Emiliano
brOS BEFORE HOS
“This skinny pendejo ,” I mutter to myself as I tug at the hem of the fresh white T-shirt my brother told me to grab from his drawer.
Except it fits like a goddamn condom.
With the paper bag in hand, I find the nearest soldado and hand it off with strict instructions.
“It goes out tonight or it’s your ass,” I remind him, watching his eyes widen as he nods. He’s young, but not as young as I was when I first killed a man.
I clap a hand over his shoulder and watch him speed walk away once I’ve dismissed him.
I huff out a sigh as I amble down the hall toward where I know the meeting is being held. I informed Ignacio what I’d be up to in the basement, and he told me to show up when I was finished. So when I walk in the room, he doesn’t skip a beat.
“One of our east coast connects is branching out here in Austin, on the legitimate side of their operations. A whiskey distillery. If they ask for men, we will give them men. Sicarios , halcónes , mulas , whatever.” He steeples his fingers together before aiming them at his capos .
“The Klarkes and Delvecchios, under Regina’s new leadership, have been good to us.
I know a few of you are headed back to your plazas , LA and Chicago; I’ll be in touch. ”
Mario from Chicago scratches at the back of his neck before nodding.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Juan from Los Angeles answers.
“Emiliano, I know you’ve been representing Regina Delvecchio with her casino venture. Good shit.” He tips his chin at me, and I two-finger salute as I maneuver around everyone.
I take the open seat in front of his desk that no one dared to sit in. Beside my seat, Carlos sits—no slouches.
He’s got his phone out, and I don’t bother saying shit. He’s asking to get his ass whooped, and I’ve seen Ignacio’s lethal right hook.
I’d rather sit this fight out.
I hear murmuring behind me and a few chuckles follow.
“ Mira ,” Ignacio snaps, his expression pinched. “ Pongan atención, cabrónes .”
It’s enough to get me to straighten as I glance around the room. The men are now quiet, eyes directed at my oldest brother. Everyone except Carlos.
I direct my attention to Ignacio again and catch him running his hands over his face before waving one in the air, toward the door. Without a word, everyone begins to file out of the room.
“ Hermanos ,” he barks out before snapping his fingers and pointing to the chairs in front of his desk. I sit back down while Carlos rolls his eyes.
“ Sientate ,” I hiss, my nostrils flared, my jaw clenched, finally tired of his shit.
He sinks down into the chair, making it scratch against the floor with his weight. Like a petulant fucking child.
Ignacio pins him with his glare.
“You think I won’t shoot you, motherfucker? I won’t hesitate to make an example out of you with your disrespectful bullshit,” Ignacio grinds out, one of his hands hovering over the Glock 34 he keeps within arm’s reach at all times.
His gun is the only thing on earth that sleeps with him.
“And make Mami cry?” Carlos snorts, his arms crossed over his chest.
Typical middle child bullshit.
“I’d rather deal with her tears.” But he doesn’t press, leaning back into his seat until the leather creaks.
“Something’s going on. I have no idea what, but I need you both to have your ears to the streets and your eyes wide open.
One soldado going missing is fine. Two is annoying.
Three starts a war. Don’t let it get there. ”
“What…” I start, unsure of what to say. “You aren’t giving us much here.”
“Because I can’t make any fucking sense of it myself,” he nearly yells, and I quirk a brow.
He sighs and begins to speak again in a lower tone.
“I had some halcónes asking around to see if any of the other families are fucking with us, but so far, nothing. The Klarkes know nothing, the Morellis are concerned. Shipments are coming in and going out on time, but if this gets out of hand, I refuse to allow this family to look weak. I’ll send out sicarios .
I don’t care if we have to burn this city to the ground. ”
He stares at me with eyes that look like our papi’s , and it freaks me the fuck out. Like seeing him sitting here, looking the way he did when I was a kid, constantly under his feet. I wonder what he’d think of us now.
“If that’s all,” Carlos starts as he braces himself on the armrests.
Ignacio flicks his hand toward the door.
He grunts when he stands, not saying another word as he slinks out of the room.
“What are we gonna do with him?” I ask, holding my hand out toward the door Carlos just walked through. “‘ Anyone who isn’t an asset is a liability,’” I remind him of Papi’s mantra.
“Don’t worry about it,” my oldest brother groans, running his hands over his face again like the action wipes his mind of bullshit. He leans back in the seat and stares at the ceiling. “You aren’t supposed to be so wise,” Ignacio murmurs, and I watch the notch in his neck bob.
I could never do his job. While I’ve seen my fair share of dead bodies, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to his every day occurrences.
“I thought you wanted me to be smart,” I tell him, opting to smirk instead of harboring on the life we’d been born into.
“I still want you to be smart, papito ,” he responds as he straightens to look me in my eyes, his voice a little louder, a little rougher under the weight of the day.
Or of this life. “I just wish you hadn’t been born into crime and violence.
You’re the golden boy. Our one good thing to come from all of this. ”
Words that feel like they’re going to crush me. It’s too much weight on my shoulders, too many people to let down.
“I’m your attorney, Nas,” I toss out, steering us away from the fringes of unrealistic expectations
“Don’t I know it. I see the monthly bill.”
“That’s what legitimate, smart attorneys do,” is all I tell him before I stand and turn to walk out of his office.
“Nice shirt. Close the door behind you, little shit.”
I do exactly as he says, and as I make my way down the hall, I see Carlos on his phone, his shoulders higher than usual. His fingers move swiftly over the screen as he types, not noticing me until I’m almost right behind him.
He’s always alone, never has more than one or two men with him, and has often used one of our younger drivers, Fabián, to do his bidding.
What does he spend his days doing, outside of being a married man? Ignacio probably has a better idea of that than I do .
“Why do you have to give him a hard time, man?” I ask, walking up beside him, shooting him a sideways glance. “He already has enough to deal with.”
He lifts his eyes and spares me a glance before looking at his phone again.
“He chose this life. I didn’t,” Carlos mutters with a shrug, still typing on his phone. “He isn’t interested in my ideas?—”
“Are we back to that? Those reckless ideas of yours?” There are some things even the Pineros family won’t touch. Perverse things that come with hefty price tags for buyers and a line of credit on your soul.
But Carlos tried to bring this up to Papi when he was alive, and I’m not sure any of us recovered from the fallout of that discussion. Certainly not Carlos.
He raises a brow as he peers over at me. His eyes squint for a moment, as if he had to think over what he wanted to say before he spoke. “Just because you two want to play it safe, doesn’t mean I should.”
“‘Loyalty is the Pineros way—’” I start.
“‘And you pay for disloyalty with your life.’” Our father’s words ring truer now in practice than they were in theory. We stare at one another, and I know he hates when I tell him he has our mother’s eyes, but it’s uncanny. “I know, I know. Jesus Christ.”
I’m glad Mami isn’t around to hear this blasphemy. The non-believer in me wants to chuckle at how hardcore Catholic she is. But she needs to have faith in something, so I tag along to Mass.
I stand a few inches taller than him now, and I’m wider than he likely will ever be. Once I outgrew him, our dynamic began to change. And once Papi stripped him of his role in the family? Forget about it. He became a ghost of the brother who used to pick on me and taught me how to ride a bike.
“Texting Nina?” I try for a neutral topic, missing the Carlos who was full of jokes, his ear forever red from being pinched between our father’s fingers.
“Ah, she’s such a pain in the ass.” He shoves his phone in his pocket, sighing. “Don’t ever get married.”
I chuckle at the brotherly advice; advice that I don’t really need.
“I’d have to meet a woman first. Between work and…this, I don’t have much time to look for love.” My words sound weak to me, and I can only imagine what people would think if they knew. I’m too embarrassed to tell him I haven’t slept with a woman in many months.
But it isn’t just that I don’t have the time to meet women, I also hate casual sex. Something about pleasuring a woman you love—or even like—makes casual fucking feel damn near like masturbation. We get off, look at each other, and then one of us leaves.
I want to fuck the woman I love until her legs shake and service her swollen, tender, and thoroughly pleasured pussy with a warm washcloth once we’re done. I want to watch her fist the sheets as I thumb her clit while feeding her deep, slow strokes until she writhes.
I want to feel her shift in her sleep and drag her back into my arms before we fall asleep again. I want to lap up her orgasms for breakfast.
That sounds like heaven to me.
Carlos’s phone rings, and he picks up, pressing it to his ear as he walks away from me, giving me the perfect moment to think about the incident at the gas station. That stunning little woman with the attitude of a person who couldn’t be paid to give a fuck about anybody.
Sexy as fuck.
She maneuvered like no one was watching her, like she dared someone to even glance her way. Precise, but with a womanly essence that snagged my attention like she called my name. It’s an ease I envy, knowing I’m so heavily scrutinized.
Then she turned those big brown eyes on me, her plump lips parted in surprise, and I felt my heart stutter.
I watched her every move like a fucking creep, and only when I gathered the nerve did I speak.
Of course, it went horribly and she made me feel like a fucking moron. She probably thought this was a slick-ass routine of mine.
With a groan, I yank on the bottom of this tight-ass T-shirt again and head toward the front door. I need to get home, wash the grime and whatever leftover blood is on me, and get some sleep.