Chapter Three

Naz

" Príncipe , wait."

I glance over my shoulder at Nicolas, one brow arched as impatience courses through me. "What is it?"

"Your ticket." He pulls it from his breast pocket with a grin, holding it out to me. "You'll need this if you plan to get into the gala."

I pause halfway out of the limo, muttering a soft curse. I didn't consider that I might need a ticket for this thing. Unlike Sullivan, I don't try to hide who I am by showing up for bullshit like this or throwing money at whatever cause is in at the moment. It's a ridiculous fucking thing to do, all things considered.

I'm a goddamn criminal. Why pretend to be anything other than who and what I am when everyone knows the truth? They knew about my family long before I was even old enough to comprehend that there are two different kinds of royalty in this world—and I'm not the right kind. And they feared me long before I understood there was anything to fear.

It's ironic, really. They'll take my money so long as I'm willing to hand it over. And they'll look the other way and pretend it isn't sprinkled with cocaine and dripping in blood while they line their pockets.

But as soon as I step inside that ballroom, the whispers will start. They don't want me here any more than I want to be here. My money is good enough for them. I'll never be accepted.

Too bad for them. Brynna Sullivan is inside. So tonight, they'll endure my company, regardless of how intolerable they find it. And I'll break out the checkbook, regardless of how distasteful I find it.

The fact that they're even willing to take money from motherfuckers like me or Nolan Sullivan isn't lost on me, however. Like I said, no one in this world is innocent. Everyone is guilty. I'm just more honest about my sins than most.

Tonight, Brynna is my sin. And I plan to sin like a motherfucker.

"Thank you," I murmur, plucking the ticket from Nicolas's hand before climbing from the limo. I straighten my jacket and stride forward, eager to set eyes on Sullivan's gorgeous daughter again.

Our meeting yesterday left me…unsettled. Actually, that's not true. I've been watching her for the last week. Every damn time I see her, I walk away with the same feeling.

She isn't what I expected. There's a grim brittleness to most of the women born in this world, a jaded cynicism that's impossible to miss. They're hard, as rotten at the core as the rest of us. There's nothing remotely jaded or cynical about Brynna. There's nothing grim, brittle, or rotten about her, either. She's soft and sweet, an innocent little lamb to the slaughter.

Fuck.

That innocence shouldn't make my cock ache the way it does.

I hand my ticket to the attendant at the door, not missing the way his eyes widen or the way his hand trembles as he accepts it.

He clears his throat, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Uh, enjoy your evening, Mr. Leyva."

I don't bother to respond, instead stepping past him into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers spill golden light over opulent decor and gleaming marble floors. Massive flower arrangements scent the air, adding to the cloying mix of expensive perfume and cologne. It's fucking ridiculous. They're here to support a charity, yet they waste thousands just to surround themselves in luxury while they do it.

Every head turns in my direction, conversation faltering all across the ballroom as the Who's Who of Los Angeles society catches sight of me. Fear ripples through the crowd in an audible hum.

I smirk, amused by their discomfort, as I stride deeper into the room. They part like the Red Sea, not even daring to make eye contact. The fucking cowards. Most of them didn't make their millions any more honestly than I did. They just prefer to hide their misdeeds beneath a layer of forced civility. They shake hands, smile, and play this game when they'd stab anyone in this room in the back just as easily as I would.

It's a fucking joke.

Why bother with it when you're untouchable? Every law enforcement agency from here to Colombia knows what waits if I fall. Felipe Rojas will sweep across this hemisphere like a plague. Once his people are in, there will be no getting him out again.

He'll pour his poison into every corner of the world, carving out a kingdom for himself. That's what he wants—not just my cocaine fields. Not just to be the only drug baron in Colombia. He wants to be the only one, period.

Sometimes, the devil you know is preferable to the devil who'd kill you all. And Felipe Rojas? He's a murderous prick with horns the size of Texas. There are no rules where he's concerned.

And I'm the only thing holding him at bay. The blood on my hands doesn't even compare to what he's capable of doing—to the things he's already done. The FBI knows it. So does every other three letter agency in existence.

But the motherfuckers in this ballroom? Men no better than me despite the lies they tell themselves when their heads hit the fucking pillow? They look at me like I'm the goddamn devil.

It's laughable.

I scan the crowd, picking out those who don't shy away from my gaze. Nolan and Niall Sullivan hold court near the bar, both in tailored tuxes that cost more than most people make in a year. They stare coldly before shifting their gazes away. Eamon Callahan, the other major player in the Irish mob, isn't far away, already red-faced from too much Jameson. The man drinks like he gambles—and he's no better at the first than he is at the second.

Kieran and Granger Devlin, brothers who'd love to stick a blade in Eamon's throat, recline against a wall across the room, speaking with…I tense when I see their companion. Adrian Lombardi. Of course that prick would be here. He runs shit for the Italians on this coast, and they're all about appearances.

My jaw clenches, my blood heating. I can't fucking stand him. He's been a thorn in my side for years, one I'd very much like to snatch out and grind beneath my boot. Unfortunately, it isn't in the cards tonight.

I came for one reason and one reason only.

Where is she?

My balls ache as I scan the ballroom, noting every exit and potential threat, while I search. Nolan Sullivan may like to pretend he plays by the same rules the rest of these motherfuckers do, but I'm not naive. He'd put a bullet in my head without hesitation if given half a chance. I don't intend to make it easy for him.

I'm not here for him either, though. I'm here for her .

My gaze skirts across the room again, searching out alabaster skin, crimson hair, and those perceptive, striking emerald eyes.

I'm not leaving this bullshit event until I get my hands on Brynna Sullivan and…

I go still.

My pulse stutters as my eyes land on her, a sudden clench low in my gut sending a shiver of anticipation through me.

Dio. She's breathtaking.

She looks like a goddamn princesa , something out of a fairytale. Her ballgown hugs her ample curves, the emerald green bringing out the striking color of her eyes. I want to fist my hands in the fabric, feel it tear beneath my fingers as I expose her creamy skin inch by inch.

Would she whimper? Beg me to stop?

Cristo , I bet she'd look so fucking sweet with my hand around her throat, gasping for breath while she gushed all over my cock.

Her fiery hair is piled up on top of her head in an elegant bun, exposing the graceful column of her throat. My mouth goes dry as I imagine my lips there, tasting her, feeling her pulse fluttering wildly against my tongue.

She laughs at something her brother says, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I've seen her real smile, and this isn't it. This is the same fake smile she reserves for the world—for people who don't understand her or what she wants or needs. It's a show designed to ensure people look no further than the surface.

Her real smile is incredible. When she's happy—truly happy—she fucking glows. She was glowing in that bookstore today while she browsed through the stacks, her fingers trailing over the spines of books I doubt anyone in this room has ever read. But those books bring her to life. I think being away from her family does, too.

Niall leans in, whispering something in her ear with an affectionate grin. Whatever it is has her stiffening in offense, the lights in her eyes dimming further.

Anger flows through me, hot and vicious, at the sight. What did that prick say to her? How does he not notice how carelessly he hurts her?

I'm moving before I even give myself the command, shouldering my way through the crowd. I ignore the whispers that pop up in my wake, the wide eyes and frightened squawks. They mean nothing to me. But fuck it. If they want to talk, I'll give them a show.

It's what they really want anyway. For the goddamn god of war to entertain them, to prove that they're right about me. Spoiler alert: they are.

I keep my gaze locked on Brynna, drawn to her like a fucking lion to a lamb. She's the only bright spot in this entire shitshow of a gala…the only one deserving of actually being here.

And, for some reason, she's unhappy. I shouldn't care about that. But goddammit, I do.

Her father spots me first, pure hatred rolling through his expression as I approach. He places a hand on Brynna's elbow, a clear warning.

I smirk, truly amused for the first time since I arrived. If he didn't want me to touch his daughter, he should have kept his fucking hands away from my business. The bastard doesn't scare me. I've faced far worse than Nolan Sullivan and lived to tell the tale.

"Leyva," he says, his voice hard. "I don't recall seeing your name on the guest list tonight."

"Last minute decision," I murmur, my gaze locked on Brynna. She's staring at me, too, her expression flickering between wariness, curiosity, and frustration. It annoys her that she's intrigued by me, I think. Cute . "I thought it was time I put in an appearance at one of these things. I have to say, I'm underwhelmed by the guest list." I flick my gaze in his direction. "But then, I've heard you make a habit of attending these, don't you?"

Niall bristles at the insult, but Nolan simply laughs, a deep, humorless sound. "Careful, Leyva. People might think you're envious of what you don't have."

We both know he isn't talking about the reputation to attend these events. He means my goddamn shipping company, the bastard.

"People love to talk, Sullivan. As a matter of fact, we can't have people wondering why you're talking to me, now can we? What would they think?" I flash him a grin full of teeth. It's a promise and a threat all rolled into one. "I'd like to request a dance with your lovely daughter. She should be shown off, not kept hidden in a corner."

Nolan and Niall immediately stiffen, outrage painted across their faces. As expected, they don't make a move to stop me, though. With everyone watching us without trying to seem like they're watching us, these two are too worried about appearances to protect her as they should. In the dark, they'd strike without hesitation. But here, they're too fucking cowardly to do it.

She's a lamb to the slaughter in their care.

I hold out my hand to her, an unspoken challenge in my eyes.

Take it, little one. Come with me.

Her gaze drops to my outstretched hand before flicking back up to mine. A heartbeat passes. And then two. To my surprise, she slips her hand into mine, her skin soft.

I suppress a groan at the contact, a slow burn igniting in my veins. Fuck. This woman may be the death of me. But goddamn, what a way to go.

"Brynna," Nolan says tightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "What do you think you're doing?"

She turns to him, her expression serene even as her hand tightens around mine. "It's okay, Dad. It's just a dance."

"Yes, Sullivan," I agree, smirking at him. "It's just a dance. We wouldn't want anyone to think you had business with me, now would we?"

I don't give him a chance to respond before I lead her away, relishing the feel of her body brushing against mine with every step. She follows me willingly, her heels clicking against the marble tiles as I lead her toward the dance floor.

"Do you actually want to dance, little one?" I lean down, placing my lips near her ear.

She shivers at the question, hesitates, and then shakes her head. "No. I hate dancing at these things." That confession shakes on her lips, making my fucking blood roar in my veins.

As soon as the crowd swallows us, cutting us off from Sullivan's view, I cut across the edge of the dance floor, heading toward one of the terraces instead.

We step out, leaving the crowded ballroom and the watchful eyes of her father and brother behind. Out here, it's just us. The way it should be.

Cool night air swirls around us, making her shiver. I don't think she's cold, though. She's nervous.

"You look beautiful tonight, dulzura, " I tell her, drinking her in. Even in the dim light, she's radiant. Fucking hell. I don't think anyone has ever stolen my breath the way she does. "But then, you always do."

"We shouldn't be out here, Nazario," she says.

"Naz."

"What?"

"Call me Naz, little one."

"We shouldn't be out here, Naz. People will talk."

"You're right." I release her hand, instantly missing the warmth of it against mine, and step closer. She doesn't back away, instead holding her ground as I invade her space. Good girl. "People will talk. They always do, little one. But I thought you could use an escape. You don't seem thrilled to be here."

"I'm not," she says frankly. "But we do what we must." Her gaze flits across my face. "I think you probably understand how that feels."

"I do." A little too fucking well most days.

"Why are you here?"

Because you're here.

"What did your brother say to you?" I ask instead of telling her that particular truth.

Her brows furrow with confusion. "What?"

"He upset you. What did he say?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Before I came over," I murmur, watching her face intently. "He whispered something to you that upset you. What was it?"

"How do you…" she trails off, her eyes locking on my face as understanding dawns. "You were watching me."

"Everyone in the ballroom was watching you, dulzura. It's impossible not to notice you. What did he say?"

"Just something thoughtless," she says dismissively. "He says a lot of thoughtless things trying to be funny, Naz."

"What was it this time?"

"That my dress would fit better if I hadn't taken so long picking out my stupid books yesterday," she mumbles, glancing away from me as her cheeks turn pink.

That fucking prick. Rage surges through me in a vicious black cloud. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the breath from him. So slowly he feels every agonizing second.

She's clearly uncomfortable being here already, and he decided to make it worse, saying some bullshit like that? She deserves far better. The dress isn't a problem. Neither is she. She's a goddamn princesa making my cock hard just by existing.

Niall Sullivan's mouth is the totality of the fucking problem.

"The dress fits you like a dream, Brynna," I say softly, no hint of anger in my voice. That, I reserve for her brother. "You look like a true princesa . I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since I walked through the doors." I run my hand down her arm, fascinated by the way gooseflesh rises in response. "I haven't been able to keep you out of my head all day."

"What do you want from me, Nazario?" she asks, her voice steady despite the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I hear the hint of vulnerability in her voice, though. It's raw, an old wound she desperately doesn't want to expose to me.

"You know what I want."

"Right." Her lips compress into a thin, disapproving line. "A pawn to use against my father."

The way she says it leaves no doubt that she's been down that road before. How many times? How many men have tried to put their hands on her to get to her father? The thought makes me murderous. And maybe it makes me honest, too.

"I don't want a pawn, little one." I reach out again, trailing a fingertip along the line of her collarbone. My cock throbs at the contact. Fuck, the things I want to do to this girl. Would she let me if she knew? Would she beg for me to stuff my cock down her pretty little throat until her eyes watered? "I want you."

She shivers at my touch, taking a step away from me. "I'm not yours to take, Naz."

"Not yet," I agree, sliding my hand up to cup her cheek. "But you will be."

"No, I won't," she says. "Whatever is between you and my father is between you and my father. I won't be a pawn."

"I told you that I'm not interested in a pawn. I'm interested in you in my bed. You, wrapped around me." I brush my thumb over her bottom lip. "You, lost in pleasure so intense you can't breathe through it. I want to fuck you open and make you scream, Brynna."

Her lips part, a hot retort forming, but I silence her with my thumb on her bottom lip. "Don't fight it, dulzura . I see the way you look at me. I feel the way you tremble when I touch you. You want the same things I do."

She stares at me, conflict warring in her eyes. But I see the desire, the longing, the same hunger lashing at me. I see the fear and distrust, too. I don't think she fears me, though. She fears the consequences of putting her trust in me. She fears letting herself want me.

I chafe at it even as I understand it. She's a smart girl to doubt a monster. But this monster? Well, it's fucking complicated. And getting more so by the minute.

Because there's something about this girl that has me all twisted into knots. This should be simple, easy. Her father fucked with my business, so I break her to teach him a lesson. And yet…this has nothing to do with him. It has nothing to do with business. It has everything to do with her and the way she looks at me like I'm a puzzle she wants to solve.

For once, I want to be solved. I want to let her unravel all my secrets, come what may.

What the fuck is that about? I don't know, but I don't entirely hate it, either.

"I can't," she whispers reluctantly, but she doesn't pull away.

"You can. You will. Because you're mine, Brynna." I lean in, brushing my lips across the corner of her mouth. I flick my tongue against it, stealing a tiny taste of her. "And I protect what's mine."

Her soft gasp lands against my lips, turning my cock to stone. I pull back, meeting her gaze. The uncertainty is still there, but so is the fire. The defiance.

Goddamn , it's beautiful.

"I belong to no one," she growls, lifting her chin. "Least of all to you, Nazario."

I grin, savage and proud. Cristo . She's incredible.

"One day soon, you're going to ask me to claim every piece of you, dulzura . You'll beg me to fucking break you, and you'll want it more than air. When you do, I'll give you the fucking world." I step back, putting distance between us before I drag her into my arms and kiss the fire from her lips. She's not ready for that yet. But soon.

"You should get back to your father before he comes looking for you. But we'll be seeing each other again soon." I pause, my gaze running over her. "Don't let anyone put their hands on you, Irish. I won't allow them to keep them if they do."

With that, I turn and stride away, leaving her standing on the terrace, her outraged gaze burning into my back.

I chuckle to myself.

Her thoughts are so loud, I practically hear them screaming at me. But I don't turn around. I let her watch, let her wonder…let the anticipation build. Because when she finally crumbles into my arms, victory will be all that much sweeter.

And when that day comes?

Not even the armies of hell will be able to stop me from claiming her as mine. Her father certainly won't.

Cristo . What am I thinking?

She won't ever be mine.

She's supposed to be a means to an end, a piece to move across the board. I should be leaving with her on my arm, reminding her father what happens when you fuck with me. And yet…

The thought of spoiling her, of tainting her light with my darkness, fills me with a sense of dread I've never experienced before.

Fuck.

I glance over my shoulder at her as I reach the door, my breath catching in my throat as I see her fingertips pressed against her cheek, a look of wonder and confusion on her face.

I groan softly.

I can lie to myself all I want, but the writing is on the wall. Brynna Sullivan stopped being a means to an end before I ever stepped foot in that fucking bookstore yesterday. Whatever this is…it has nothing to do with her father. I'm not sure it ever did.

I want her in my arms and in my bed. Fuck her father. Fuck our war. It's irrelevant.

I stride back into the ballroom, my mind reeling. The air feels charged, electric. I can still feel the softness of her skin beneath my lips, hear the way she gasped when I kissed her.

I need a fucking drink.

I make my way to the bar, signaling for a shot of tequila. The bartender pours a glass, sliding it across the polished wood toward me.

I snatch the glass with a shaking hand and down it in one gulp, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. It doesn't silence the roar in my mind. It doesn't even slow it.

"Drowning your sorrows, Leyva?" a familiar voice drawls from behind me.

I tense and turn, coming face to face with Adrian Lombardi. He's leaning against the bar, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips.

"Lombardi," I mutter, my tone cold. "I didn't know they let trash into these events."

His jade eyes flash with anger, but his smile doesn't budge. "Careful, Leyva. You don't want to start something you can't finish with all these people watching."

I laugh, a harsh, humorless sound, as I set my empty glass on the bar. Has everyone forgotten who the fuck I am? Or are they all really this fucking eager for a show?

"I always finish what I start, Lombardi. Remember that," I mutter, turning to leave.

His next comment stops me in my tracks before I even make it two steps.

"Sullivan's daughter is a pretty little thing, isn't she?"

I go still, rage simmering through my veins. "Watch your fucking mouth."

He chuckles, a mocking smirk curving his lips up at the corners. "Did I hit a nerve, Leyva? Interesting. Maybe I will ask her to dance, see what it is about her that has you so riled up."

Before he can even blink, I have him by the throat, slamming him up against the bar. Stools get knocked aside, landing upside down. A glass bottle shatters, sending scotch and glass raining down around us.

The room goes silent, everyone turning to stare.

"Listen to me carefully," I say, my voice deadly calm. "If you so much as look in her fucking direction, they won't ever find your fucking body. Do you understand me?"

Lombardi just smirks, even as his face turns a satisfying shade of purple.

I hold him for a moment longer before I release him, stepping back. "You're lucky there are witnesses, you prick."

"Always a pleasure taunting you, Leyva," he says, laughing hoarsely.

I smile, cold and vicious. "Oh, this is the last time you do it. Trust me on that, pendejo ."

I turn and stalk out of the ballroom, leaving him standing there. The crowd parts before me again, completely silent as I pass through. But as soon as I do, whispers follow in my wake.

Fuck it, though, right? They wanted fucking Dios de la Guerra to put on a show, so let them talk. Now, they know what happens when someone threatens what belongs to me.

And Brynna is mine, even if she doesn't know it yet. I will burn this city to ash and ruin before I let anyone take her from me.