Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Vita
Being shot at through a fifth-floor window wasn’t on my bingo card for today.
What the ever-loving fuck?
That shocked me.
I was doubly shocked at how fast Alejandro dove toward me and shielded me.
I was triply shocked that he teased his cousin, who was practically spurting blood from his chest. Neither man was alarmed by the injury.
What kinda pincushions have they been? It didn’t faze either of them.
Or they’re that well trained they can’t show fear or pain.
That’s monumentally fucked-up either way.
I’ve been shot twice, and I definitely wasn’t feeling chatty either time. I barely kept from passing out, which would’ve been worse than the bullet. My pursuers definitely would’ve caught and killed me. Pablo’s weaving a little, but he’s upright and walking on his own.
“Jaime, get him to Madeline. She doesn’t have a shift, but I don’t know if she’s home. Call Javier and Tío Luis. Do not call Tía Margherita yet. I’ll take the blame.”
“Definitely don’t tell Mamá yet. She’ll skin me alive for getting hurt.”
“I’m taking Vita to the safehouse in Greenwich.”
Pablo looks over his shoulder at Alejandro now that he’s upright and can staunch the bleeding himself. He observes how Alejandro’s arm’s wrapped around my shoulders. Alejandro whispers to me what’ll happen.
“Madeline’s my cousin Javier’s wife. She’s a midwife, but she’s removed plenty of bullets before.
We trust our men to get him to my cousin’s house safely.
When we reach the lobby, our men will be waiting outside the elevator.
The men who waited in the hallway with Pablo already radioed the rest of them. ”
No one speaks in the elevator. We step off, and the Cartel men surround Pablo, Alejandro, and me. While Pablo and Alejandro are taller than some of the men, I veritably disappear among the huddle. When we reach the first SUV, Alejandro gives Pablo the bullet I collected.
“He’d normally be the one to collect fingerprints and DNA, but considering he’s about to go into surgery or at least get patched up, one of Tres J’s will do it—while Pablo bitches that they’re doing it wrong.”
The four men who must’ve come with Pablo climb into the SUV with him.
The men who came with Alejandro continue to encircle him and me.
There’s a second SUV waiting. My guess is it’s what Alejandro rode in to get to Jackson Heights.
There’s a vehicle leading and one following.
They’ll ensure no other cars get too close until Pablo goes in one direction toward Queens, and Alejandro and I go in another toward Connecticut.
Once we’re inside the vehicle with the doors shut, Alejandro reaches across me for my seatbelt.
It’s not that I can’t do it myself, but it feels like his protectiveness is on high alert.
Once again, he whispers to me, his mouth so close to my ear that the warm breath makes me want to shiver. He doesn’t want anyone overhearing him.
“I downplayed my fear for Pablo just like he downplayed his own. Neither of us wanted to alarm the others nor give away how dire it might be. The physical and mental fortitude it takes is beyond a normal person’s capacity.
I won’t take any chances with you, chiquita.
I won’t hide that. I need to personally ensure you’re safely fastened in, or my adrenaline’ll only keep surging. ”
I watch him, then capture his hands as he pulls away. I keep my voice as low as his, not wanting the men to hear me.
“Alejandro, I’m all right. Been here, done this before. Nothing happened to me.”
“It could’ve. It’s my fau—”
“You don’t know that. You know what I am. There’s no more speculation. This could’ve been entirely about me. It could be a reminder to hurry up or a punishment for not completing the job. It could be retribution for any number of crimes I’ve committed. It was my hotel room they targeted.”
“With Pablo and me in it.”
“That could’ve been a coincidence.”
“Or motive.”
“Neither of us has an answer to that. Why do you and Pablo fear his mother so much?”
He knows I’m changing the subject to keep us from a pointless argument neither of us can win. He indulges me as he shares a story that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“Pablo’s father will hover worse than a brooding hen, but his mother will wage a one-woman war until she finds who hurt her son.
Pablo’s younger brother, Juan, died for his sins against the bratva.
It surprised none of us, even if we still grieve the loss of a family member.
Only my tío and tía miss him. The rest of us sometimes miss the boy he once was but never the man he became.
But with only one son left, my tío and tía won’t survive losing Pablo too. ”
Alejandro looks beyond me and out the window for a moment, lost to some memory. Maybe he’s fighting to keep his composure in front of his men and me. He’s not whispering as quietly as before, and there’s deep sadness in his tone.
“Tía Margherita’s a legend in Colombia. When her sons were little, she was part of a convoy to our family’s summer home—winter in the Northern Hemisphere—when it was ambushed.
The lead and last vehicles blew up, but the reinforced SUV smuggled in from here protected my tía and cousins.
She had Pablo huddle on the floor of the SUV with baby Juan next to him.
She grabbed a rifle from the back and shot several of the men in the rival cartel. ”
He pauses and shakes his head. I know he was too young to remember any of this, but he’s clearly heard the story enough times to recount it as though he were an eyewitness.
“When she ran out of ammunition, she got out of the vehicle, supposedly surrendering to protect her children. When the leader approached, assuming she capitulated, she threw down the rifle and pulled a knife. It was in the man’s aorta and sliding across his throat before anyone knew what was happening. The guy never even felt his death.”
I get one of his wry smiles that makes me melt. He even looks a little sheepish as he continues.
“So, needless to say, I’m not eager for Tía Margherita to hear about this until we know what’s going on.
Tío Luis, along with my papá and Tío Enrique, hovers and whittles when any of us get hurt.
Mamá and my tías have to send them away.
They complain the men get underfoot and don’t let any of us sleep because they fear we won’t wake. ”
He’d moved one of his hands to fasten his seatbelt when he began the story. He left his other hand on his lap with mine covering it. He turns it over and laces our fingers together. Unlike the ploy it was earlier to bind my wrists, he’s sincere now. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand.
“Bravado is worth nothing when you fear for a family member’s life. No man in mine—in any of the Four Families—fears showing his love and devotion. It doesn’t weaken us. It only shows the world our family ties can’t be broken.”
He expresses what anyone who’s around a syndicate’s leading family knows. The part about the unbreakable ties that bind. The other part is quite profound. It’s not a sentiment shared by all syndicate ruling families. It’s not one expressed aloud by most syndicate men.
People have long said the NYC syndicate leaders are odd.
Some scoff at their open displays of affection.
But those who are wise and wish to live understand these families are genetically wired differently than the rest of the world.
Their devotion is a strand in their DNA.
A strand that can’t be extracted without the rest disintegrating.
To hear Alejandro describe it is moving.
While plenty have witnessed what he’s describing, hearing him share it with me is a vulnerability I doubt anyone outside his family sees.
He told me earlier that he’d shown me the real him, but I’d scoffed at it.
He didn’t elaborate, letting me change the subject.
Now I know he spoke the truth. The gravity of that keeps me silent.
I don’t fight the urge to sag against him.
We’ve been through the same traumatic event, yet his shoulders feel broad enough to carry the weight for both of us.
It’s a cop-out on my part after my own show of bravado ever since he climbed into my car.
He stiffens for a moment as my head rests on his shoulder, then he moves to wrap his arm around mine like he did in the hallway and in the elevator.
It’s only when he draws me closer to his side that I feel him relax.
My willingness to let go of control and give it to him calms him as much as it does me.
I’m exhausted from today’s mental and emotional workout.
I want to close my eyes and let someone else—only Alejandro—take over.
Releasing the weight of it all leaves me feeling depleted but safe.
I realize taking on the burden of protecting both of us—me not fighting him anymore and allowing him to decide—makes him feel…
I don’t know. Safe? Needed? Respected? I don’t know him well enough to tell, but he’s calmer.
“Rest, chiquita.”
How the tides have turned. When I close my eyes this time, I allow myself to drift away.
My mind clears for the first time in I don’t know how long.
No whizzing thoughts. No suffocating worries.
I don’t doze, but the drive’s shorter than I expected.
Even with his men around us, Alejandro kisses my forehead as he brings me back to reality.
I sit up and look around. We’re pulling into the garage of a large yet modest home in one of the wealthiest extended suburbs of NYC.
It’s not until I hear the garage door land against the ground that the driver switches off the engine.
It’s not because he wants to give us carbon monoxide poisoning.
It’s in case we need to make a hasty retreat as soon as the garage door rises again.
Hell, even before the door is up. I know the protocols.