Chapter 5
TAMAYO
Aknock crashes through my sleep-addled brain, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The sun is streaming through the southern windows, its position telling me it’s well past my usual rising time.
I scrub my face with one hand, the other stuck under Zarina’s pillow.
She rolls over, pulling the duvet up around her ears like she can hide from the day.
My hand twitches with the urge to stroke from her chin to her ear, tucking wild hair behind it.
But the knock comes again, louder and more insistent.
I slip my hand out from under Zarina’s pillow, and she mutters a complaint I can’t quite make out.
Her lips are pulled in a pout, and fuck, I want to kiss her.
But I don’t. Things are murky in the bright light of tomorrow, and I don’t know if last night was a one-off moment of need or an opened door.
“Tamayo,” Darius calls through the door.
Goddamnit. I roll out of bed naked. My towel lies bunched up on the floor, thrown aside before I pulled Zarina under the covers. I grab her robe piled beside it and yank it on, tying the belt loosely as I open the door a crack.
Darius takes in my state and narrows his eyes. He’s holding a tray full of breakfast for two, and behind him, Pat’s craning their neck to see past me into the room.
I lean against the closed second door and arch a brow. “What?”
“It’s ten in the morning,” he says.
I blink at him. “And?”
“And you haven’t slept past eight in years.”
“Who said I was sleeping?”
Darius snorts. “I should’ve bet more money.”
I smack his chest.
“What, so you can lose harder?” Pat jests. “You already owe me a hundred.”
“For what?” I ask.
Pat smirks. “He bet that you two would fuck during the engagement party.”
Darius grumbles, “And they would have if—”
“That’s enough.” I snatch the tray out of Darius’s hands and move to toe the door shut. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Pat stops me. “Wait—how is she?”
“Stop whispering at the door and come in, Jesus,” Zarina grouses from the bed.
I glare at them both. “I will put you both on overnight guard duty without a fucking coat if you fuck up her mood.”
Pat elbows Darius out of the way, pushing past me into the room. “Yeah, dude, don’t be so insensitive.”
Darius tries to trip them through the door, but Pat evades easily with their tongue stuck out. They laugh on their way to the bed, and Darius shakes his head. He clears his throat before I can turn into the room. “A moment.”
I sigh. “Pat, take this.”
They grab the breakfast tray out of my hands and skip back over to the bed, where Zarina is still hunkered down under the covers and watching Pat with fond scrutiny.
“I’ll be a second,” I call.
Zarina blows me a kiss and waves me out at the same time that Pat wolf-whistles. “Shut up,” she grumbles.
I step into the hall, feeling a tug in my gut luring me back into the room, back into bed.
In this moment, I wish we weren’t stuck in this tangled web of gangs and mafias and power politics.
Even if it’s what brought us into each other’s lives.
I want to crawl under the covers and doze through the morning, plant lazy kisses down Zarina’s spine, let the morning pass into afternoon as we lie in bed without a world of responsibilities and adversaries heavy on our shoulders.
As much as I might want it, it’s not in our cards.
Something Darius rudely reminds me of as soon as the door clicks shut. He takes an envelope from his inner jacket pocket, because of course he’s already fully dressed and ready for business, and offers it to me.
I pluck it out of his hand. There’s no stamp, no address, only Zarina’s name and mine in handwritten calligraphy. I turn it over and stare at the Council’s crest pressed into a burgundy wax seal. “Who delivered it?”
“A Capone kid.”
“Interesting.” I break the seal and pull out the cardstock. Darius sidles up beside me to read over my shoulder. Far less beautiful handwriting scrawls across the page:
The Council formally offers Miss Zarina Gallo and Miss Andrea Tamayo mediation, to be conducted by James Falcone, in an attempt to avoid escalation between the Accardi Family and the Tamayo gang. The meeting is set for Tuesday, November 03. Please RSVP promptly for the time and place.
“So, this was definitely not Alonso’s idea.
” I tuck the paper back into the envelope and chew over its contents.
The Council is doing the least they can.
They want to avoid all-out war, fighting in the streets spilling over into their businesses and threatening their soldiers, but they won’t outright side with a non-Cardinal Family, let alone a gang.
Even worse, they want to stop the Accardi-Gallo merger (I refuse to call it a marriage) without outright doing so, lest they offend Alonso and his dick-for-brains son into getting their way with brute force.
I have no doubt that, had Marcus forcefully married Zarina last night, the Council would have supported and affirmed his claim.
They would have ignored Zarina, turned away from what would boil down to kidnapping and assault, in favor of moving against the Accardis later.
She would have been—could still be—collateral damage they’re more than willing to sacrifice.
I run my fingers through my hair and snag on a few tangled threads. “Fuck.”
Darius scrapes a hand down his face. “Fuck is right.”
“We have to accept.” But the mere thought of doing so heats up the core of me, like magma before it bursts out of the Earth’s crust.
“It’s the only way to stall for time,” Darius confirms.
“Which is what we desperately need.”
“Zarina, too,” Darius murmurs.
I tongue my cheek and nod at that, not wanting to think about the reality of why Zarina is here, why there’s an expiration date on our fake engagement.
Damnit. Only minutes ago, we were tucked away under soft blankets with entangled limbs, the world shrunk to her and me lying in bed.
For a short moment, there were no Accardis, no Gallos, no Council.
There was only us.
But it was an illusion. And as easy as the breaking of that wax seal, as the ripping of that paper, it fractured with the slightest pressure. We’re on the precipice of a gang war that could rival the fall of the Russos unless Zarina and I can figure out a way to silence the Accardis for good.
Which would require more trust than we have between us.
“Send a reply.” I slip the envelope into my robe pocket. “But don’t mention it. Not yet.”
Darius purses his lips. “She should know.”
“She will, just later.” I glance over my shoulder as if I can see Zarina through the door. “Last night... She deserves today.”
Darius studies my face with eyes that know me too well. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” I clap him on the shoulder and lower my voice to just above a whisper.
“One more thing—David mentioned the new property in Gachico last night. I want to know how he knows about it.” The shell company that bought the building and the land it sits on is under one of my fallen capo’s names.
The only way David Capone could have known they were tied to the Tamayo family is if he has a roster of my people.
Something every family would kill to prevent, myself included.
I lower my voice. “We can’t have any hiccups, not with this deadline so close.” The deadline being the end of my fake engagement to the daughter of the family I’m a few deals away from cutting off at the knees completely.
“Understood.” He rubs a finger over his full bottom lips. “Do you plan to tell Zarina?”
“I’m not suicidal, so no.” If Zarina knew what I’m doing, what I’ve done, how it may have been a catalyst that brought us together, she’d have every right to hate me. And knowing her the way I do now, I have no doubt that hatred would turn to calculated violence.
“It’ll be worse if you don’t,” Darius warns.
“I don’t recall asking.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t recall ever caring if you had.”
“Go away.” I shoo my hand at him, grabbing the knob with a scowl.
“Okay, boss. Remember this conversation when I say I told you so,” he sing-songs as he strides down the hall.
I make a face at his back and push into my bedroom. Pat is sitting on the bed, munching on a strawberry, while Zarina half-hides under the bunched up duvet. They both look to me as I step into the room, door hanging open behind me.
“I’ll leave you two… alone.” Pat waggles their brows with a wide grin.
Zarina kicks them. “You can’t talk shit until you text Angela back.”
Pat smacks their hand over Zarina’s mouth. “Shut up.” They yank their hand back, clutching it to their chest. “Ouch!”
Zarina blows them a sardonic kiss. “You know you like it, masochist.”
“Not from you.” They mime a gag.
“A good match for Angela, though.” I pull back the covers and slide into bed, back against the headboard, while Zarina laughs behind the blanket.
“You two are so much worse together.” Pat wipes their hands clean on their thighs and stands, stretching above their head.
They grab the tray of food and set it up on the bed before they head for the door.
“By the way,” they say with their hand on the handle, “Zarina has a fantasy about you in the training room!”
“Traitor!” Zarina throws a slice of pineapple at them, but they shut the door before it can find its mark. It smacks against the wood and plops to the floor.
I pop a strawberry dipped in yogurt into my mouth, chewing as I arch a lecherous brow at Zarina. “Training room, huh?”
“Shut up,” she grumbles and slides further down under the covers, her face fully hidden.
I grin and cut a slice of waffle, stacking it with blueberries and dipping it in yogurt. “Come on, let’s eat.”
She whines and turns over.
“I promise not to tease you.”
“Pinky promise,” she demands, voice muffled under the blankets. Her arm stretches out to offer her pinky for the most unbreakable of deals.
“Pinky promise.” I loop mine around hers and kiss her knuckles.
She yanks down the covers, her hair a cloud of static around her head and her face a pouty frown. The sight squeezes my chest until warmth spreads outward into my extremities.
I hand over the bite of waffle. “Eat.”
She sighs, sitting upright against the headboard.
Sometime between waking up and now, she pulled on an oversize shirt.
Of mine. I swallow hard, turning to focus on cutting myself a bite and not on the way the collar’s so big it shows off her collarbones.
Or the way it hangs just right to show off her naked body underneath when she leans forward to eat more.
I clear my throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
I arch a brow.
“Oh, you want honesty?” She nibbles on the fork for a moment. “Betrayed. Angry. Violated. Helpless.”
“All understandable.” I build a bite on my fork. “Do you want to do anything about it?”
“What’s there to do?” she grumbles.
“Yell at your parents. Break shit. Fuck in the training room.”
She smacks my arm. “You promised not to tease!”
“I wasn’t!” I clutch my arm like she wounded me. “I was being serious!”
She rubs her hands over her face with a groan. “I made a mistake. We’re never fucking again.”
I snort. “Yeah, okay. Believable.”
“Shut up.” She grabs a pineapple slice and shoves it in my mouth.
I chew, juice slipping down my chin, and smile wide.
Her eyes follow the trail of juice, half-lidded, and I almost topple the tray off the bed so I can tackle her to the mattress. She shakes her head. “Can we have a day off?”
“A day off. What’s that?” I can’t remember the last time I had a real break.
Zarina smooths her hands over her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “It’s this amazing thing where we don’t deal with real-life problems or mafia bullshit. It’s pretty cool. Highly recommend.”
“Sounds fake.” I cut another bite and hold it up, staring at it. Already, this morning feels fake. I’m eating breakfast in bed after fucking Zarina Gallo, mafia princess to the family that almost killed me. Everything about this is so separated from reality that it’s barely believable already.
Why not go a bit deeper down the rabbit hole? What more could it hurt?
I settle my hand on Zarina’s thigh and squeeze. “What did you have in mind?”