas placed upon it. I spill more blood than I can clean off, kill more than I can count. It doesn't cool my rage any.

Nothing does that until I slip through Felipe Rojas's bedroom window outside Barranquilla on day five, exhausted, covered in blood…and as calm as the goddamn eye of the storm.

I settle into an armchair in the corner to wait, a bloody bag on my lap. Patient. Cold.

He stumbles in nearly an hour after I begin my vigil, an old fucking man with a lifetime of brutality beneath his belt. He's changed since I last saw him. He's pushing seventy, his hair gray, his face lined. His hazel eyes are still the same—still cold, devoid of emotion.

He doesn't see me at first, too confident that he's untouchable in his own kingdom, that no one would dare come for him here. Most wouldn't. They're too terrified to even consider it. This man has no soul. He's a goddamn demon, hungry only for pain and misery. Seeking only to be worshipped, to rule.

But he created a monster a little bit too much like him in me. This fucking war between us twisted my soul, shaping me in his image instead of the image of my own father. I've got a little bit of demon in me too. He put it there.

He freezes when he finally sees me sitting there like I own the goddamn place.

" Qué putas ?" he growls.

"What? Did you think I wouldn't come for you when I was finished killing all your fucking people, Rojas?" I ask, arching a brow, my expression cold. "You aren't that stupid, are you?"

His hand slides toward the gun at his waistband. Even here, he stays strapped. Even here, he trusts no one. I point mine at him.

"Don't even try it, motherfucker," I growl. "I'll paint the goddamn walls with your brains before you can touch it."

"You will never get out of here alive, Leyva."

"Then we'll die together, Rojas."

He eyes me critically, assessing, calculating, trying to find a way out of this, one where he manipulates me, I'm sure. But that isn't happening. There is no way out for him this time. I should have done this shit a long time ago, but he's always seemed untouchable, the goddamn boogey man I had to fight. Not anymore. I don't care if it throws the entire fucking region into chaos, upends the drug market, and my own empire. He dies tonight.

"What's in the bag, Leyva?" He nods at it.

I scoop it from my lap, tossing it across the room toward him. It lands at his feet, blood splattering the pretty white carpet.

Rojas glances at it warily.

"You like to collect things from your victims, no? I've heard that about you, Rojas. A finger. An entire hand. Some fucked-up momento so when their families look at the body, they know who was responsible and they fear you." I motion at the bag with the gun. "I collected a few for you."

He glances at me, amusement curling his lips. "These are not my victims, Leyva."

"Yeah, they are," I say softly. "All twenty-three men you planted in my organization are your responsibility, you prick. They're dead because of you. Because you can't stand to fucking fail."

"I've failed at nothing."

"The fact that I'm alive says otherwise." I smirk at him, cold and vicious. "You wanted my family gone, wanted the Leyva name to fall. You massacred my entire goddamn family to achieve it. But you never could kill me, Rojas. You were too fucking stupid to accomplish it."

"If I had wanted you dead, you would have died, Leyva," he snaps, his voice hard, angry. "Perhaps you lived because you were more useful alive. Look at what I've done, malparido . You were on the throne, and I've still infected your organization. I've still taken what I wanted, when I wanted. Your father's people wouldn't follow me outright so I gave them war. They've marched to my orders and thought they were railing against me for years."

Shit. Maybe he's right. He's kept this entire country at each other's throats, kept the entire damn drug trade in turmoil. We've fought and clawed for as long as I can remember, trying to hold him off. And he's the only one who has come out ahead.

But the game has changed. I have. I'm done dancing on strings just because I've got a fucking crown on my head. I didn't sign up for this life any more than Brynna did. So I'm not doing shit his way or anyone else's. Not anymore. It's my motherfucking way. The god of war needs to die. And so does the motherfucker who birthed him.

"Maybe so. Maybe you did infect my organization. Maybe you did have us dancing on your strings," I acknowledge, pointing the gun at him again. "But I'm fucking done, Rojas. This war is over. You never should have let your men touch her. That's what kills you in the end. Not your fucking drugs. Not your goddamn empire. A girl." My lip curls in a snarl. "You pathetic piece of shit."

Desperation lights his eyes as he lunges for me, reaching for his gun at the same time. But I've said what I came to say. Seen what I need to see. I stare him in the fucking eyes when I pull the trigger.

And I smile when his blood paints the walls.