DIEGO WATCHED AS THE ROVERS left the estate, a frown on his face, his jaw clenched with worry and concern as Ian left the protection of the estate. He worried, a sign of old age perhaps. Each time Ian left, Diego feared it would be the last time he saw him.
“El Patrón.” Saul entered the breakfast room, closing the doors behind him and facing Diego with an inquisitive expression. “You sent for me?”
Saul was old. His shoulders were stooped, his dark eyes a bit dull, his face creased with age. He had been Diego’s father’s most trusted advisor. At Carmelita’s death he had returned to Diego’s side.
Diego nodded slowly. “Have you learned anything from our sources?”
Ian had eliminated the spy in the U.S. government that Diego had drawn closest to him, Jansen Clay, but there were others, much more important contacts, who relied upon Diego as much as he relied upon them.
“No teams are being sent for him, as you requested.” Saul stepped to the sideboard and prepared himself a plate of fruits and sweets. “There are reports that Durango team, the friends he fought with, have protested this action vociferously, especially the one known as Macey, but they are being contained. Orders have gone out to watch his actions only, and to learn what he has planned. It seems the Americans are more concerned with your promise that Ian will eliminate Sorrell than they are with capturing a traitor.” Satisfaction echoed in Saul’s voice, as it did in Diego’s heart.
“The boy, he takes too many risks.” Diego sighed. “He goes now to meet with lawyers rather than having them come to him. As though he dares Sorrell or the other cartels to strike at him.”
“The other cartel leaders are learning to stay out of his way, Diego. As with yourself and the Americans, they merely watch him.”
“And your report on his activities?” Diego asked.
As much as he loved the boy, and he did, loved him more than he had loved his youngest son or that viper Carmelita, he couldn’t forget that betrayal could come from within.
“He has met with no agents that he hasn’t killed.” Saul chuckled. “Of course, they attempted to draw blood first. He does not party, nor does he partake of our product. He does not surround himself with the whores and drug groupies that vie for his attention other than necessary. And those who cling to his arm at those times are well known to us, and not associated with any government’s law enforcement agencies. For all appearances, my friend, he has upheld his word. His loyalty is to you.”
Diego nodded slowly. “And your own impressions of him?”
Saul sighed then.
Diego turned and watched him with an edge of sorrow. Saul’s impressions were as reliable as other men’s reports.
“I must know this, my friend,” he said softly. “What do you believe goes on in my son’s mind, in his heart?”
“There is still much anger,” Saul stated as he laid his arms on the table and regarded Diego. “He has softened toward you marginally. He does not refuse to hear the stories I would tell him now of your youth and your dreams. He listens. But I can see the rage in his eyes. The events of his childhood and Carmelita’s torments are not forgotten.”
Diego clenched his fingers into fists before forcing himself to relax them.
“He blames me.” Diego moved back to the table, taking his seat with a heavy breath of regret and staring across the table at Saul. “As well he should. I should have known Marika had not been killed as my father reported. I should have known that his fascination with her would result in a betrayal.”
“He was an old man, Diego.” Saul shook his gray head sadly. “The little blond nurse you brought to him was seen as an angel. An angel that should not be mired in the blood and treachery of the cartels. He sought to save her. It was only by chance that Carmelita learned of her and of the child.”
Diego stared at the table, his finger smoothing over the lace cloth that covered it as he remembered Marika Desmond. An unusual name, for an unusual woman. She had been named after her Slavic grandmother, and she wore her name with pride.
So blond her hair had glistened white beneath the Colombian sun. Her smile had been filled with dreams and with purpose as she came to the villages as a nurse, healing the sick and touching all with her kindness. She had been unaware of who Diego was, and she had taken him into her bed with a love that had touched his soul.
He had known her such a short time. Only months. And he had never forgotten her. To learn she had spent the years of his marriage to Carmelita living in fear, that Ian had nearly died more than once, still filled him with rage.
Diego’s father had arranged it so it appeared Marika had died. Carmelita had attempted to arrange her death in truth.
“We made a strong son,” Diego whispered, wishing he could call Marika, wishing he could thank her for Ian’s life, but his son forbade it so violently that Diego feared his wrath if he attempted it.
“You did,” Saul agreed.
“Has she attempted to contact him?” Diego lifted his gaze to Saul once more. “Have you heard her voice?”
“He refuses to speak with her,” Saul said heavily. “He has broken all ties, Diego, even those with his mother. I questioned him just this past week about her. He said he does not speak to her in an effort to not add to her pain. She would only plead for his return, and he has sworn he will not leave the cartel.”
Diego wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and stared into the cooling liquid. Memories of Marika washed over him, staining his soul with his own regrets.
“She is well?”
“She is well and happy with her American husband. And protected, Diego. Ian and John Richards see to this, though Richards is unaware of the two men Ian has ordered to watch her.”
“And my son is loyal?” He lifted his eyes to Saul again, needing the confirmation.
“In my estimation, he is loyal. And within a few years, my friend, perhaps he will even call you father.”
Diego breathed in roughly. He needed to be called father, perhaps even one day, grandfather. Recalling the information he had received last night, he thought that maybe with a little push, his son would take the American heiress to the Maclane fortune. If nothing else, as a lover. Diego did not care if his grandchildren were legitimate or not. It was blood that mattered. Now, he understood his father’s beliefs in family, no matter the betrayal. Blood mattered.