"What took you so long?" I pull on my seatbelt as Kenna slams the the car door harshly to a shut.

"Work, baby. And here...I got this." She produces a tiny flash drive from the inside of her leather jacket. "Security footage of all the guests who attended the dinner party thrown by her majesty, Elena, on none other than her own birthday."

I roll my eyes while clutching the gear shift of Red's jeep. "And why the fuck would I want to know anything about Elena's celebration to her miserable 50s or whatever?"

Kenna grins at me. "Why else? The mystery caller was there on that day. In other words, we got our guy; we just need to look."

"Well, so much for the needle in a haystack, " I remark tiredly. "I bet it was a bunch of guests."

"Nah! It was only friends and family, not more than fifteen people," Kenna informs me. "But what's interesting is the fact that Elena went to see Patrick on the same night, which happens to align with the date you went to end your marriage with him in the mansion. Does anything ring the bell?"

"The same day the hooker girl died," I murmur, trying to ignore the monstrosity of the situation. A murder. I shift in my seat, facing Kenna properly. "What if Elena was in the mood for some romantic rendezvous with her ex husband, the man she could kill for, and found out he had another young peacock in his nest…which is the penthouse where Patrick takes his bimbos?"

"Or maybe she went to confront him for missing her party? We both know she's vane," Kenna probes, laughing soundlessly at her conspiracy theory. "And then she finds him with another peacock, your words, and loses her mind, and the worst happens? She could've killed the girl, Mia. She's insane, right?"

"Maybe, but no," I reply, ransacking my brain. Elena seemed furious today. Traumatized, yes, but furious. She must've seen something she didn't like at all. "What if Patrick lost control while having sex and defiled that poor girl to submission which led to some kind of erotic death?"

My heart rate pumps and fear pulses through me so frivolously. But it is a possibility. 

"Why are you saying that?" Kenna asks.

I swallow thickly. "Patrick had a tendency of choking me while having rough sex, not something I'm thrilled to discuss with anyone," I say with difficulty, and Kenna's face furrows attentively. "There was a day I felt like I was gonna die but I managed to push him off me on time. He was drunk, and God knows how animalistic he was, driven by a high libido that had me sleep in the guest bedroom for a week, afraid he might lose it again. Well, in the end he promised to never come on me while drunk and we made that a law until the end."

"That's... diabolically gruesome, Mia," Kenna whispers, and although I can't admit it loudly, the memory still sends a cold shudder down my spine even right now. 

"Well," I breathe, reclaiming my shaken composure, "my theory is that when Elena saw the body, she flipped, she began blabbering nonsense about calling the police and accusing Patrick of murder, and in order to contain the situation, Patrick or his men decided to gag her with a holy beating."

"Which explains why she couldn't come back to her house until three days later?" Kenna says.

"What are you talking about?"

"According to the maid, Eliot came here twice asking for Elena after the birthday party, claiming her phone was off and it wasn't normal," Kenna explains. "And then two days later Elena returned home all beaten up, refusing to talk to anyone until Smith showed up today for the questioning, which she herself arranged."

I guess the pieces are fitting in slowly but surely. Elena wanted to testify.

"In that case," I propose, "our only way to get to the truth is by making Elena confess everything she knows—especially things she can't tell Smith because they may incriminate her."

"I couldn't agree more." Sighing, Kenna clutches her seat belt and buckles in.

However, aside from Patrick's murders and other disturbing events orchestrated by his capos, I still have an important matter at hand with which I receive a call from the burner phone Luca found me weeks ago.

"Don't tell me you roll disposables now?" Kenna asks, eyes on my little flip phone. 

"Well, trying to be professional, that's it. You can never be too careful, can you?" Smiling, I put the phone on speakers while driving out of Elena's compound.

It's my hunting dog, one of Luca's men that I'm sure as hell Red would decapitate him for when he finds out about this side mission of mine. But he knows I'm stubborn, so I'll take the fall naturally. 

"You were right. I got your guy on a tryst with another client. Took plenty of pictures and videos, what do I do next?" he asks.

Kenna looks at me as we both listen through the phone.

Rolling the wheel left, I reply, "Mail me the copies, and make sure he also receives them and the other package before sundown. Then call me when it's done. I'll take it from there."

The call ends with a simple "yes, Ma'am", from him. 

"Okay, Mamacita, color me intrigued! What was that about?" Kenna is beyond curious, even though her amused eyes show how close to knowledge she is.

I smile away wryly. "Just... The Kingston gambit. You observe, you learn, you play it. Don't worry, Kenna. All is good. I was just tightening some loose ends with my stubborn,  unrighteous judge who probably thinks I'm the most patient woman in the world. Well, I'm not."

When tomorrow comes, my divorce will be finalized by hook or by crook. I won't wait a day longer for that crazy, undulated, wounded tiger known as my ex husband to resurrect from the dead or whatever hell hole he is in and pounce on me when I least expect it.

No more playing by the rules. An eye for an eye, as my Abuelita used to say when I was so little—the perks of being raised by the broken Diaz women who strongly believe men are object for torture, and women wield the ultimate power over how much we allow ourselves to be victims.

It's funny how she, my maternal grandma or Abuelita… My aunt, and my mother, share the same curse of having met scumbug kind of men they once loved, only to end up raising their children alone. I fear the curse followed my path when I married Patrick Kingston, but I refuse to be the predecessor.

I want love. I want a complete home. I want to be me. And I will break the curse.

__

It's almost dark when I return home after killing a few hours at MK watching the fashion show rehearsal and handling a few paperwork with other executives. Everything is proceeding flawlessly. It worries me a bit, for every calm in my life has been followed by a storm lately.

But I remain positive.

The kitchen halogens are on, a golden hue bathing the area dimly. A figure of a gorgeous man seated on the barstool holding a glass of whiskey or rum—I can't tell from a distance—steals my smile. Gingerly, I throw the keys onto the console by the foyer, and then deposit my purse onto the couch, before peeling off my boots.

"I'm glad you're here. Kenna and I are onto a brilliant theory about Elena that could possibly lead us somewhere," I say, striding toward Red who's sipping his drink nonchalantly facing me sideways.

"You were supposed to come home straight after your little detective play," Red replies, and yeah, it's part of the agreement we had. 

"Well, I'm fine. In one piece." I climb the two wide stairs heading to the elevated kitchen area. "Elena went to see Patrick on the same night I left the mansion. She must've seen or witnessed something which made her spiral to the point where she began spilling his secrets like a lunatic."

Red whirls himself and places the glass on the countertop while saying, "And then I'm told you're playing mafia queen now, digging dirt on Judge Stevenson" — he swings back, facing me — "without telling me anything about it."

Okay, he's pissed.

But in my defense, it was merely a contingency plan that he would've probably gone against if I told him beforehand.

I smile, setting myself between his knees. Automatically, he holds my waist, and I wrap my arms around his neck to have the proper sight of that raging fire burning his amber eyes. Oh, it's such a turn on! Even mad, he's still my hot babydaddy.

"The means justifies the end, Mi amor," I whisper into his ear while grazing my cheek against his rough stubbles that demand a shave. "But I knew you'd find out anyway. In fact, I'm sure you were aware of it from the very beginning, no?"

Responsively, Red uses his one hand to grab the base of my neck and fists into my hair; he forcefully rears by head back, exposing my neck. A whiny gasp escapes me, and I know it's one of those punishable offenses he loves making me pay for whenever I break our truce of honesty.

"Well..." I go on rumbling, but his lips on my throat shakes a thick breath out of me, especially when his other hand dips through the hem of my dress "...I think we can use Elena and whoever the mystery caller is to finally put Patrick in his place. Those two are our best shot."

Red doesn't answer. Instead, he attacks my lips and shuts me up with a strong, demanding kiss. My breath catches, and my heart bolts into a wild race when I taste his tongue that wrestles with mine dominantly.

Okay. The punishment it is.

Abruptly, still saying no word, he stands up and lifts me so swiftly. In a heartbeat, I'm seated on the granite countertop, my legs dangling to his sides. And then he stops to look at me; deep dark desire seeping out of his hot, yet composed demeanor, but he still utters nothing.

He looks mad, unstoppable, yet sexy as hell. What's his deal today? I can't say I'm complaining, though. I'm enticed.

"Did you find something about the mystery caller?" I ask him, partly pushing his limits.

"Yeah. Close enough." He runs both hands over the curvature of my hips underneath my dress until he reaches the waistband of my underwear.

Stirred, I prop myself a bit to let him have his way, and gently he pulls down my panties. But my curiosity remains on the subject that he strangely gives so little importance on at this particular moment.

"Close enough. Care to explain?" I breathe.

Red licks his two fingers like a naughty, horny bad boy, his eyes trained dangerously on mine.

"Not really," he answers, and his moist fingers run over my clit a few heartbeats later. I flex, throwing my head backward with a sound breath. "But he agreed to meet," saying this, he rubs me slowly between my folds, and his one hand rests on the countertop as though he's vacuously gauging my reaction.

Heat sears through my bloodstream so wildly it burns, and it never takes miracles for Red to make me wet and needy. Even his hot, rum breath against my neck could do the trick, let alone the tease of his expert finger that now delves deep into my core, stroking me in and out, one finger at first, then two, and the sweet torture continues.

I incline back to hold onto him, to look him straight in the eyes with my mouth slightly agape, expelling erratic breaths that fall short when his lips slam back on mine. Grunting, my fingers crawl into the back of his skull, digging through his hair at each pounce of his fingers and the rub of his thumb on my hardened clit.

"When are you gonna meet him?" I ask between our deep, wet kisses.

"Maybe tomorrow? He'll decide."

I groan softly, every muscle of my body clenched from his sensual touch.

"You trust him?" I ask shakily. 

Red refuses to answer. I hear his belt clunking as he breaks its buckle. My eyes fall on the huge bulge beneath his jeans; so big that I could see his cock hard and erect, ready for me. My sex grows achingly wetter, and my core tightens with need.

"What if it's just a trick, Red?" I keep quizzing, my attention equally divided between this moment and our problems. "What if he's just laying a trap to—"

"Just shut up, woman," Red interrupts me while unzipping his jeans to free his cock, "and let me fuck you."

My whole body electrifies from the sound of his sadistic words. I cave in, letting him draw me forward until my thighs fall around his waist. And when he buries his nine inches inside me, my whole world spins along my dilated pupils. He fucks me to his liking, and I focus on nothing but him and the exquisite pleasure. 

I'm laughing exhaustively by the time Red buckles up his belt, my one leg poking him on the shoulder in a childish, if not slutty manner. We just fucked without taking our clothes off; I'm still reeling. For some reason, it felt like we're teenagers fucking in the locker room. Inappropriate. Impromptu. Very hot to say the least.

"I took care of that jerk of a judge. You can stop being a mafia queen now," Red says, still in his cold persona but with a hint of after-sex warmth he can't ever hide.

"Took care, how?" I lower my leg and pull myself forward to sit upright.

"Just a second." Barefoot, he moves gaily toward the living room and I remain on the countertop ever-clueless but plethoric with curiosity.

When Red returns, he's holding an envelope. He's turned the full lights on, bathing the whole floor with abundant brightness. He hands me the package of mystery and I unravel it without any further ado.

What I find inside numbs me interely. I read it twice to be sure, and the smile of intrigue on Red's face clears the fog of doubt that I almost succumb to in fear of being dreaming. I smother a shocked laugh. 

"Is this—"

"You're a free woman, Mia. Yes, the judge has sanctioned your divorce and you can call Hilary to confirm. I just wanted to be the bearer of the good news," he says proudly.

Tears build in my eyes. Swiftly, I drop off the countertop and throw my arms around him, hugging him so right because I don't want this to be another beautiful nightmare.

"Te amo," I tell him, caring so little how it happened so fast.

I don't fucking care wether Red put a bullet on him or kidnapped his wife to have him sign these. I'm just too happy. 

"I love you, too, Mia Vera. I told you, I won't let him have his way ever again. This is just the beginning," Red replies grimly.

__________

A/N: Baby daddy to the rescue! Not sure what's coming from Patrick, but we've officially kicked his ass.