“He grew up in the same area where Rosalie is from. But nobody knows this. Everyone thinks he is Mexican. But he has been known to sneak back to Guatemala at least once a year. And he was most definitely there eight years ago when Rosalie’s mother got pregnant.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Rosalie’s mother was murdered shortly after she gave birth. They say she was trying to stop men from taking her baby away, and she ended up with a knife to her throat.”

  I sat there with my mouth open thinking about this.

  Rosalie, daughter of the head of the world’s most dangerous cartel.

  No way. I started laughing. I realized it wasn’t funny and that I was hysterical. Finally, I stopped laughing and wiped the tears away. Eva must’ve put me on some good drugs.

  “And you are going to send this girl home with me?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The wife. We have an agreement. She will swear that the girl was not Rosalie. That Carnegie substituted another girl to save himself. That the real Rosalie is still missing. That he never got her back. Maybe she is dead.”

  “You think that will protect her? And us?”

  “It’s all I have. For now.”

  Eva turned her back on me as she spoke her next words. “It’s time for you to go.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m returning to my home.”

  “I thought this was your home.”

  “I told you it was only one of my homes.”

  Her secretiveness was annoying. And insulting.

  “Why’d you send Rosalie to me?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said without an ounce of apology. “I had other business to attend to.”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing I can share.”

  “You can’t share or you won’t share?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You know what’s not fair?” I said.

  “What?” I could detect a hint of amusement in her voice and the barest sign of a smile around her eyes.

  “You are my last living relative, and yet you want nothing to do with me.”

  Her eyes grew dark, and her features turned to stone. Again, she didn’t answer.

  “You swoop in when I’m in over my head, and then you’re gone again.”

  “I told you why,” she said. Her voice was quiet. A conversation we’d had once came back to me.

  “What? Because you can’t bear to care about someone because you might get hurt?” I scoffed. “Welcome to my world.”

  “It is for your own good. My world is very dangerous.”

  “Like mine isn’t?” I held up my broken arm. I pointed to my face, which felt like it had been through a meat grinder, so I knew I looked like shit. The more I said, the greater the little flame of anger within me grew.

  “My job is to protect you,” she said.

  “Who said?” I didn’t say it in an angry voice. I said it in a pleading, soft tone. I really wanted to know. Had she vowed to my mother, to the universe, to our ancestors, to protect the bloodline, to protect me?

  “You are all I have left.”

  I shook my head dismissively.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She said her eyes widening in challenge.

  “You’re wrong. I’m not all you have left because you don’t have me. You are not a part of my life. You are nothing to me. Because you are not there. If you want to claim me, then you need to put in the time and effort to be part of my life. I’ve just told you that I want you in my life. Now, it’s up to you.”

  I waited. She didn’t say a word.

  “You can’t just drop into my life when there is an emergency,” I said. I could feel my face growing red, but I kept my voice calm. “You say you are protecting me, but you are only protecting yourself. You say you got hurt once so bad that you are afraid to care about anyone.

  “Well, that’s bullshit. Don’t you think I’ve lost it all? Don’t you think I have every reason to be like that too, to avoid living because I’m afraid to get hurt? But I’m not doing that. I’m here taking the risk by caring about people and living my life. You are too afraid to do any of that. By avoiding the chance of getting hurt, you are avoiding living life. You are such a badass in so many ways, but the way you live life is that of a coward.”

  My pulse raced with the harsh reality of my words. But she needed to hear it. And nobody was going to tell her except me. It was tough love. Because I did love her in some weird way. Maybe an unhealthy yearning for a mother figure. But it was love. And that’s why it hurt so much that she wanted nothing to do with me and my life.

  I waited a few seconds for her to answer. Her gaze never left mine. I tried to read what was behind her eyes, but any emotion she had was veiled. Finally, when she didn’t answer, I closed my eyes and put my head back against the pillows.

  When I opened them again, she was gone.

  The next thing I knew, I heard the thudding of helicopter blades growing closer and louder until I could feel the vibration in my bones.

  The boat shook slightly before the sound dissipated.

  Three women came in and helped me get up and then took me to the helicopter on the deck where Rosalie was already strapped in.

  Epilogue

  The sun was setting in San Francisco as I gazed out toward the west.

  My arm itched in its cast, but the bruises on my face and body had mostly healed.

  I had been able to climb the stairs to the roof without wincing, so that was a win.

  As the sun dipped on the horizon, I was lost in thought. I didn’t know what the future held. Rosalie was under the grape arbor petting Django.

  Maybe my future meant motherhood. Or maybe not. For now, she was with me and I would consider her mine until things changed.

  The contractors who had installed the lift chair to the roof had also walled off a portion of the loft, making a private room for Rosalie. She hadn’t slept in it yet, saying she wanted to stay close to our bed because of her scary dreams. I wasn’t going to push her. But the room was there if she wanted it.

  Besides, we still had to be vigilant with our security. James said he was close to nailing the police chief and had been working with higher ups in Washington, D.C., but for now we still had to be on guard at all times.

  And the truth was, even when the police chief and his corrupt cohorts were no longer a threat, I would never rest knowing that Rosalie’s fate rested on the wife of a drug lord keeping her word.

  Darling walked over to Rosalie and said something to her that made the girl smile. Darling loved the kid. She’d said it would be no problem for her to provide papers to make Rosalie not only a legal citizen, but my adopted daughter.

  I had never answered.

  I didn’t know if I was ready for that.

  What I did know was seeing that girl’s face light up in joy at the simple things in life was one of the best parts of my day.

  For now, I’d do what I’d always done; I’d live in the moment.

  And right now, that meant standing on the rooftop of my building, looking with wonder at the faces of the people I cared about. They were all lit up, bathed in golden hues from the sunset.

  There was James at my side. A strong man in all ways who was now somehow even stronger without the use of his legs.

  Rosalie stood beside him holding his hand, her eyes bright as she looked to the west. The trace of sadness always lurked beneath her smile, but a sliver of hope shone in her eyes now.

  Darling and George stood in their own little newlywed love bubble. His arm around her. Her head on his shoulder.

  Dante stood on my other side. My brother. My soulmate. My best friend. We could go decades without speaking, and that would never change.

  There were others in this city, in this world, that I cared about, but these people were my inner circle. My closest companions.

  This was mi famiglia.

  As I thought this, Django, who was sitting beside me, turned his head toward the door to the roof. He whined and wagged his tail, and before I could react, he took off.

  We all turned to look at once at the woman who stepped through the doorway.

  My aunt.

  Eva.

  The Queen of Spades.

  “May I?” Her voice was timid.

  She waited in the doorway.

  I nodded and smiled.

  We made room for her and then the seven of us sat in silence as the sun kissed the horizon, and the sky flooded with streaks of vibrant pink, orange, and red.

  I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt the tears drip onto my bare arm. I snuck a glance at the people around me and tried to memorize their faces and this moment—one that I wanted to forever be seared in my memory.

  This, I thought. This is what it’s all about.

  Read on for a sneak peek of Queen of Spades.

  Queen of Spades

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  “Do you like to play cards?”

  He froze at the sound of the silky sexy voice behind him. Only he could detect the slight accent. But then again, he’d known her since they were children.

  “Vincenzo, I asked you a question.”

  The words made his face feel icy cold. She knew. He’d been astounded she hadn’t known from the first moment she saw him. But she had tried to leave that childhood behind so completely that he had the feeling she’d erased everything about that time—including him.

  Her spicy, exotic perfume filled his airways as she grew near. She did it silently. The only indication that she was directly behind him now was a slight disturbance in the air and that heady scent filling his nostrils. He fought against the desire to inhale deeply. How many times had she brushed by him and he’d been caught up in the smell of her perfume. How many times had he lain with a woman later and tried to recapture that elusive scent. It was a fragrance he’d never smelled on another woman—and he’d smelled his fair share of perfumes over the years—from a cheap drugstore spray to a bespoke customized parfum designed in Paris. This scent was difficult to identify. If he’d smelled it on someone else, her inimitable chemistry had transformed it into something intoxicating.

  He felt the cool steel on his neck at the same moment she pressed her warm body fully against him from behind. Even as he felt the icy fingers of death race down his spine, he was aroused. That lush body pressed up against him and the cloud of her scent sent an ache of desire rippling through him. Now he did inhale deeply, closing his eyes against the candlelight as he did so.

  Yes. He was right. Underneath the scent was something else, something emanating from her pores. He paused. It wasn’t fear. No. Nervousness? No. It wasn’t that, either.

  It was excitement, but not the sexual excitement he felt in his groin. This was blood lust. This was blood pumping, throbbing, as she eagerly anticipated drawing the steel across his neck, digging into his flesh. He knew it. He recognized it. After all, he’d felt it himself.

  As he thought this, he quickly extinguished his lust. He had to think. He had to say something to stop her murderous vengeance.

  Now her breath was hot in his ear. A silken lock of hair brushed his cheek and he nearly gasped with pleasure.

  “I don’t know about you,” she whispered, her voice low, husky, mesmerizing. “But I love playing cards. I bet you can guess which card is my favorite?”

  The queen of spades. As soon as he thought the words, a white-hot bolt of pain raced across his neck, from his left ear to his right. He cried out in anguish.

  But only a gurgling noise erupted and what sounded like a small exhalation. His last thought as he watched as his own blood spurt wildly onto the table in front of him was how the crazy old woman was right—he’d never see the likes of heaven.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  Eva Green tried to sneak a look at her cell phone beneath the table, but unfortunately her downward glance didn’t escape the Queen Bee at the front of the class running the parent volunteer meeting.

  “Mrs. Green?”

  “Yes?” Eva jerked her eyes up.

  “I think you would be a great candidate to head up the committee organizing the food drive.”

  Eva pushed down her revulsion at the woman’s sickly sweet tone and plastered a smile across her face. “I think you’re right. Food drives are near and dear to my heart.”

  Kill them with kindness. It was her motto. It was the only thing that kept her from actually killing women like Krystal Diamond. What kind of name was that anyway? She’d kept her maiden name, which was about the only thing Eva approved about the pretentious woman. Krystal Diamond had to be a stripper name. Or maybe porn star name, Eva mused as she shifted in her uncomfortable plastic chair.

  She wasn’t overweight, but she did have curves, especially on the back side and her ass just wasn’t quite fitting in a tiny orange plastic chair made for a fifth grader.

  A few seats down she saw Nicos shift uncomfortably too. He caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back and rolled her eyes.

  Krystal Diamond was distracted at the front of the room, going through a thick file folder. Yeah, her name was definitely fake. Like her boobs. No way they were the deal. No. Fucking. Way. You didn’t have boobs that big with a torso where your ribcage showed through your shirt and your tiny, skimpy little butt small enough to fit neatly into one of the little elementary school chair. Impossible. Nature didn’t work that way.

  So, what was the deal? Eva would’ve though no self-respecting Malibu trophy wife would go THAT big, even if your husband was the top plastic surgeon the stars. They’d go big, but not that big unless they were getting paid to show their boobs. Eva frowned, rethinking that. That must be it. Dr. Andrew Wyatt used his wife as a model for his porn star clientele?

  Eva could just imagine him waving his skinny little arm and saying, “Allow me to show you my work first hand. Krystal, darling? Please show these women your tits.”

  Eva snuffled back her laugh.

  Nicos shot her a warning glance of alarm, but then winked. He was sort of cute, she thought. But then realized she probably thought that because he was Greek. Even though she’d married a typically hot American looking man with blonde hair and blue eyes, she couldn’t deny that men from her part of the world had an undeniable sexiness about them.

  That’s one reason she enrolled Lorenzo and Alessandra in this elite school, because even though she had to put up with fuckwads like Krystal, the student population ran the gamut from Somalian-Americans to Japanese-Americans. She didn’t want her children to feel like misfits in Beverly Hills schools. But even she had to admit, the Rembrandt Academy didn’t exactly provide a slice of American life. Every family with a kid in the school was filthy fucking rich.

  Speaking of that, so why did they even need to do a lame fundraiser, anyway.

  Krystal droned on at the front of the classroom, organizing committees and assigning tasks to the thirty parent volunteers crowding the room. This time, while Krystal turned her back to illustrate a point on an iBoard, Eva snuck a glance at the time on her phone.

  Crap. She had planned to swing by Delmonico Gourmet and pick up a platter of sashimi and sesame and kale salad for dinner. She’d also planned to grab a ham & cheese brioche so she could heat it up for Matthew for breakfast. He’d texted that his flight had been bumped up so he’d have to head straight to the airport in the early hours the next morning.

  He’d promised her that when he returned, he’d take an entire week off and have a staycation where they could sit and make love every day while the kids were at school.

  She could hardly wait. Eva sighed loudly and stretched languidly.

  Krystal heard the sigh and shot her a sharp look.

  “Mrs. Green, did you have a question?”

  She smiled. “No. But thanks for asking.”

  Krystal turned her attention toward another victim. Heidi, the mother of one of Alessandra’s good friends.

  Meanwhile, Nicos grinned at her. He held up his phone, keeping it below the level of the table, but high enough for her to see. He was playing a video game. He mimicked a yawn and then scraped back his chair noisily. All heads turned his way. He stood and held his phone up in the air. “Sorry. I just got a text. Emergency at the office.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Eva stared at his retreating back with undisguised jealousy. What the hell? Is that all it took? A fake emergency? He was playing a god damn video game.

  “As I was saying,” Krystal said in the front of the room, clearly annoyed.

  For a split second Eva felt sorry for her. After all, the woman’s entire life obviously revolved around the annual school carnival. Or at least it seemed that way to Eva. As soon as one year’s event was successfully over, Krystal would send out emails talking about what they would do the following year. Planning for the event began six months ahead of time.

  But then any pity dissipated. The woman was downright mean to Eva.

  The animosity between them began four years ago on the day of the kindergarten orientation meeting. Eva’s babysitter had called in sick at the last minute that morning and she’d wasted time trying to find someone to stay with Alessandra at the last minute. When she realized that she was going to be late if she didn’t leave right then, she grabbed the baby and a diaper bag and headed toward the school.

  When she stepped into the cafeteria, she slid into a spot toward the back in case Alessandra was fussy and she had to step outside. The chairs were filled and the principle had just stepped behind the podium with the microphone when there was a commotion at the back of the room.

  A slim blonde with a massive mane of hair, a pink Chanel suit and beige pumps walked in, smiling widely at the audience. Eve noticed everyone was smiling back at this woman. Then the woman paused before Eva and said, “So nice of you to make it.”

  For a second, Eva was taken aback. She thought the woman at the podium was the principal? Then the blonde wrinkled her nose at baby Alessandra and was gone. She took a seat in the front row that had obviously been saved for her.