We're probably in Malibu, I thought.
I turned toward Dani. “Don’t worry,” I said. I was less concerned now that I saw this place, despite having my hands still zip-tied behind my back. This was a multi-million dollar mansion. The owner was not about to shoot us here. That would be messy, and this place was fucking pristine. We were going to be used as something-maybe bait for someone? But we weren’t about to be shot, at least not right now. That was some comfort.
One of the bodyguards led us into a large room, where another man in a suit stood looking out a window, his back toward us. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and dark skin. When he turned toward us, I immediately saw the resemblance between him and Guillermo. That’s interesting.
“Myron,” he said, gesturing to one of the bodyguards. “Would you please do away with the cuffs?” I felt a snap and then the release of the plastic as my hands came loose. Dani stood beside me, rubbing her wrists, staring at this man, her eyes burning with hatred.
“Why are we here?” she asked angrily. Fearlessly.
“I apologize for the cuffs, and for the way you were brought here,” he said. “I hope that I can trust you’re not about to rush me and attempt to pummel me to death.” He looked at both of us, waiting for a response.
“No,” Dani said.
“Excellent. Now that we’ve gotten that formality out of the way, we can continue. As for the unpleasant manner in which you were brought here, that is not the way I would have liked for this to go. It’s uncivilized, and not a way to treat family. It was merely a precaution, you see, a safety measure my men needed to take since we had no choice but to assume you were armed.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Dani beat me to the punch. “Family?” she asked, voice still angry.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.
“I regret that we had to meet this way, under these strained circumstances. You must think I am a monster, kidnapping you like this. Nevertheless, this is how it must be.” His eyes lingered on Dani’s face, and I didn’t like the way he looked at her. Then he sighed. “Dani,” he said. “You look so much like your mother. It’s remarkable.”
Dani’s voice came out raspy, hoarse. “Who are you?”
“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a pair of chairs across from the desk. “My apologies. I will explain everything in just a minute.” He walked to an ornate bar, and poured amber liquid from a decanter in glasses, setting them on the desk in front of us.
Dani looked at the glasses, disbelief etched on her face. “No thanks.”
“It’s scotch,” he said, returning to the decanter for a third glass. “It is not poisoned, I assure you. But when you hear what I have to say, you may be grateful for it.”
As we sat waiting for him, my thoughts raced. What the hell was going on here?
Then he sat down heavily in his chair across from us, his face weary. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time,” he said. “My name is Benicio Arias.”
I heard the words, but it took me a minute to register what he had just said. “Arias. My name.” I shook my head, furrowing my brow. “No. I don’t have any other family.”
“Yes, I suppose that is what you’re father has told you,” he said. "But I can assure you, I’m his brother.”
“He said his brother was dead.”
Benicio sipped from his glass. “Well, that sounds about right. You could say I’ve been dead for the past twenty years. However, I have come back to life.”
“So you kidnapped us at gunpoint and threw us in the car for, what, a little family reunion?” I was angry about the entire situation, and this guy - my uncle - was making it worse with his blasé attitude, drawing things out like he had all the time in the world for a chat.
“Your father and I have some unfinished business,” he said. “And you, Dani, are a part of that. I made a solemn vow to your mother that one day you would know the truth. And that day is today.”
“Don’t speak about my mother,” I said, hearing the volume of my voice rise. “What do you know about her?”
“I loved her once, and she loved me,” Benicio said. He stared into his glass, and I almost believed him. Almost.
“That’s not true.” I turned to Blaze. “It’s lies, all lies. It’s some kind of cruel game he’s playing. I don’t want to be here. I want to leave.”
Benicio reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a wrinkled and worn photo, and handed it to me. It was a photo of a younger man and woman, her arms wrapped around his neck. My mother, and a younger man, clearly Benicio. I felt my eyes well up with tears, and I bit my lip, trying to hold them back.
“No,” I said. “It can’t be. This can’t be right. Photos can be doctored. They can be photoshopped.” But I knew it was her, the minute I looked at the photo.