The Paradise Prophecy Read Online Free Page A

sweetness that was Gabriela Zuada, a sweetness that had brought him such unbridled pleasure that he would remember it with exquisite clarity for the rest of his life.
    And now, as he strode with a platoon of bodyguards, searching the maze of corridors backstage for the woman he loved—a maze that hadn’t seemed quite so confusing before this moment—Alejandro once again remembered that last sinful night, relishing his good fortune.
    And despite being cut off from those amazing bodily treasures . . . the perfect breasts, the skilled hands, the rolling tongue, that dark, delicious hair . . . Despite the fact that Gabriela was nowhere to be found in this impossibly confusing place, a sense of calm washed over Alejandro and he felt at peace with the world.
    Until the acrid smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, and Gabriela began to scream.

4
     
    T en minutes before those screams, Gabriela Zuada stood onstage with her bandmates, their hands locked together as they took their final bow.
    The crowd was cheering, many of them on their feet, some even chanting, “Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela . . .” as they showered the stage with flowers and candies.
    Scooping up one of the flowers—a bloodred rose—Gabriela threw it into the air, then lifted her chin toward the rafters and shouted, “ Glória a Deus, nosso Pai! ”
    The crowd went wild, hands thrusting heavenward as they repeated her words in unison, over and over, tears streaming down their faces, tears full of joy and hope and the promise of salvation.
    And in that moment, Gabriela—bone weary, drenched in sweat—thought:
    They would do anything for you.
    Anything at all.
    Then the thought was gone, skittering away like a roach exposed to a kitchen light, and Gabriela felt a chill run through her.
    Where had that come from?
    How could she think such a horrible thing?
    It was true that she wasn’t feeling well tonight, had been concerned that she was coming down with a cold and fever and might not make it through the entire show, but was that enough to put such thoughts into her head?
    Before she could take any time to analyze the moment, Francisco, Rafael and the others waved to the crowd and headed offstage. Gabriela fell in behind them, blowing one last kiss to her fans as she disappeared behind a wall of amplifiers.
    By the time she reached the ramp at the back of the stage, the thought was forgotten, overtaken by the sudden realization that her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to get out of these shoes, into a limousine, take the short ride home to her penthouse in the heart of São Paulo, then swallow a handful of aspirin and go to bed.
    That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
    As she reached the bottom of the ramp and handed her headgear to the sound technician, Alejandro and her bodyguards surrounded her, escorting her toward a dimly lit hallway behind the stage.
    Alejandro handed her a towel, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and her cell phone. Their usual ritual.
    The phone was Alejandro’s idea. He thought it absolutely essential that she have one with her at all times. A security precaution.
    It was true that Gabriela had ruffled some feathers by speaking out against the drug lords here in São Paulo, but she sometimes felt that Alejandro was too paranoid for his own good.
    “Outstanding show, querida . We’ve finished the tour on a high note.”
    Gabriela tucked the phone into her back pocket, wiped her face and neck, then returned the towel to him and took a swig of Gatorade. “I was off-key half the night. I think my ears are going.”
    “Nonsense.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “They loved you. We all love you.”
    She gave him a small squeeze back, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. Their history together would always be a source of discomfort for her, and she quickly withdrew her hand as they moved into the hallway.
    Alejandro didn’t seem to notice. He had his own phone pressed to his ear now and was calling