Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Alejandro
My stomach feels like it doesn’t remember the last time I ate. I’m a big guy who works out twice a day. I’m used to eating three to four thousand calories a day. Anything else feels like I’m fasting in the desert for forty days and nights.
After running upstairs to redress, Vita and I head into the kitchen to see what’s available in the house. While the fridge is virtually empty except for condiments, there’re plenty of options in the pantry. I silently thank my mamá and tías for always being prepared.
I consider all the things the women in my family do to support the Cartel. They’re all willing and able to defend the people they love most. All have had to do that, but the everyday running of the Cartel falls on the men’s shoulders.
The women do all the things behind the scenes.
They ensure families have enough food and proper roofs over their heads.
They protect the women and children from men who can’t separate work life from home life.
They even look out for the men whose women never reconcile with the life they live and take it out on their partners.
The women in my family are the silent strength behind the men. They’re the beauty and the brains that keep us going. Hell, half the time they’re the brawn too.
“There’s plenty of rice in here. I’m certain we can do something with that as well as this canned tuna. It may not be the most delicious meal you’ve ever had, but I can make something that resembles a tuna casserole.”
Vita’s brow furrows at my suggestion. “A casserole? How very American of you.”
I chuckle. “When in Rome.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“They’re little more than peasants living on a hill. When they can survive living in a city that floats on water, then they can brag.”
Her dismissive tone makes me grin. While the world knows of the ancient Roman Empire, there’s certainly plenty the Venetians have offered through the centuries.
“There’s an unofficial hierarchy of countries in Latin America. It seems like in your mind there’s a hierarchy of Italian culture.”
She vigorously nods her head.
“Absolutely, even if it may only be in my mind. Though, ask anyone in a Mafia family, and they’ll certainly let you know where their hometown ranks.”
“At the top, I assume.”
“Of course, and everywhere else is a million miles below.”
“So, I shouldn’t buy you Neapolitan ice cream.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not the American shit you people call a dessert. Find me a proper gelato, and then we can talk.”
“Cholado is what you really need to try.”
It’s sort of a mix of fruit cocktail, a drink, and a frozen dessert. Delicious.
She pauses for a moment; her mouth hangs open as though she’s deciding what she wants to admit.
“I’ve had that several times.”
That grabs my attention as I set a pot of water to boil in preparation for the minute rice.
“How much work have you done in Colombia?”
“Not a ton, but a few jobs here and there for my family.”
If that’s the case, this is something she should’ve revealed to me several hours ago, certainly before having mind-blowing sex.
She shakes her head. “No, not for your family and except for your cousin, never against your family. It was when I first got started. Lesser cartels squabbling with one another. Nowadays, no one but your family could afford me in Colombia. I already told you what the bounty was on you.”
“Bounty? It wasn’t dead or alive.”
“Semantics. You know what you’re worth to my employer.”
I watch her grab a can of fruit cocktail and green beans. Rice, tuna, green beans, and fruit cocktail. Definitely not the Michelin star meals I’m accustomed to, but it’s certainly better than remaining hungry.
“What would you—”
Vita’s question’s interrupted by hammering on the door, then Joaquin’s voice calling out to me.
“Alejo?”
“Sí, estamos en la cocina.” Yes, we’re in the kitchen.
Even though I can’t hear them yet, I’m sure his brothers are with him.
I’ve just poured the rice into the water when Tres J’s joins Vita and me in the kitchen.
I study their expressions as they survey our little domesticated scene.
With a synchronicity that defies even the most well-studied genetics, their left nostrils curl in disgust as they take in the cans on the kitchen island. Their gazes snap to me as they frown.
“You can talk to your mamá or mine about the food they stock here. Would you like to let them know you disagree with their selections?”
Three identical scowls make me chuckle. From a distance, they’re difficult to tell apart for anyone outside our family. They bear a close resemblance to one another, but up close, it’s easy to distinguish their differences.
Their gazes shift to Vita as they assess her.
I turn my attention to her and watch her reaction to my cousins’ arrival.
She’s standing with her hands on the kitchen island, palms against the marble.
She’s suggesting she isn’t a threat. Her shoulders are back and chin is up.
It’s not defiance. It’s that aura I’ve realized she projects when she’s uncertain of a situation and is prepared to defend herself verbally or physically.
I step beside her and shoot my cousins a warning.
I restrain the urge to cover one of her hands with mine.
It’s a sign of solidarity I’m not ready to share with my family.
Not unless I have to defend her. When I return my focus to them, their expressions are bland compared to what they looked like when they assessed our meal prep.
Those who don’t know them would say they appear unemotional.
However, we read each other so well, there are few secrets among us.
I know they’re wary of her because she’s an outsider. Add that to their awareness that she and I met because of the hit put on me. It surprises me they didn’t come in with guns drawn ready to light her up, assuming she’ll continue her attempt to kill me.
“How’s Pablo doing?”
It’s Javier who answers without shifting his gaze from Vita. “He’s fine. Complaining that Florencia isn’t sympathetic enough.”
“Is she?”
“No. She told her husband he should’ve ducked.”
My cousins and I chuckle, but I watch Vita’s brow furrow.
“My cousin’s wife grew up in Bogotá with a complicated family history connected to my other cousins’ parents.” I nudge my chin toward the men as I speak.
Once again, their expressions don’t change, but there’s a hardening in their gaze.
It’s not toward Florencia or the thought of her but toward her father’s family and all that Tres J’s and Tía Luciana lost because of them.
If it hadn’t been for Florencia’s father’s family, my tío would still be alive.
When I turn my head toward Vita, I know she’s considering what she just heard.
When the realization hits, she must know more about that part of my family’s history than I realized.
I wonder if that comes from the dossier she received for this job or perhaps information she learned during her trips to Colombia.
She senses me watching her and turns to face me.
Her only reaction’s a nod. Javier’s words turn my attention back to my cousins.
“Primo, we need to talk in private.”
Never before have I hesitated like I do now.
I don’t want to be rude to Vita by leaving her alone to likely go and talk about her.
There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes. I suspect she believes my hesitation comes from me not trusting her to be alone in the house while my cousins and I meet behind a closed door.
She doesn’t understand I’m trying to consider her feelings.
The path to hell is paved with good intentions.
“Tres J’s, I’ll meet you in the living room in just a moment.”
I know we won’t speak Spanish while we meet, so I’m unconcerned about Vita hearing us.
We’ll speak Macaguán instead. Once my cousins file out of the kitchen, I slip my right arm around her waist and tug her toward me.
She’s resistant at first, but my arm’s a steel band around her waist. Rather than let me knock her off balance to get what I want, she turns and steps closer.
“Chiquita, you can finish cooking if you want or go up to the bedroom and watch TV. There’s also the den. I bet there’s a TV there too.”
“If you trust me to be that far out of your sight.”
There’s a bite to her tone. Not that I can blame her. I brush my knuckles against her cheek before bussing a kiss on her lips.
“Chica, this isn’t about trust. My hesitation was about being rude and leaving you alone while I speak with my cousins.”
She stares at me, weighing my words, unconvinced of my sincerity. If I wouldn’t have had the same reaction, I’d be hurt by hers. However, I understand. It takes a moment before she nods.
“Thank you for being so considerate, Jandro. I’ll see what I can manage in here and let you know when it’s done.”
We both look at the stove where the rice sits ready. There’s a can of tuna on the counter beside it. There’s very little else to prep.
“I spotted some mayonnaise and relish in the fridge. I suppose I can make something like tuna salad.”
Neither of us appears excited by her suggestion, but we’ll make do. I give her another quick kiss and tap her on the ass before I head to the living room. I don’t bother with Spanish and speak to my cousins in Macaguán instead.
“The least you could’ve done is bring us something to eat if you’re going to arrive without any warning.”
“I knocked.”
Javier’s the brusquest in our family. He’s not exactly anti-social, but he hates people. The only people he wants to people with are the people he already loves. Needless to say, with a stranger in the house, he’s not at his most outgoing right now.
“You could’ve called or texted me.”
That makes three sets of eyebrows shoot up to their hairlines. Joaquin smirks, and I know what’s coming.
“So that’s how it is, huh?”