have grown up without a real father if he’d survived.”
My curiosity spikes at the weight of his words and the look on his face when he delivers them. His casual tone has turned harsh, and I can see the clear disdain Diego has for his dead father.
“And your mother?” I prod, leaning closer over the table. I feel like I’m going down a dangerous road, but I can’t seem to stop.
Diego’s expression darkens like a thundercloud has passed over his face. “She presented herself like the typical mafia wife. She was born into this world. Her father was one of my abuelo’s closest lieutenants. Her marriage to my father wasn’t arranged, but it might as well have been. She was groomed for life on the arm of a powerful man and taught that it was her only purpose.”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “That sounds like something out of the 1800s.”
Diego’s lips twitch in amusement, but his smile doesn’t reappear. “Like those novels you love to read? The one in your nightstand drawer seems to be a favorite.”
My face goes warm as I think of the worn copy of The Villain I’ve read at least four times in the past few months. I’ve become slightly obsessed with the twisted story—namely the rough and dominant hero, who reminds me so much of Diego. It’s just more proof that something is seriously wrong with me. “It’s sexy in fiction and makes sense for the time-period. But this day and age? Your mother must have hated being used for an influential marriage.”
“She resented it,” Diego agrees. “In front of others, she pretended to be something she wasn’t—quiet and polished and submissive. In private, she revealed her true self. She was ruthless and calculating—always the smartest person in the room. It ate her alive to witness my father’s mistakes and know she could have run La Familia so much better. I think if she had been born into a normal family, she might have grown up to run corporations or be president or some shit. She wanted power more than anything.”
She sounds like my kind of woman, but I don’t voice that thought out loud. Something about Diego’s face when he speaks of his mother makes me think there’s more to the story. It makes me think that Mrs. Pérez wasn’t a good mother, despite her other winning characteristics.
“How did they die?” I ask, my voice low.
Diego meets my gaze, the muscles in his jaw winding tight. “My mother died about five years ago. She hanged herself in her bedroom.”
I nearly choke on my next breath, stunned into silence. As I gape at Diego and the nonchalant way he dropped that bombshell, he stands and goes to the liquor cabinet with his glass.
“She couldn’t live with knowing that everything she’d ever done to gain power had blown up in her face,” he says while pouring a Scotch and adding a twist of lime. “Both her children despised her for being a cruel and controlling mother. Her husband was dead. Her attempts at controlling the cartel through me had failed, because she had forgotten that love is what strengthens loyalty. She took her own life knowing no one would ever love her.”
“Did …” I pause and swallow, revulsion rising in the back of my throat. “Did it happen … in our house?”
Diego’s face is grim when he turns to face me, leaning back against the cabinet. “You don’t want to hear about all this, gatita.”
“Yes, I do,” I insist, even though I feel like I’m going to be sick. “You asked me to try to make this marriage work, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know the important things. You know enough.”
“If you don’t trust me with your past, then just say so,” I snap, averting my eyes to the window overlooking the city, lit up for the night.
Diego sighs and slowly approaches me, one hand clutching his Scotch and the other landing on my shoulder. He stands behind me, lightly massaging the tense muscle. I can feel his burning stare on the back of my neck, and the light stroke of his thumb at my nape makes me shiver.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he murmurs. “But my past … my life … these aren’t happy stories, Elena. I am who I am because of my parents and the pain they caused me, and because living through it was the price I had to pay for an inheritance I didn’t always want.”