24. Tamayo
TAMAYO
T he television blares the ten o’clock news in the living room, Darius standing in front of it with the remote in hand. Logan Anderson speaks at a podium in front of a cluster of microphones with reporters and cameramen scattered through the room in front of him. He’s answering questions about the rising crime rate in Sallay neighborhood and the targeting of queer people. He doesn’t say hate crime, but he might as well spell it out.
“This is of highest priority to our office,” he says. “No one should be in danger for their indelible identities, whether that is religion, race, gender, or sexuality.”
Darius snorts. I sip my beer.
“What steps are being taken to prevent further crime in the neighborhood?” a reporter asks.
My ears perk up, waiting for the answer. Despite being the person Logan is supposedly helping, I have no idea how he and Jimmy plan to leverage this to muzzle the Accardis. Logan stands at his podium in his luxury suit and slicked-back hair and dimpled chin, and all I can see is a priest preaching about loving the sinner and hating the sin and damning both in one breath.
Which is exactly what he does.
“We’ll be increasing patrols,” he answers—the worst possible answer. “Working together with key community members to identify suspects, and utilizing the full scope of the law to bring them to justice.”
I gulp a third of my beer. Fucking idiot. Increased patrols won’t help anyone but him and his optics. God damn it.
“Have any arrests been made?” another reporter asks.
“We have two people in custody, who we believe are responsible for the hateful vandalism on a local LGBTQ+ club, Den of Inequity.” At least he didn’t fumble the acronym. And who the fuck is in custody? He continues, “We cannot release more details at this time.”
Another reporter asks, “The Den of Inequity has been the focus of protests and harassment the past week. What will your department do to keep the peace?”
“Police officers will be employed to keep patrons and protestors safe.” Logan says it like he’s doing a service for the community rather than endangering them.
“Jesus fuck.” I slam my beer on the table.
Darius throws his hands up. “How is this supposed to help?”
“Fucking law dog can’t be trusted.” I scrape my hands down my face and think . Logan is using me as much as we’re using him. He wants to appeal to a wider base of voters while appearing like the law and order candidate. Plus, he doesn’t want to actually offend the Accardis lest they turn their targets on him.
We have two people in custody . I pull out my phone and shoot a message to Jimmy, asking for their names. If those people aren’t Accardi affiliated, then what’s the point of any of this?
“This is not what I had in mind,” I grumble.
“What did you have in mind?” Darius asks .
“In my wildest imaginings?” I pick up my beer again and take a long pull. “A RICO sting that brings in half the Accardi Family for questioning and ties them up in scrutiny and court proceedings for fucking months, if not years.”
He drops onto the other end of the couch. “And all we got was more cops and more problems.”
I don’t disagree.
He falls back against the pillows. “I’d rather our people took care of this. They’ll actually keep the Den safe without scaring off half our customers.”
“We’ll make it up.” We have to.
“Will we?” He mutes the television and drops the remote. “This is just the beginning. Hell, it’s not even the worst that’ll happen. Can we handle this?”
“We can.” And I fully believe that. The Tamayo Family is more than capable of taking on the brunt of the Accardis’ wrath. Especially if it means garnering a place among the Cardinal Families.
My phone buzzes with Jimmy’s reply. Marcus’s snake and Alonso’s weasel.
“Holy shit.” I sit up straight.
“What?”
I pass the phone for Darius to read. Jimmy’s speaking in code, but it’s part of my job to know who these people are and to whom they matter. Marcus’s snake is his favorite cousin, Dan, who’s well known as the devil on Marcus’s shoulder. And Alonso’s weasel is Frank, his favorite crash and dash man, the one who “accidentally” stumbles into the wrong hotel room that just happens to be where a key councilman is having an affair with his mistress.
Not big fish, not crippling to the Accardi Family, but a kick aimed right for the gut. The wind knocked out of them.
“Okay, maybe he’s not the worst ,” Darius grumbles.
“We’ll have to thank the DA.” I take my phone back and shoot a reply to Jimmy then tap it against my chin. “And with more than votes and an invite to the engagement party.”
Darius groans. “Are y’all really having a theme and enforcing it?”
“Yes.” I snort, quite sure the main reason we have a theme at all is because I refused to fuck her the other day. “And unless you want Zarina to twist your balls off with her bare hands, I suggest following it.”
“Maybe I’d like to see her try,” he muses.
I bite down on a laugh, the story Jimmy told about the handsy boy in coat check coming to mind. My gaze drifts up to the ceiling as if I can see through walls and into her room.
“She’s been awfully…absent,” Darius murmurs.
I’ve only seen her once since Thursday morning, the morning I had to walk away from the most tempting offer because my consigliere called and I couldn’t ignore it. Now it’s Saturday, and Zarina hasn’t left her room except for food, coffee, and to rip Darius and I new assholes when we pushed back on the theme for the engagement party—Wonderland. Fucking White Rabbit, Mad Hatter, and Cheshire Cat Wonderland . And while I might be looking forward to seeing the four most powerful men in the city dressed in costume, I am not keen on wearing one myself. But Zarina informed us both that anyone off-theme that is not security detail will be denied entry and neither of us were exempt.
“What’s she been doing on her computer?” I pick at the label on my beer bottle.
Darius shrugs. “Tech says she’s planning the engagement party and binge-watching Sense 8 .”
I furrow my brow. “For three days?”
He doesn’t think much of it, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. I watch Logan fade to black and glance back up to the ceiling, to Zarina, the two of them somehow linked in this fucked up play we’re performing. One whose curtains never would have opened if Zarina hadn’t sought me out at the Den that night and struck a deal.
All to buy time. All to find a way out of her betrothal to the most brutal mafia prince in Louredo. And she’s just planning a party? Watching television?
I set my beer on the coffee table and stand, phone in hand. “We’re going to the Den.”
“What? Why?” Darius is dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, a direct reflection of my own outfit, both of us having thought we were in the for the night.
I shoot a message to Logan, inviting him out. “Multiple reasons. I want to keep an eye on the cops and the protestors, check in with Angie, and show District Attorney Logan Anderson our gratitude.”
“Ugh fine.” He pushes up off the couch and stretches, back cracking without much effort. I shake my head, and he aims a kick at my butt before I dance out of reach. “I’ll change and meet you at the car.”
“Zarina is coming, too.” I toss my bottle in the recycling, already knowing the pained and unamused expression Darius is wearing without looking at him.
He pulls in a long-suffering breath in an attempt at being patient. It fails. “Sure, keep an eye on the ‘cops’ and ‘protestors,’ not Zarina’s ass.”
I don’t deign replying to that, walking toward the stairs already. “We’ll leave when she’s ready.”
“If she wants to come.” He sock-slides across the floor to catch up to me.
“She will.” The ghost of a smirk twitches over my lips.
Darius sees right through me. “Don’t elaborate one fucking word.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute.
“Ugh, gross.” He elbows me out of the way and races up the stairs ahead of me .
I chuckle, using the railing to ease some of the weight off my knee. It’s not aching, but it’s stiff today. Too much time sitting at my desk doing the most boring part of my job—reviewing and signing. I stop in front of Zarina’s door and knock, speaking without waiting for her to answer. “You’re coming with me to the Den. Be ready in an hour.”
“No, thanks.” Her voice is closer to the door than I expected. Like she’s standing directly behind it.
“Wifely duties, princess.” I draw my finger down the wood frame as if it’s the curve of her waist. “You’re coming or I’m carrying you out.”
“I’m heavier than I look!” she snaps.
“Just the way I like it,” I murmur. “One hour!”