Micah (The Delgado Files #4)

Chapter 1- Strength

Family gatherings brought with them an intensity that no longer sat well in the belly of Eduardo Delgado.

If there was one thing he disliked, along with weddings, it was family gatherings, and one usually accompanied the other.

This year would be trying on his soul since he had finally made a match to marry his second-born son, Andres, who was named after Eduardo’s brother; he swore Andres had reincarnated himself into his son, who loved spending time in nightclubs and seedy back rooms and living life on the edge of illegal activities, if not totally illegal activities.

The reputation young Andres had made for himself made it difficult for respectable parents to want a match with the young Delgado, who by all accounts lived up to his handsome, whorish reputation.

Eduardo’s eldest son Yunior, and his namesake, was married with a second child, a lovely little girl.

A strong young man of morals and character, Yunior had wed a North American woman who understood the dark-hearted spirit inside of his oldest son, and they shared a life filled with love.

They would be arriving in the next two weeks with their adorable children who followed him all over the house calling him “Abuelo! Abuelo!”

It didn't bother him too much, but his youngest daughter wasn't much older than the oldest grandchild, and in some circles, this would be considered as having a good life.

He was living not only to see a second wave of children in his middle age but also getting to enjoy his grandchildren.

However, as Czar of Colombia, there were still obligations required of him which needed to be handled.

The first was a wedding for his idiot brother Carlos, a man educated in the States in corporate law, which he was supposed to bring home to help Eduardo with the family farm and business.

However, his presence was so disruptive, Eduardo had gone out of his way to make the man a match to give him something to do other than be under Eduardo’s heels all day wreaking havoc.

On top of the wedding in two weeks, it meant all the family would be arriving for the annual meeting after the ceremony, which he didn't want to have or be bothered with, let alone feed that many people.

The pairing of Carlos to the niece of Role Bolsanaro, the Golden Lancehead of Brazil, was in fact a good match.

Carlotta Bolsanaro was a sweet young woman who found Carlos to be interesting, well-traveled, and funny.

“He's an idiot,” Eduardo mumbled under his breath.

In his office, he stood at the window, feeling heavy in his heart and even heavier with what came next.

He was no longer The Czar of the Americas, and the income from his illegal drug activities had been replaced with income from legal drug sales of the coca plants to European and Canadian drug manufacturers, which equated in value financially, but not in power. He was now one of the good guys.

He missed his bad-guy days when the sound of his name invoked fear in the hearts of men. Today, he was a grandfather and later having tea with his youngest daughter as she babbled on about dresses she wanted for the summer season.

“I need a vacation,” he mumbled again, dreading the conversation he was about to have with his third-born, Micah.

Recently completing his body ink and taking his official place in the cartel, Micah served as the historian for the organization since his mind worked like a database.

It wasn't discovered until he was seven years old that he had a form of Asperger’s Syndrome.

Eduardo, as his father, taught him to use the disorder to his advantage, but as of late, it had become a disadvantage as others learned of his disorder, and making him a match for marriage had become a bit more of a challenge.

Not only did many not understand the disorder, but men were also not eager to pair their “high value” daughters with a man who would, in all likelihood, produce “defective children.” Their mother and grandmother considered Micah and Eduardo's youngest son, Angel, who was born with Down's Syndrome, to be defective.

Eduardo saw his sons as being kissed by angels, and they would find their place in the world.

However, as their father, it was still his duty to do right by them and make the best potential matches for their futures.

He heard Micah walk up, but he didn’t bother to turn around.

There were times when he needed several moments to brace himself for conversations with his son, and each time, he felt as if he had walked into a gunfight with a popgun and a canister of matches and nothing incendiary to get a fire started.

“Papa, I have an invitation to the wedding of The Cranberry,” Micah said. “It is next week in where is this, Kelucky...or Louis vile, is that correct? Am I saying that correctly?”

“Loo-ey-vill, Ken-tuck-ee,” Eduardo corrected. Micah's English mastery had improved substantially, but there were still pronunciations that threw him off.

“I would like to attend this event,” Micah said.

“Also, this Loo-ey-vill is where they have the thoroughbred racehorses and the bourbon liquor. I would like to perhaps purchase some and start a private collection, maybe secure a couple of bottles as a wedding gift for Tio Carlos and a betrothal gift for Andres.”

“And you are bringing this to my attention, why? We have other matters to discuss, Mijo,” he corrected, turning to face his son.

A handsome young man, nearly six feet in height, Micah had inherited Eduardo's facial features and dark coloring.

He enjoyed the outdoors as much as his father, and the sun-kissed skin showed off the life he led.

He wasn't one to spend money as he earned it, but made strategic, logical choices.

At times, Eduardo had to remind himself that his son's brain was wired differently, well, it was until he began to speak and present his arguments on life choices.

“There is a college campus in Ohio where The Technician, the Lemon is a department chair; I would like to tour the campus, as well as one in Houston near the Blakemore Ranch,” Micah explained.

“I thought you were looking at MIT, Yale, and Princeton,” Eduardo challenged.

Micah scowled. “Getting an education there would be no different from getting an education in Argentina at the private school I attended. I would sit in class with a bunch of students who feel my darker skin does not merit me being there although I have made millions off my patents they will be using as a basis for their own research.”

“And what of these other schools you are considering, Mijo?”

“Well,” Micah walked further into the room, pointing at a chair, asking to take a seat, “kids at these schools are full of life, energy, and a desire to make a change versus getting the paper with the name of a prestigious Ivy League school and seal to go work for their fathers’ businesses.”

Eduardo arched an eyebrow. “Won't you be doing the same?”

“Yes, and about that,” he said, “I plan to stay here for the summer and perhaps go to university here in Colombia so I can be home with you?”

“With me?” Eduardo asked, his left eye beginning to twitch.

“Sí, you will need to begin grooming me to take over for you, to run Las Tierras,” Micah said, watching his father's facial expression.

“Yunior's hands are full in Argentina, and Tio Carlos, well, he’s him.

Andres I wouldn't trust to oversee the livestock, especially if the man wanted to add sheep to the flocks, and Tonda is living his best life in El Canto with his odd little woman. She smells of the corny chips. How does he go to bed at night with that smell? Does a man get used to the smell of his woman, Papa?”

Eduardo sighed and took a seat. “So much to unpack there. So much to unpack. Micah, you wish to take over from me?”

“Papa, you can't do this forever, and why would you want to? You have grandkids, and Isabella is going to be a handful,” Micah replied. “There is also Angel. I am trying to see our journey together a bit differently as we move forward.”

“As we move forward,” Eduardo repeated, looking at his third-born.

The young man was a conundrum, wrapped in a dark cloth of complexities.

“We need to talk about your betrothal. You are 18 and an inked member of the cartel. I have spoken with the Czar of Venezuela regarding his youngest daughter, Lolita. She is sixteen, and by the time you have finished college, she will be ready to be your wife. You will have the four years to get to know one another.”

“Venezuela is a hotbed of nonsense, and she has ugly feet,” Micah said.

“I'm sorry; you said she has ugly feet?”

“Sí, her little toe, it has no nail and is curled up like the Roly Poly bug and stuck under the third toe,” Micah replied. “I find it disconcerting.”

“Son, you are discounting her based on her little toe?”

“Toes,” he corrected. “Both of her little toes are like that - no toenails. If it is, it is curled up as well inside that tiny, misshapen toe.”

“You don't want this pairing because of her toes?”

“Feet, Papa,” he corrected again. “She took off her espadrilles, and the shoes were next to mine at the pool at the Conclave, and her feet are the same size. I mean, if we were ever in a canoe and I lost an oar, she could use her feet to get us down the river. No, I do not want to spend my life sleeping next to The Big Foot.”

Eduardo stared at him. “Are you making the funny?”

“No, I am very serious,” Micah said, using his feet like oars as if he were pushing an imaginary skateboard.

“Okay, I also spoke with the Czar of Suriname, whose oldest daughter just turned 17 and will be entering University in the fall,” Eduardo said.

“Papa, seriously? Did you look at that young lady? I'm sure you didn't because you would not put her name in front of me as an option.”

“What is wrong with her?”