23. Zarina
ZARINA
T he next morning, a shopping bag sits on the floor outside my room. I glance around the hallway, like the person who set it here is waiting around the corner. The place is empty, the house quiet. It could have been anyone who set it here—a soldier, Darius, even Pat—but all I can recall is Tamayo standing on the other side of this door last night, her hands brushing the wood. She likely left it behind. Maybe it was the whole reason she came to my door at all.
The bag is white with a familiar, silver logo in the shape of an apple on the front. I peek inside and find a new laptop, the box apparently unopened. Doubtful. I bring it into my room, upturning the bag onto my bed. There’s a phone and a pair of the latest over-ear headphones. Everything is sealed, the hardware still sporting their protective films. Either Tamayo and her people are really good at hiding their tracks, or she’s stupid. The latter is unlikely.
All it takes is opening the activity monitor application and a simple keyword search to find it—malware. It’s pretty basic, and it likely requires a password I don’t have to delete it. Easier to simply create encrypted pathways instead. I set to work, fingers tapping over the keyboard, and wonder if it was her or the techs on staff who underestimated me and which presentation gave me the upper hand—spoiled princess, high femme, or simply having a vagina. Either way, their loss is my gain. I start the tedious process, wishing I’d grabbed coffee before settling in to code what I need to keep my family’s secrets out of Tamayo’s hands.
The exact opposite of what I promised the Birdwatcher.
I pull my necklace up to my lips, the ruby resting between my teeth and the chain tightening around my neck like a noose. That’s three promises now. None of which I know how to keep. Tamayo wants territory and a favor. The Birdwatcher wants secrets. And I only want time. To understand what the fuck has my family running scared toward the precipice of extinction. If this deal they’ve struck with the Accardis ever comes to fruition, there’s no other inevitable conclusion. The Gallos will be swallowed up whole and disintegrated into acidic nothing.
But I don’t have secrets to give the Birdwatcher. Or territory to give Tamayo. Or power to fulfill a favor.
I spit out the ruby pendant and grab my hair in fistfuls. “Fuck.”
The Birdwatcher didn’t even give me anything but a place to start. I don’t trade without a deposit, but I’ll offer a show of good faith, they said. Look at properties in the Gachico neighborhood. It’s not much—it’s almost nothing—but it’s better than sifting through decades of records to find the rotting mold in a Scrooge McDuck–sized pile of gold. At least I have a direction, even if the direction is “generally south.”
The door squeaks open, and Pat trudges in, sweat soaking their clothes. They collapse on the floor with their limbs akimbo. I don’t spare them a glance as I continue typing. They groan. I ignore them. Their hand falls with a dramatic thump. I roll my eyes .
“I’m dying,” they complain.
I hum. They got their own room on Monday, but they always end up here, whether to sleep or to shower or to bug me. I’d find it adorable if it wasn’t always at the most inopportune moments.
“Darius is trying to kill me,” they grumble.
“And yet you’re alive enough to annoy me,” I mutter.
They grab the duvet and pull themself up the bed to sitting, hand stretching to my toes. I pull my foot under my knee, in case they get any ideas about tickling. Their hair is still annoyingly smooth and flawless despite having spent likely hours in the gym with Darius.
“I see you got your phone, too,” they say.
“It’s like you have the gift of sight,” I deadpan.
“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” Their voice is clipped with impatience, their sweat rubbing off on my sheets. I wrinkle my nose, and Pat huffs. “Jesus, what is it? Mad you had to fuck yourself instead of letting Tamayo do it like you want?”
I gasp and grab a pillow, smacking Pat in the head with it hard enough to mess up their always perfect hair. Smug victory fills my chest before they jump to their feet and rip the pillow out of my hand.
“Admit it,” they demand.
“No,” I say as sternly as possible. “Don’t hit my face or the tech.”
They narrow their eyes, bright blue darkening to a stormy cobalt. “Admit it, Zarina.”
“Pat,” I warn.
They raise the pillow above their head.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Admit,” they say through grinding teeth, “it.”
I throw up my hands. “Oh my god, fine! I want Tamayo to fuck me!”
A knock echoes across the still-open door, and I lurch forward, yanking the pillow back at the same time I shove Pat away from the bed. They stumble with their face stuck between a smirk and grimace. I jump from the bed and wind my arm back, pillow heavy in my hands.
“Princess?” Tamayo calls, still standing in the wide-fucking-open doorway.
“What?” I snap, because it’s less embarrassing this way.
“Can I have your ear for a moment?” she asks like I didn’t just scream that I want her to fuck me.
I twitch my arm, and Pat doesn’t even flinch. “Only if coffee’s involved.”
“Join me in the kitchen.” Tamayo turns on her heel and leaves me behind.
I drop the pillow and stick my tongue out at Pat. “Use your own shower, heathen.”
They pout, their eyes wide and lip heavy. “But yours has better pressure.”
“Whatever.” I pull the door shut harder than necessary.
Tamayo’s already halfway down the stairs as I follow her, still dressed in my pajamas. At least this time I have shorts on under Darius’s oversize shirt. When I enter the kitchen, Tamayo’s sliding a mug of coffee with a dash of oat milk across the island toward me. I hold it between my hands, the smell nutty and wonderful.
Tamayo leans her hip against the counter. “I was?—”
I hold up a finger, taking my first drink and savoring the taste. Coffee isn’t a jolt for me, the caffeine not often affecting me. No, for me it’s the taste. It’s the routine of waking up and enjoying a moment without the rush of the day bearing down on me. Tamayo bites her lip like she’s clamping down on a smile, something soft in her brown eyes. I don’t try to translate it for once. I simply enjoy my coffee for as long she’ll let me.
She’s dressed more casual today in jeans and a plain white tee. I wonder if she plans to stay on the compound, leave the business to her capos rather than pull on her suit of armor to deal with it herself. Her hair is swept to one side, revealing her undercut. Soft. She looks soft.
“Can I speak yet?” she asks, voice quiet as if to protect the moment.
I hum for her to continue.
“When I spoke with Jimmy last night,” she says, “he mentioned the expectation of an engagement party?”
I sigh, the familiar frustration of the dons being up each other’s assholes rolling through me. “I was hoping we could put it off until we break up.”
Tamayo purses her lips. “That might’ve worked if I hadn’t told him and Logan invitations are going out this week.”
“Damnit.” I rest my chin on my mug. It’s not Tamayo’s fault, even if I’d really like to blame her for it. These gossipy old men don’t know how to keep their big, stupid noses to themselves. “If they were asking about it, waiting wouldn’t have worked. Not with an engagement as contentious and scrutinized as ours.”
“Almost like they think it’s fake,” she teases.
“Weird, right?” I snort.
We smile to ourselves. Tamayo’s staring out the wall of windows into the shared backyard, and I’m staring into my coffee like it’s tea leaves that can show me the shape of my future. There’s no avoiding it now. Not if Tamayo said the invitations are going out this week. It’s Thursday. The week is basically over.
I chew my lip. I want them off our backs as quickly as possible. I know Tamayo’s taking the brunt of the backlash. I know the Accardis and my parents aren’t as quiet as they seem. The sooner we confirm our engagement, the more time I’ll have with my laptop .
I set my mug on the counter. “Two Saturdays from now.”
“Halloween weekend?” she asks.
I hadn’t even realized. “Why not? We’re playing dress up anyway.”
She checks her phone then locks the screen. “I’m free. What do we need for this?”
“I know someone.” I wave my hand. “You won’t have to plan a thing, but I’ll need your credit card.”
She squints at me, hand already reaching for her back pocket. “Are you trying to steal my identity, princess?”
“Please, you think I want to be anyone other than Zarina Gallo?” I waggle my fingers, palm up, as she pulls out her wallet.
“Fair point.” She holds out her card.
I snatch it from her hands and stuff it in the waistband of my shorts, lifting the shirt just enough to show a slip of skin. “You’ll need to pick a charity—it’s customary to accept donations rather than gifts.”
“Sounds fake, but okay.” She lifts my coffee and takes a sip before setting it back down.
I immediately pick it up and hold it against my chest. “Is that it, then?”
“Not quite.” Tamayo’s face morphs from amused skepticism into the smug, satisfied look she wears that I always try—and fail—to break into pieces. She stalks around the island toward me, and I can’t help but back away until I hit one of the stools. She stands in front of me, hands in her pockets and a foot of space between us. Even so, I feel as if I’m caged in, small.
Her voice drops an octave. “I heard you want me to fuck you.”
Heat warms my cheeks, but I don’t duck my head. Pat got me to basically yell it to the whole damn house, and last night, I was ready to let Tamayo shove my skirt over my hips in Casa Nostra’s only bathroom. It’s not a secret, as much I’d like it to be .
My chin juts out. “Depends.”
“On what?” She tilts her head, listening.
“What changed your mind?” I ask the same question I did last night.
Her eyes roam my cheeks, my lips, the collar of my shirt slung over my shoulder. “My mind never needed changing, princess.”
I frown. “You said?—”
“Do you want more,” she quotes herself.
“That it doesn’t affect our deal,” I argue.
She frowns, like that’s the part that’s the most clear. “It doesn’t. It won’t.”
“How can it not?” I scoff.
“Easy. We don’t let it.” Tamayo inches forward and raises her hand, achingly slow, to pinch the sleeve of my shirt and pull it back to center. Her gaze follows the line of my collarbone, my neck, up to my eyes. “ Do you want more?”
I wrinkle my nose. She asked this in the car, too, and I didn’t know how to answer. It was too abrupt then. But now? I’ve had a moment—several days of moments—to think about it, to watch Tamayo, to come to a decision. And even then, it was never a choice to be made or a conclusion to be reached.
Wanting Tamayo was a reckoning, simple as that.
I lick my lips, the buzzing under my skin pleasant and welcome. “You heard me earlier.”
“If I’m gonna fuck you…” She leans closer, only a few inches taller yet towering over me. My coffee is clasped to my chest and the edge of the counter digs into my back and her words do what they’ve always done, spark a fire that is cold heat—and all this without a single touch. She holds my gaze with dark brown eyes. “Truly fuck you, then I need you to speak up.”
I gulp and try to hide it with a snap. “I practically yelled it already. ”
“Then it should be nothing to say it again.” She tilts her head, and this time, she’s so close her hair almost brushes my cheek.
“Tamayo.” I try to make it a warning, but it sounds more like begging.
Her eyes darken, and her voice hardens. “Say it, princess.”
I scowl at her, but inside I’m reveling. This dynamic we have, the way she speaks and the way it lights me up, it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. She promised it won’t affect our deal, and I’ll hold myself to the same standard. Because I want it. I want more.
I want to trace the scrollwork and floral tattoos winding out of her collar and up her neck. Better, I want to be invited to touch them, to touch her, for more than the performance of it. For me. For her. And I want everything she’s said to me, nasty and nice and in-between.
So I lean into it, like I haven’t truly allowed myself since I got on my knees before her in the Den of Inequity. I drop my voice low and fill it with the craving I feel. “I want you, Tamayo. Want you to fuck me pliant.”
She smiles, wide and wicked. “Good girl.”
I roll my eyes like that doesn’t do something to me. “Thanks, daddy.”
She laughs brightly, her eyes shimmering. “We can discuss eye rolls and titles later.”
“Wait, later?” I narrow my eyes at her. “What’re you doing now?”
“I have work to do.” She lands a kiss on my temple like I’m a patient person and not a spoiled brat who hates waiting. The way she dances backward too quick for me to grab her suggests she knows and she’s using it against me. “And you have work, too. Call your event planner friend for me, hm?”
My mouth hangs open. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, princess.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, already fully distracted from me. Me . Half-dressed and fuckable and willing. Tamayo starts down the hall toward her office. “I’ll fuck you later, hm?”
“You missed the opportunity!” I shout after her. “The door to this pussy is closed! For good!”
“We’ll see,” she says barely loud enough to reach me.