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“When I said everyone, I meant you guys too. This woman poses no threat.”
    “ Jefe , we are here to protect you. If this chinga de mayate hurts one hair on your head—”
    “Believe me that won’t happen, Jorge.” He glared in the bodyguard’s direction. “Naomi and I go way back.”
    Jorge looked affronted as he lowered his gun and glared at me with resignation and anger.
    “By the way,” Fernando began in that honey-whiskey voice of his that bore not a trace of a Spanish accent, “refer to Naomi as a mayate again and I will fucking kill you where you stand. Is that understood?”
    My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the guards leave. I actually felt safer with them around than when they reluctantly left.
    I took a deep breath and focused on the main reason why I was here in the first place. It certainly wasn’t to catch up on how my former lover was getting on now that he no longer had Emilio as his protection.
    “Are you . . . frightened?” he questioned in a gentle voice. “You know I would never hurt you . . . not intentionally.”
    I glanced at Fernando and realized why I’d been attracted to him in the first place. His skin, alabaster pale without a hint of color, suited his mélange of European features. His face was a work of art. Good looking and sexy—almost effeminate—with his Roman nose, cheekbones sculpted from artwork and beautifully full pink lips.
    There was absolutely nothing about him that screamed gangster or cartel member.
    However, it wasn’t his perfect physique or his gorgeous face, which ended a relationship that had lasted almost four years. It was the lies, jealousy and constant ability to be unfaithful—on his part—that put paid to anything between him and me. He liked his women but he also liked his men too. His version of fidelity and mine weren’t exactly the same.
    Fernando believed if he fucked a man while I was deployed, he wasn’t cheating on me. I couldn’t stand his way of thinking and eventually, his poor choices—not his bisexuality—ended whatever existed between us.
    In spite all the history between us, Fernando knew a lot about me, and what made me tick. That made him a very dangerous and unsavory adversary indeed but in the end, what choice did I have?
    If it was between him and Ronan, I knew exactly whom I would choose without a doubt.
    “Did you really have to bring that gringo , mi corazón ? We were intimate at one time and I would have murdered any man who even looked at you the wrong way. Do you really believe I am capable of hurting you?”
    I shook my head. “He insisted on coming.”
    My ex-lover was hardly a dim bulb and one of his manicured eyebrows arched inquisitively. “Tell me, querido . . . does your biker know about you and me?”
    I rolled my eyes out of annoyance more than anger. “My God, Nando , stop all the Spanish words of affection and seduction. We both know you’re as fake as a four-dollar bill. Mexico is as much your home country as it would be mine.”
    My ex-lover paused at this statement. He lit a cigarillo and dragged on it seductively as the smoke drifted away from his lips and towards the ceiling that pumped air conditioning through the open space.
    “Ronan has no idea about your origins then?” He chuckled to himself as if he’d made the funniest joke in the world. “Does he think you’re just a run of the mill, round the way girl, Naomi Maria De La Cruz Washington Fernandez?”
    I finally took a seat across from Fernando. “Yes, he does, and that makes everything so much easier.”
    “For who . . . exactly—or should I say whom? Would he not want you if he knew both your parents were half-Mestizo? Two black grandmothers and two Mexican grandfathers. Your español is just as good—if not better—than mine. We’re the future of this country and yet . . . you deny who you are ?”
    “Fuck off, Nando .” My Latina roots were beginning to show and I quickly wrangled control over them. “Yes, two of