Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Joaquin
Welp.
It’s been a good—if not gory—life. I had a good run.
Now my life’s over.
My tía’s going to kill me.
Like gut me like a fish. Like cut my head off like I’m a beached trout.
I’m so fucking fucked.
“Joaco?”
“Sí.” There I go again, retreating into Spanish.
“That’s not some other Margherita Diaz, is it?”
“Nel.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nope.”
English or Spanish—I sound downtrodden—because I am. I won’t live to see my baby born. I’d hoped to tell Mamá before anyone else in my family finds out. I hoped I could hide behind her when everyone else finds out. I’m in my thirties, and I’m not ashamed to admit I want my mamá to protect me.
“I guess we better tell your family tonight.”
Tre sounds as resigned to this as I do, and I feel horrible.
This isn’t how either of us envisioned sharing our news.
I pull my head out of my ass and sit up, reaching my hand out to her.
She rests hers in my palm. I wrap my fingers around it and lean forward to kiss her.
It’s a light one that I hope conveys my support and affection rather than making her think I’m lusting after her at such a serious moment.
She presses her lips against mine, and I know she gets my message.
“Tre, do you want to tell your family first?”
“Not particularly.” She cringes. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
“I get it.”
“I just meant I’d rather not do it over the phone.”
“Are you going back to Boston?”
“Are we going up to Boston? I hope so.”
I inhale and release the breath slowly. “I better tell Mamá and my brothers to order the coffin now. I’ll pick out the suit I want to be buried in and leave it to air out.”
“Joaco, they may make life miserable for you, but they won’t leave me to raise the child alone.”
“You sure they won’t want you to go home where your family can help you?”
“Of course, they will. But when I refuse, they’ll respect my decision—though they’ll still question my sanity.”
She stares at our joined hands where they rest against her left thigh. Her other hand is in her lap too. Her shoulders hunch a little. Not enough for most people to notice, but I do.
“Tre, what else is bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
She looks at me in confusion, but I’m not buying it.
“Don’t lie to me, Tre. Tell me you don’t want to talk about it, and I’ll hate it but accept it. But don’t tell me nothing’s wrong when I’m sure of it enough to ask.”
“This is all just so heavy.”
“It is. But that’s not what you were thinking. Tell me to mind my own business, Tre. But don’t try to distract me. I read you too well already.”
“Yeah, you do. How?”
She winces when she finishes. She looks out the window rather than meet my gaze again.
She knows why. She knows I was trained to sniff out even the slightest hint of vulnerability or untruth.
I’m a top enforcer alongside my brothers.
We handle things in NYC and the surrounding area.
We travel when we need to. Pablo’s NYC’s jefe, and as the heir to the title jefe de jefes, he deals with the people who fuck up so badly even Tres J’s—my brothers and me—aren’t high enough to punish them.
Alejandro’s our chief strategist and our representative in Latin America when someone has to go down there.
It means we all received the same lessons in coercion and consequences.
If we’re being blunt: torture.
“Chiquita, it’s also because we’re a lot alike even if you’re an extrovert, and I’m an introvert. We think similarly. We react to things similarly. I can just sense something’s off. I can’t help you—fix it if you need me to—if you don’t tell what it is.”
“There’s nothing to fix.”
It’s my turn to look away. I stare out the window until she squeezes my hand. I shift my attention back to her. She looks at me questioningly.
“Tre, you’re still lying. Maybe you aren’t used to sharing your burdens. Maybe you think I can’t handle whatever it is or will refuse to. Maybe you fear I’ll reject you. I don’t know. But just tell me to back off rather than telling me what you think I want to hear.”
She assesses me before nodding. “I don’t want to talk about it, Joaco.”
I want to crawl out of my skin. Climb up the walls. Scream into the abyss.
I’m not in control of whatever’s troubling her, and I might lose my mind. For a man like me, being out of control—being unable to solve whatever’s wrong for her—is a torture far worse than pliers, bamboo shoots, steel pipes, or waterboarding combined.
She doesn’t trust me yet.
Rational me understands that while we’re bound to each other now, we don’t know each other well enough for her to trust me implicitly.
It makes me feel like a failure. It makes me want to pull my arms, legs, and head into my shell like a tortoise.
I want my hard shell to protect me against the rejection.
This evasiveness tests my trust. I get why hers isn’t implicit yet, and mine wasn’t either for the same reasons.
But now that I know she’s hiding something from me, it weakens what was already fragile.
Do you want to be with someone who’s going to keep secrets from you?
Are you fucking for real? Do you hear yourself?
The man who lies for a living. The man who will lie to her as easily as he breathes.
You fucking monumental hypocrite.
But it’s different. She knows why I’ll lie. She’s supposed to trust me more.
Supposed to?
Insufferable ass.
I know she’s watching me as I have an internal argument. She cocks an eyebrow, challenging me to share my thoughts, both of us knowing I don’t want to.
“Tre, please, in the future, just tell me you don’t want to talk about it.
If you’re lying to protect me or someone else, to protect yourself, then I get it.
But if you’re scared to tell me something, that’s only going to turn into an earworm.
I can’t let that go. It means you don’t feel safe.
I know this is an unfair demand and makes me the world’s biggest hypocrite.
I’m sorry for that, but not for wanting to take care of you. ”
We pull up to the curb outside her building. She unfastens her seat belt, and I fear she’s going to bolt. Instead, she pushes it aside and turns toward me. She maneuvers herself to straddle my lap.
“Joaco, give me some time, please. There’s family stuff I need to work out. I’m not trying to worry you, even if I know I am. You know I’m used to lying about anything to do with my family. You do the same thing. It’s a hard habit to break.”
“Whenever you’re ready—if you ever are—I’m here.”
“I will be, just not right now.”
She sounds resigned to knowing she has to tell me, not that she wants to tell me. I’ve bullied her. She cups my cheeks and rubs her nose against mine. Then she kisses the tip of it. It makes me smile. I need this affection right now when I felt like she was icing me out a moment ago.
“Caro, I can practically hear the wheels turning. You didn’t strongarm me if that’s what you think. I don’t feel pressured. I appreciate your concern. It feels good to know you care that much.”
I nod. “I’ll give you all the time you need.”
She leans in for a kiss. A real kiss. The kind that makes us want to strip each other and fuck. We’d hardly be the first couple that’s fucked in a family town car, but we have a bed nearby that’s far more comfortable.
“Come in with me?”
“Of course.”
We climb out of the car. We head into her condo building in silence. It’s not until we get into the elevator alone that we gaze at each other again.
“Besides deciding dinner, should we decide how and when we’ll tell your family?”
“Chica, it needs to be tonight.”
“Okay. That takes care of when. What about how?”
“I can ask everyone to meet at my place or at Tío Enrique’s since it’s bigger.”
“Won’t it be kinda late?”
“We’re Colombian. We’d rather have dinner at eleven than this uncivilized six or seven. It’s like having two lunches.” I grin.
“So, you’re night owls?”
“Not necessarily. We adapt to our surroundings. But a late-night get-together wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. We can stay up past our usual bedtimes.”
“I’ll definitely tuck you in.”
She winks at me before she unlocks her door.
Just like yesterday, she naturally steps back, letting me enter first. My hand’s beneath my suit coat, reaching for my gun at my lower back.
She understands I won’t let her enter anywhere without me checking first. My gaze sweeps over the living room and kitchen.
I can see inside the half bathroom. She follows me, putting her back to the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room.
She knows I also don’t want her alone in the hallway.
I do a sweep of the bedrooms and full bathrooms.
It relieved me yesterday that I didn’t have to explain what I was doing or tell her how to wait for me.
Not too many benefits to being with a Boston Mafia daughter, but at least I don’t have to explain safety protocols.
I’m certain there are specifics to my family that I’ll need to teach her, but they can’t be that different from what she grew up with.
As I come out of the bedroom, she slips over to the front door and flips the lock. I nod, and she joins me on the sofa. I pull out my phone and pull up the family text thread.
Me
Necesito que nos reunamos todos esta noche. Pueden venir todos a mi casa. ?O podemos ir a la tuya, tío Enrique y tía Elle?
I need us all to get together tonight. Everyone can come to my place. Or can we go to you, Uncle Enrique and Aunt Elle?
It’s not even a minute later before Pablo responds in Spanish.
Pablo
What did you do this time?
I glance at Tre from the corner of my eye.
She can see my phone. From her lack of reaction, I don’t think she understands.
It must not be that similar to Italian. She won’t know that my cousin’s just giving me shit.
He’s a couple years older than me, and even though I’m the same size as him and have been for years, he flexes when he can.
I can’t exactly say “nothing.” I did a whole lot of something.
Me