Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Pablo
I’m grateful to my family for being who they are.
Not Cartel. But loving, generous, funny, and accepting.
It made last night perfect for Flora and me.
I asked Papá if it would be a mistake to involve everyone in the proposal.
He answered honestly that he couldn’t be sure Flora would appreciate it, but he thought it was a nice touch since she has no one else here in the U.S.
Things are still strained with Magdalena.
Some phone calls go better than others. People figured out Ernesto fucked around and found out when he crossed Flora.
Once people discovered she and I are together, it was a foregone conclusion to most. We’ve agreed to wait at least six months before we consider Flora going back to Colombia.
It’ll likely be closer to a year. I want to go a few times on my own before I take her with me.
She knows I had to travel internationally, and I think she suspects I went there. I didn’t. I was in South Korea.
Today, I’m dealing with fucking Lorenzo.
It’s taken three months, but fina-fucking-ly.
Alejandro went down to Peru four times to investigate more.
I swear, the man has an invisibility cloak.
The way he can slip in and out of places with barely anyone noticing is bizarre since he’s nearly six-five and two-forty-five.
He’s got shoulders wide enough that even our tailor shakes his head with how much material he needs for his suit coats.
Yeah, none of us buys off-the-rack. It’s not snobbery. It’s practicality. Retail just doesn’t fit. To have coats that cover our broad backs and long torsos would mean trousers that would look like clown pants on us. If we bought pants that fit, the suit coats wouldn’t fit across one shoulder.
My cousin poked around and learned there was more to Lorenzo’s proposed deal than Papá discovered. Lorenzo was getting into mining too. Copper and gold are major Peruvian exports. He was going to use the mines as a cover for the labs. Probably blow up half the Andes.
The Mancinellis definitely don’t have the sort of people working for them who know what they’re doing in a lab condition like that. They’ve practically set the fucking on fire before when they’ve had labs blow up. There are volatile ingredients involved in making our product.
Lorenzo’s little incursion into western South America ends today.
He believes he’s meeting with a buyer who wants to invest in his doomed endeavor. I’ve put in a shit ton of work over the past couple months to set this up. I’ve triple and quadruple checked my work to ensure he hasn’t guessed I’m behind all this.
It’s no secret Flora and I are involved, and it’s no secret I’m the one who got her away from Mason Harrison. I’ve been fucking the Mancinellis over small time just to keep them on their toes and pissed off. Now we’re moving onto the big leagues.
We’re meeting in Boston. The Mexican cartel up here understands just how badly they fucked up coming down to NYC and stepping on my toes. They exist just like any other cartel in the States because Tío Enrique allows it.
We don’t have a substantial Colombian community in Boston compared to NYC, so it’s the Mexicans who’ve emerged up here.
It doesn’t mean it’s a fucking free for all.
They know their ultimate allegiance is to my tío if they want to survive.
They know they shit the bed, and they know they’ll be repaying their debt for a long time.
Felipe Iglesias is one wrong move away from death.
He understands that after my visit up here.
I beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Put him in the hospital for three weeks.
Intensive care. The pleasure was all mine.
Now he’s making his first installment by hosting this little tête-à-tête with Lorenzo.
“El Tigre, everything is how you wanted.”
Felipe’s difficult to understand since his jaw isn’t healed fully from my breaking both sides. He’s also waiting on some dental work. I believe it’s a bridge and three crowns. He has at least one false tooth now. A baseball bat to the face a few times will do that.
“Thank you.”
He limps away as I look around. My cousins are strategically placed around the restaurant where we’re meeting. I chose a public place, so Lorenzo has to behave. He’s the most unflappable one in his family. He’s the hardest to rile, but when he’s pissed…
I can’t help but laugh thinking about it. He’s going to have a tantrum tonight the likes of which only a cranky two-year-old could match. By then, it’ll be more than a meeting not going his way that’ll have him throwing his toys and stomping his feet.
Felipe brokered this meeting and made sure the restaurant staff understands they’ll be paid well to stay away from our table once Lorenzo and I sit down. He has men scattered around the block as well. I’m certain Lorenzo demanded that too, but I’ll take credit for making it happen.
I usually hate having my back to the door, but I’m having a flair for the dramatic tonight.
Let his pathetic ass walk around the table to see who he’s meeting.
Tres J’s are in position to signal me if something goes wrong.
Alejandro can slip out of the crowded space if he needs to get away.
He’s next in line to inherit after me, so one of us has to survive.
He also knows what needs to be done after this meeting to keep the plan going.
“él está aquí.” He’s here.
It’s Jorge’s voice in my ear as I look in my cousin’s direction.
He flashes me the same grin he’s had since he was a toddler.
He’s the baby of the family, so I was super protective of him until he knocked me out in the boxing ring when he was fifteen and I was nineteen.
After that, I learned just how deceptive that smile can be.
Never mind all the times he stole my dessert with that smile.
Lorenzo knows he’s meeting a Latino, so my dark hair and olive skin won’t be a surprise.
I’m not worried about him guessing before he has to turn to face me.
Tres J’s blend into the crowd in this Mexican restaurant since they’re in jeans and t-shirts for this.
I’m the only one dressed in our usual uniform—dark suit, dark shirt, dark tie.
I prefer gray tones for my suits and shades of silver or midnight blue for my shirts and ties. Lorenzo likes beige. Suits the pendejo.
When in Rome.
Caremonda in Colombia. Penis face.
“Here we are, sir.” The waiter shows Lorenzo to his seat.
“Thank you.” Lorenzo keeps his voice down as he walks past my right shoulder.
“Buonasera, faccia de cazzo.” Good evening, testicle face.
“What the fuck, Pablo? Find your own deal. You’re not muscling in on this.”
“Too late. Sit.”
Lorenzo glowers at me before sweeping his gaze around the restaurant to make sure he’s not drawing more attention than his good looks normally do. The two of us together is already getting stares. It’s obvious we’re both grossly rich, and I’m no troll.
“Pablo—”
“No. In this little come to Jesus, I’m reading the Gospel tonight. Sit.”
I gesture to the chair, and he pulls it out as he unbuttons his suit coat. He leans forward enough to ensure I see his gun under his arm. Big fucking deal. I have my shoulder holsters on with a gun under each arm. His balls are not bigger than mine.
“You are higher on my shit list than you ever have been before, Enzo. You done fucked up worse than you can imagine. You meddled in my family’s business, and you yanked a woman into our world.”
“Your shitbag great-uncle did that. I didn’t pick Florencia as his chemist. He did.”
“You didn’t walk away when you found out he was forcing a woman to work for him. Worse than that, neither you nor your uncle went to mine to tell him what was happening. You used Florencia and didn’t care that Humberto would’ve eventually killed her.”
“He might not have.”
“I know you—” only went to Rutgers for computer science “—aren’t the brightest one in your family, but you aren’t an idiot.”
I’ll have to find a fresh set of insults for him now that his lack of an Ivy League or even Top Tier education can’t be something to pick on him for. Never mind he went to MIT for grad school in accounting.
“It’s not my fault Enrique let the leash go slack, and Humberto fucked you over again. For a man who was under house arrest for thirty-six years, he managed to cause a lot of shit from his marble mausoleum.”
My eyes narrow at him, and I hear Joaquin mutter through my earpiece.
“I’ll shank his fucking huevos.”
I’m certain Lorenzo’s wife, Michelle, would take issue with him coming home a eunuch.
“That’s a douche move since you know I’m not alone.”
“Did I lie? I know they heard me.”
“You’re just digging your grave deeper by the syllable. The only appropriate response in this is ‘I’m sorry, Pablo. How can I make it up to you?’”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“You didn’t stop when Flora and I left Colombia. You went after her here.”
“No, I did not. That was on Harrison. He thought he could impress Uncle Salvatore and make some extra money by taking her. If you hadn’t killed him first, my uncle would have for making you think we ordered that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” I run my hand through my hair as I lean back in my chair.
“Get to the point, Pablo. Are you here to make a deal or what?”
“Or what.”
He assesses me, but before he can speak, his phone vibrates three times then stops.
“You should answer that. It’s your family.”
The Mancinellis let a call ring three times then hang up as a code. They’ll call back in that pattern until the recipient answers. It’s the fucking Bat Signal.