Chapter 20 Tamayo
TAMAYO
Zarina’s ruby engagement ring sits heavy in my palm.
The gold band reflects the lamplight, but the gem itself swallows it whole, darkening to almost black. The note she left behind lies on the side table, folded in half next to my untouched drink. I roll the ring down to my fingers, holding it between my thumb and pointer, and stare.
My capo, Juno, shifts in his seat, his face unfocused in my vision. I haven’t spoken to him since he dropped the ring and note in my hand. I had frowned at him with confusion, dread heavy on my shoulders. And when I opened the paper, my knees threatened to buckle before I could sink into my chair.
Don’t come for me. Keep them safe.
Moments later, Darius burst into the room above the dance floor in Den of Inequity to clarify exactly what the hell Zarina meant—
The door is barely shut before the news spills out of Darius on shortened breath—“They hit Alphabet House.”
The weight of Zarina’s words sits heavy in my palm. Keep them safe. I stare at Darius, the reality of what he and Zarina are telling me sinking deeper and deeper like a paralyzing toxin rolling from my fingers, up my arm, to my brain stem, and freezing me in place.
Darius continues, “Marcus and his men just left. They held Rita in her office. She’s banged up but okay.”
My capo looks between us, caution written upon his face as he opens his mouth. “The kids—”
“They’re unharmed.” Darius speaks to me as if the capo isn’t here, isn’t asking the questions I should ask. “Mais said he didn’t know what was happening until Pat called him.”
That shoves me into action, shattering the numbing panic that holds me. “If Pat called—”
“It was a play for Zarina,” Darius confirms.
I open my hand, staring at the ring, the note, the sacrifice they represent resting innocuously against the lines of my palm.
The full scope of the day fills the room until I can hardly breathe.
I hurt Zarina Gallo, devastated her, and saw the destruction I wrought as she wrecked my office, me.
And even then, she chose to help them. To help me.
And now I’m waiting for another capo to arrive as the embers always ready to burst into flaming rage lick up my limbs.
It’s been weeks since it danced so hot, since I was so close to losing control of it, to unleashing it on the nearest target without consideration of how it might burn me up, too.
I close my fist around the ring and wonder how it doesn’t melt.
It should. Aren’t I as hot as a furnace? Heat dialed up so high I could melt metal, incinerate flesh, burn a hole through the Earth. I want to. I want to feel destruction under the pads of my fingers, because if I don’t aim it elsewhere, it will devour me from the inside out.
How would you save me?
Zarina’s echoed words are like oil, encouraging the fire higher, hotter.
Nothing cuts deeper than the truth. I had no plan to save her.
She knew that, saw it evidenced in the patient procurement of her family’s property.
And now, she’s sacrificed herself to save my family as if it was her own.
Where I failed, she swooped in. And there’s nothing I can do to return the favor, to save her from the fate I all but pushed her into. Except maybe kill Marcus Accardi.
If it didn’t sentence my family to death, I would.
The door opens, music crashing into the room.
I don’t look toward the newcomer, but I catch my capo flinch at the intrusion as he looks over with a grimace.
I open my hand again, the ring undamaged despite the destruction it signifies.
Despite the heat raging under my skin. The door shuts, and a second capo sits beside the first, this one’s head bowed and hands tight on her thighs.
“Gemma.” I place the ring atop the note and grab my drink. “What happened?”
She doesn’t look up as she speaks, her shoulders curled inward and her high, copper ponytail brushing against her cheek. “They took down half my guys and slipped through the crack.”
My drink is cold as it slides down my throat. “How many?”
“Three,” Gemma’s voice is barely audible.
“You had six posted.” I know this because I ordered it.
“Yes.”
I set my drink on the side table, my gaze heavy on Gemma’s head. She won’t look up, won’t meet my eye. It might be an effort to show deference, but it’s pissing me off more than anything. “Where were they during this?”
She glances at Juno, like he can help her. He can’t. No one can. Not tonight. She presses her hands together, tucking them between her thighs. “Unaware.”
I stare at her, muscles locked so tight they are trembling with the need to unleash.
Gemma folds herself tighter, head hanging lower with each second I let pass without speaking.
Her throat bobs. I watch and wait until my other capo starts fidgeting with discomfort, air thick enough throughout the room that it clings to hair and skin.
“Unaware.” I chew on the word. “And where were you, Gemma?”
She flinches. “At home.”
Icy calm flows over my scalp and down my spine. I’ve reached that place in the inferno where everything is quiet; where the heat has turned from white-hot rage into mind-numbing stillness. My vision sharpens. My awareness heightens. Everything is focused.
“Do you know the extent of the damage caused tonight?” My voice is soft enough, I know she must be straining to hear.
Gemma doesn’t answer.
“You’re lucky the kids are unharmed. You’re lucky Zarina”—her name burns like lava on my tongue—“did what you could not and negotiated their safety. You’re lucky this wasn’t worse.
” I pull off my own ring, the ruby glimmering as I set it on the side table beside Zarina’s, and know I’ll likely never wear it again.
But I don’t feel the pain of that thought, not in this headspace.
Not with the promise of violence so close, I can already feel the echo of the oncoming punch in my knuckles.
“But you’re responsible, Gemma. You. No one else should have sacrificed their freedom, their life, to stop the Accardis. Least of all a Gallo.”
Gemma raises her head finally, but she still won’t meet my eye. “Shouldn’t it be her responsibility?” she says with a furrow of her brow. “She’s the reason they were there in the first place.”
My answering silence is so still, it screams. The other capo grimaces, and Gemma sucks her lips as if she can pull the words back into her mouth. But it’s too late for that.
Finally, my lips stretch into a smirk drenched in threat. “Bold for a failure.”
She tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it.”
I unbutton my cuffs, rolling up my left sleeve then my right. “You did.”
“No, no, I just meant—”
I stand, widening my shoulders, stretching my fingers. “On your feet, Gemma.”
“Boss,” she tries to beg.
But it’s too late for that, too. Juno tries to vacate his seat, but Darius forcefully shoves him back down. He slumps there, accepting his role as witness.
“If anyone had died tonight, you wouldn’t have the chance to fight back.
But since I’m feeling… benevolent, I’ll allow it.
” Benevolence has nothing to do with it.
Hunger rakes its claws down my muscles, my organs.
I need violence like I need breath, or I might combust. “Any blows you land will not be held against you.”
Gemma sets her jaw. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Either way.” I shrug, coming to a halt in front of her chair.
We’re close enough that the toes of her shoes knock against mine.
I loom there, let her feel the density of my presence and the brutality barely contained within it.
Whether she stands or not, lifts a fist or not, the impending detonation of energy is unstoppable.
“Tamayo,” Gemma sighs like I simply need to see reason, “this isn’t my fault—”
Fuck that. My fist moves without thought, landing directly in the meat of her gut. She doubles over, clutching her stomach and breathing hard. I bend over, lips at her ear. “No more excuses, Gemma. Time to take responsibility.”
Gemma shoves me off her, forcing distance between us so she can stumble off her chair, toward the door.
I let her. I stalk around the sofa, the chairs, the side tables.
There’s nowhere for her to go. The door to the club is guarded, the service door locked.
She’s trapped. There’s no escaping this. No escaping me.
Gemma fruitlessly yanks on the club door. My feet carry me to her, weighed down with certainty. Rage gathers inside, builds up and up and up, until it’s finally ready to explode, like a star in the dark depths of space.
And I don’t attempt to rein it in. Not until it’s sated.
I snatch her collar and yank her away from the door. She careens backward, catching herself on a chair.
I prowl toward her. “Take responsibility, Gemma.”
“It’s not my fault!” she snaps.
I don’t make any more demands. Not with words. It’s not like Gemma’s listening, anyway. My fists curl and strike—ribs, cheek, gut, cheek, gut, ribs. My knuckles split across her jaw, and blood sprays out of her mouth. She doesn’t fight back, but she doesn’t take responsibility, either.
I grab her hair in my fist and yank back until her neck is craned uncomfortably. Red spatters her face, dribbles down her chin, and a bruise is already forming along her left cheekbone. I stare down at her, all feeling wiped from my face. “You endangered children. You allowed Rita to be harmed.”
She fumbles her words on her bitten tongue. “I didn’t, I didn’t.”
I slap her with as much disappointment as her words provoke in me. “Want this to stop? Take responsibility.”
“Tamayo, please,” she whispers.
“Say you’re sorry.” I twist her hair in my fist, my forehead inches from hers. “Admit you fucked up.”
“Please.” Her whimpers are edging into sobs.
In another circumstance, I might feel sympathetic. I might try to comfort her. But the rage inside is unquenched, the fear it covers still acrid in my gut. Rita, the kids, they came too close to annihilation. And that’s unacceptable.
I grind my teeth. “Admit it.”
Gemma’s tears spill over, and they do nothing more than disgust me. A capo that can’t admit their mistakes is worthless to me. Worse, they’re dangerous.
I throw her to the floor, and she catches herself on her palms, crying and shaking. Fucking useless. My foot kicks forward without thought, slamming into her gut. She coughs, blood dripping to the carpet.
“Admit it.” I grab her by the shoulders and throw her over the couch behind her. She rolls to the floor with a sob. I round the corner, steps unhurried. “Take responsibility, Gemma.”
She crawls backward in a rush. “I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” I stalk forward, hands in my pockets as if I’m finished. “I can’t hear you with all that mumbling.”
“I’m sorry!” she cries.
I snatch her chin in my hand and squeeze hard enough to bruise. She’s sobbing now, cheeks wet with tears mixed with blood. The sight only makes me want to punch her again. “For what?”
She clutches my wrist as she finally relents. “I failed to protect them.”
“You did.” I do not loosen my grip.
Gemma trembles, her blue eyes swimming. “I can do better.”
I force myself to draw three deep breaths. “You will. Because this won’t ever happen again, hm?”
She nods as best she can with my hand clamped around her chin. “Yes, boss. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Do you understand what will happen to you if you fail again?” I loosen my hand finally, letting my fingers caress over her carotid artery with violent promise.
She swallows, her throat bobbing against my palm. “I understand.”
“Good.” I pat her cheek, and she winces, like this was harrowing. She has no idea how much I held back, how much worse it could have been. She will, though, if she fucks up like this again. I straighten and turn to Juno. “Grab Angie. She’ll fix her up.”
“Thank you,” Gemma sighs.
I almost smack her again. Instead, I use the toe of my boot to lift her chin, her gaze full of trepidation when it finds mine. “No doctors,” I say. “The lesson needs to sink in, don’t you agree?”
Her face falls, but she nods.
I take back my foot, striding over to my chair and sinking down into the leather.
Blood coats my knuckles, both mine and Gemma’s.
She doesn’t move from the floor, shaking and being generally feeble, like she can trigger something akin to kindness in me.
She can’t. Not when the most precious people in the world to me were endangered by her failure.
I pluck up my and Zarina’s rings, holding them up and watching the light flicker and flare along their bands, in their gems. The inferno inside me is barely sated.
Rita and the kids are barely out of danger, and Zarina is still in the thick of it.
And while Gemma shares responsibility in it, the rub is, so do I.