Chapter 78 Celia #2
Santos gave me his arm and I laced my hand around his bicep, squeezing tight for an extra boost of emotional support.
He led the way up the stairs, and I followed behind, the stairs too narrow to allow us to walk side by side.
It was a service entrance, something likely built for servers and other employees of El Palacio.
There he was, waiting for me at the top.
Presidente Ramírez. I’d been doing my homework for the last few weeks.
He was forty years old and in the second year of his term.
One of the youngest presidents in my country’s history, and his mission was to cut down on street violence and child deaths due to drugs and gangs.
I was more than willing to make nice.
“Senorita Flores, it’s so nice to finally put a face to the name I’ve been hearing so much of.” He picked up my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles.
I could hear Santos’ teeth grinding behind me.
“Behave,” I whispered, “Likewise Ramírez. I hear you are doing great things for our country.”
“Please, call me José Luis.”
“Well, José Luis, I was pleasantly surprised by your willingness to work with me and my people. I don’t want to jump the gun, but I am hopeful I can make you see the positives in supporting my campaign.”
“I am not an ignorant man. I know everything that happens in my country—”
“Your country?” I cut him off.
“Like I said, I am not an ignorant man. I know this country’s history. I know you are the prodigal daughter returning. Lazarus coming back from the dead.”
My interest piqued.
“And what do you have to say about that?
“Ignacio Flores is a crass man. He has no taste for politics or social decorum. The only game he can play he doesn’t play well.
His henchmen are unmanned, loose in the streets, feeding drugs to the children and the whores.
Anyone who crosses him faces a temper tantrum and risks a bullet to the back of the head.
” His face twitched like there was a deeper story in there.
“So. The enemy of your enemy is your friend?” I asked him.
“With conditions of course.”
“As long as you hold my leash?” I clarified.
He smirked. “You’re far more intelligent about the inner workings of our world than I expected from an expatriate, Celia. May I call you Celia?” he asked.
“You may not. I am not an expatriate, and I take offense to that. I was forced out of my home country as a child by a stupid man with dangerous delusions and too many idiots willing to do his bidding.” I did my best to reign in my anger, but these days I had no tolerance for ignorant men.
He raised his hands up in defense and chuckled again like I was a kitten with sharp claws he thought too cute to scratch him.
I liked them better when they underestimated me.
I’d allow him to think he was the one in control, because at the end of the day I was smart enough to know having him on my side was how I’d grow.
I’d force my way into politics with one hand and with the other I’d rule the criminal underworld. His time would run out, mine would not.
I paid attention to all my lessons.
“My apologies, Senorita Flores. It was not my intention to offend. There is much gossip and very little truth when it comes to why the Flores family left México.” He put on his charm once again, not seeming to actually be worried about offending me.
“Let’s move on, José Luis. I think you’ll find me to be a reasonable woman to work with.” I cut the drama short, letting him know I wasn’t interested in gossip.
He nodded to me and then whistled over a nearby usher.
“We are ready,” he told him, motioning for both of us to stand in front of a dark curtain.
The usher disappeared, but minutes later the curtain pulled back, revealing the edge of the balcony and the crowd of people below, waiting on our descent. They clapped politely, the quiet encouragement of upper-class socialites was the same, no matter which side of the border you were on.
There was always someone who thought they were better than everyone else.
Santos remained a few feet behind, giving the illusion of a bodyguard instead of a lover.
My papá’s lessons always in the back of my mind, directing my every move.
A strong woman in politics was one who didn’t have a man at her side, but behind her.
Once I had established myself, I wouldn’t hesitate to introduce my men to the world as mine.
But I had to play the long game, and to do that I had to make sure I was allowed on the board first. A mayor elect with three lovers?
That was far too much for Guadalajara. President Ramírez rested his hand on my low back as he walked to my side.
I recoiled from the touch as his fingers grazed over my scar.
I could feel Santos’ glare burning like a hot laser over my skin, scorching José Luis’ hand off my body without even looking back at him. We descended down the staircase, one step at a time, politely smiling and waving to the upper-class drones below us.
The minute I stepped down into the gallery, I became self-conscious. Hundreds of eyes staring at me from all angles. My weaknesses, my flaws, my scars all out on display for them to judge.
Santos’ arm was heavy on my shoulder, telling me I could do this.
I could do this.
Fuck my scars.
Fuck what they thought. At the end of the day I was the best thing that could happen to them because I was the only one who could put things back to the way they were when my papá was around. And I would do it better than he did.
I was a violent woman, who survived a violent past and had a violent history. Scars were minimal compared to the damage I’d actually done in this world. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to gain respect, to tell them I was someone to be feared.
I was fucking home and no one else was going to take that away from me ever again.
We spent the next hour walking from table to table, Presidente Ramírez introducing me to his colleagues and supporters, letting them know that if they supported him that they now supported me too.
All he wanted was to keep the kids out of it and reduce deaths in the street. That was such an easy thing to abide by that it felt like I was cheating him out of a good deal. Ignacio had set the bar so low that I was going to be a shining beacon of hope for these fuckers.
I’d have to send him a thank you letter before I deprived him of his guts.
“Senor Presidente.” Dominico appeared, nodding to the president before turning to me.
“Dominico, how good to see you. I had heard whispers of your return to politics. It’s true what they say then, those who support the Flores family do it for life,” he joked, knowing damn well what he was actually saying.
The only way out was death.
Since neither Dominico or I were dead, then he belonged to me.
“Likewise, Ramírez. I’m actually here to show Senorita Flores to the conference room. The rest of her campaign party awaits,” he said politely.
Ramírez barked out a laugh. “Like father, like daughter. I remember Rafael was always working, even during parties and social events. I hope you don’t inherit all his bad habits. Live a little, eh?” He raised the drink in his hand before taking a sip.
“Claro. Maybe after I win the election I can finally relax.” I gave him a smile that was all business before letting Dominico lead the way through the gallery, Santos on my heels barely allowing space between us as he followed.
I scanned the room, searching for Mateo and Ronan but by the time I had found them they had already taken note of us and began to walk in our direction.
“Give me a minute in the ladies room, go along without me,” I instructed Dominico and veered off towards the sign pointing to the restrooms.
I didn’t have to turn my head to see if they were following me. I knew they were.
I opened the door to the bathroom and walked straight to the sink, standing in front of it and taming the stray hairs back down while I took a moment to just…breathe.