20. Tamayo
TAMAYO
T he district attorney is half a second away from feeling my hand around his throat when he finally unsticks his eyes from Zarina’s ass. He swivels his attention back to Jimmy then me, and I cock my brow. He just grins with a shrug. Like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar rather than visually assaulting my fake fiancée.
My grip tightens around my glass.
Jimmy settles further into his chair, the leather ready to swallow him whole, fully relaxed in this place that has always welcomed him. “How’re you holding up?”
“We’re fine,” I lie. There’s no way to answer honestly without yielding something—the way we’re spread too thin, the properties we own, the length of our reaching fingers. I’ve spent years buying up plots of land and commercial property under various shell companies to keep the Cardinal Families ignorant of my movements. Especially the Gallos. They can’t know the way we’re creeping into their territories, choking their income streams in a slow, imperceptible stranglehold. Not yet.
“‘Fine.’” Jimmy ruminates on the word, studying me. “ That’s one way to put it.”
I glance to the archway leading into the hall—still empty.
Jimmy heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Zarina is fine.” His voice is on the edge of a snap.
I adjust my body to give him my full attention, knowing I am here by the grace of his invitation.
“You need friends, Tamayo. That’s why I invited you here.”
I rest my drink on the arm of my chair, fingers loose around it. “What are you proposing?”
“Business, of course. The only sacred thing left to men like us.” He gestures at Logan and then me.
I hum, barely withholding a snort at the irony of my being man enough for business but not man enough for much else.
“The Accardis are reaching too far, digging too deep.” His voice is low, meant to be heard by Logan and me only. “And with the way Marcus and Alonso can’t keep their dicks in their fucking pants, war is too likely for my taste. I need guns. And you need legitimacy.”
“Isn’t that why I’m marrying a Gallo?” I ask.
He shakes his head before I finish speaking. “That might be enough if you were a man. It was for Ricci.”
Irony strikes again. Not man enough to marry into a Cardinal Family. Unlike Riccardo, who married Alessandra Gallo and took on the role as don without an eye batted.
“If you can call him a man.” Logan pulls a face in disgust. “Would you do the same, Tamayo? Would you take the Gallo name?”
If it were another name, I might. If it weren’t the family that broke and abandoned me. My knee twinges, the ghost of an old pain pulsing deep in my bones. It hurts when it rains. It aches after a long day. It swells if I pivot too quickly. All thanks to the Gallos.
I ignore Logan’s question and look to Jimmy. “So, you want to cut a deal.”
His lips twitch, fighting a smile. “I do. ”
“And what do I get in return?” I drag a finger through the condensation coating my glass.
He snorts. “My money.”
“Seems unbalanced to me.” I lift my drink and hold Jimmy’s gaze over the rim. “If the war you believe so inevitable breaks out, you could use my own guns against me.”
He shrugs. “The deal is the deal.” He says it like it’s inscrutable. Like selling him the very weapons that could spell mine and my family’s destruction if the mockery of my engagement is revealed isn’t the exact definition of absurd. A few days after the Council meeting and already we’re dealing with vandalism, assault, harassment, robbery, and trespassing. And he distills that into a shrug, unbothered because he doesn’t have to be.
Angie’s words during our phone call earlier echo in my ears. The Den is supposed to be a place for our people to be themselves, to feel safe, and it’s theirs as much as it is yours… So take it the fuck back.
I set my ankle on my knee and consider him. He’s worried about the Accardis, about their too-greedy hands digging into dirt not meant for them. It’s been a quarter of a century since the Russos fell, but it seems Jimmy hasn’t forgotten what led to boundaries set in blood-soaked asphalt. He wants me to bear the brunt of the oncoming storm while he sits safe in his shelter.
I’m here to tear the shelter down.
“You’re right, Jimmy.” The compliment releases the smirk ready on his lips. “I need friends. I can’t do this alone.”
He nods, pleased with himself. “I knew you were smart.”
“But I need more than money.”
His smirk tightens into a frown.
“My family is taking the brunt of the backlash, and money only goes so far.” I let my shoulders slump just so, my body curl inward as if dejected. I play into what they expect of me, a girl amongst men—incompetent, silly, more nurturing than cutthroat. “I need help.”
Jimmy squints at me. “What kind of help?”
“Nothing…loud.” I swirl the dregs of my drink, ice tinkling against the glass. “There’s been an influx of crime around the Den—my club. Just tonight, men were intimidating and harassing the line, scaring my customers, yelling slurs.”
Logan shakes his head as if this is the saddest thing he’s ever heard. “That’s horrible, Tamayo.”
“I know.” I meet his performance with my own, pained expression covering my face, a tremble in my chin. “Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon. Queer people are still targeted in these modern times, attacked for existing.” I scoff. “A handful of stores under my care were vandalized this week. Hateful words painted over their windows.”
Jimmy and Logan meet each other’s eyes, a loaded pause passing between them. I watch without looking, my gaze focused on my hands as if stuck in the recollection of a painful memory. But inside, I’m reveling in their reaction. Nothing makes privileged people more uncomfortable than being faced with the product of their oppression.
Jimmy nods and pats Logan’s knee. “We can’t allow such prejudice to run rampant, my friends. Our city is better than this.”
Logan leans forward in his seat, finger jabbing into the supple leather of the arm rest. “This is exactly the kind of crime I’m trying to highlight in my reelection campaign. Everyone deserves to feel safe on the street, especially people like you, Tamayo.”
I clamp down on a spiteful reply, keeping my face pathetic.
“Of course”—he leans back again, adjusting his suit jacket—“I can’t get the word out alone. It takes a team to campaign, money to fund, man-hours to investigate and increase vigilance in the area. ”
Jimmy waves his hand with a fond shake of his head. “For the safety of the people, money is no object.”
“Hear, hear!” Logan raises his drink, smiling too wide.
I clink mine to his. “To new friends.”
“And to Louredo.” Jimmy joins his glass with ours.
We all drain our cups. The last of the liquor hits my tongue, bitter as it rolls down my throat. I set it on the side table and watch as Logan pulls a case of cigars out of his breast pocket and taps it on his knee.
“When’s the party by the way?” he asks.
I frown. “Party?”
“The event of the season, Tamayo! Your engagement!” Logan spreads his arms with a laugh. “I’m keeping an eye out for my invitation.”
“Right.” I clear my throat.
Jimmy throws me a bone. “It’s expected of a Cardinal engagement.”
I want to snort—the Council would have never accepted my engagement to Zarina if the threat of consolidated power wasn’t a knife at their necks. “Invitations are going out this week.”
“Great. I’ll speak to my friends at the precinct—we’ll find these bigots and serve justice.” Logan pulls the cigars out one by one and cuts them before passing them around. “To the ol’ ball and chain! At least she’s pretty, eh?” He chuckles as if he’s made the best joke.
I accept the cigar, leaning toward the lit match Logan holds before my face. Not for the first time, I wonder if men even like women. He lights his own last and melts back into his chair. His suit is Tom Ford, his shoes shined to gleaming, his hair styled. He likes his things, cares for them. And yet I wouldn’t be surprised if he treated women worse than the objects he owns.
They chat about things I don’t care about—Logan’s reelection campaign, the state of the potholes on the street, the women in the room. I smoke my cigar and try not to cringe with each deplorable comment, offering a remark here and there. Suspicion grows in my gut, tangling around my heart and lungs. Zarina’s been gone too long. More than the five minutes she promised. There’s no way it’s not purposeful. But for what?
Darius stands at the archway and tilts his head. Time to go.
“Jimmy, Logan, thank you for tonight.” I snuff out the last of my cigar in the ashtray and stand, buttoning my jacket. “But the ol’ ball and chain has been gone too long.”
Jimmy breathes a puff of smoke. “Zarina’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”
“I know, but I can’t.” I wink with a grin bordering on indecent.
Logan guffaws, going so far as to slap his knee. “She’s got a date in the bathroom! Let her go, Jimmy.”
I let the grin widen as if he’s right, as if I’m unable to hold myself back from meeting Zarina behind a locked door and slipping my hands beneath her dress. Like I haven’t already gone multiple miserable days without having her in my lap, moaning my name and begging me to fuck her. But these men don’t understand self-control, only seizing.
I waggle my brows. “Can’t let my princess sit on an inferior throne.”
Jimmy laughs too loud, head thrown back. “At least take her home!”
“Or upstairs!” Logan teases.
“I’ll leave my card.” I shake Jimmy’s hand then Logan’s. “See you both at the party.”
“Looking forward to it.” Logan puffs on his cigar.
Jimmy flicks ash on the ground. “I’ll be in touch.”