Chapter 22 #2
“Daddy, I’m all right. I just need a moment. Hold my hand, please. I need to feel you next to me.”
“Anything you need, mi corazón.”
That’s new. I’ve heard the term before, so I know it means “my heart.”
“I like that, Daddy. Will you keep calling me that even when you’re not worried?”
“Yes, and worried doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel right now.”
I open my left eye a crack—just enough to see him—and immediately notice his face is incredibly pale.
Like he was stripped of his suntan in an instant.
I don’t have the chance to ask him if he’s hurt because the guy comes back with a water bottle.
Joaquin takes it from him and opens it for me.
I know to sip even though I want to guzzle it.
Joaquin thanks the guy and pulls a chair closer to mine. He rests his hand on my belly as he whispers to me.
“I activated my tracker. I’m certain the men have done the same. Did you do yours?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t even think of it.”
Like other syndicate women, I have a piece of jewelry with an emergency tracker on it.
These pieces can only be removed with a special key.
It’s sort of like an old-fashioned clock winder that’s custom to each piece.
No amount of pulling or twisting will get the necklaces or bracelets off because they’re designed to be virtually indestructible.
That’s the entire point. They’re a deterrent as much as they are a means for rescue.
It’s not like my family watches all my comings and goings. No one’s interested in that for anyone. But if there’s an emergency—say, like, your vehicle blowing up—then you can hit the alert.
“Tre, do the vehicles have trackers and alerts too?”
We are—were—using Vizzini SUVs.
“Yes.”
“Then everyone’s phones will be lighting up. We should get calls?—”
As if on cue, our phones both ring. Joaquin’s is usually on vibrate at all times. I know he has a family group chat and a chat only for the men that both have ring tones. He told me this morning, before we headed out, that my calls and texts now have a ring tone too. He won’t risk missing them.
I glance at mine while Joaquin slides his finger across his screen. I tug on Joaquin’s sleeve.
“What do I say?”
“The truth.”
I open my mouth to ask if he’s sure, but his expression tells me it wouldn’t be worth lying.
“Hello, Uncle Tommaso.”
“Hola, Tío.”
We answer our phones at the same time, speaking to our syndicate’s respective leader.
“Tricia, what happened? All our men’s trackers are going off, but yours isn’t.”
“I didn’t get a chance to hit mine. There were three explosions. Our SUVs are gone.”
My uncle swears in a stream of Italian and Sicilian before I hear him barking orders to whichever unfortunate soul is now caught in his crosshairs.
“Where are you?”
“A bank in Brookline.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Joaquin?”
It pains him to ask. He likely doesn’t care beyond being sure he’s alive to protect me.
“He’s—”
I look over at him, and he’s slightly turned away, so our voices don’t overlap on our calls.
“Joaco! Oh my God! You’re hurt.”
With my eyes closed earlier and how he kept himself angled away from anyone else seeing his back, I hadn’t noticed.
How the fuck could you not notice?!
Selfish!
He turns toward me and shakes his head. “I’m fine, chica.”
“You are not fine. Your suit’s ripped, and I can see blood soaking through your shirt.”
“Yes, but I’m still fine.”
“Stubborn. We need to take you to a hospital.”
“No. Talk to your uncle while I talk to mine.”
I stare at him open-mouthed and flabbergasted. He shoots me a hard look before turning away again.
“Uncle Tommaso, he needs a doctor. I don’t know how many men we lost or who’s injured.
Joaquin kept me from seeing most of the scene.
The men who escorted us to the bank might be injured too, but they’re waiting outside.
I didn’t get a clear look. One moment we were in the car, and I was half-asleep.
The next moment, Joaquin’s ordering the driver to pull over, then he’s practically dragging me out of the car.
He was as gentle as he could be as he carried me a few feet away, then lowered me to the ground.
He must have gotten hurt when he covered me with his body. Shrapnel.”
“Tre, we have to go.”
I look over at Joaquin as he rises. He thrusts out his hand, but he’s not looking at me. He’s scanning our surroundings. I don’t know what Enrique told him or what threat he perceives.
“Should I hang up?”
“No.”
“Tricia?!”
“Something’s wrong, Uncle Tommaso. Joaquin says we have to go again. He wants me to stay on the line with you.”
“Follow everything he says exactly the way he says it. I’ve already got men headed to you. Activate your tracker, and I’ll have them find you.”
“All right.”
Joaquin takes my left hand and gently pulls me forward until he can wrap his arm around my waist. I don’t know if things are less urgent than before or if he’s just being more mindful.
Perhaps it’s because we’re in a more crowded area, and he doesn’t want to rouse any suspicions.
He shoves my half-finished water into his pocket and thanks the man as we head outside.
“Joaco, what’s happening?”
“Tío wants us on the move. Even with the bank being the most secure place we can be, most of the exterior walls are made of glass. He’s got men a block away.”
“He does? How? The Iglesiases?”
“No. There isn’t a large Colombian community here, but there are enough.”
It relieves me that it isn’t another syndicate we’re relying on. I don’t trust anyone who isn’t related to my family or Joaquin’s or doesn’t work for one of them. Then again… As I survey the men surrounding us, I wonder if one of them is behind this. Did someone defect?
Joaquin leans close to whisper in my ear. “I’m watching them, little one.”
I don’t know if it’s great minds think alike or he can tell I’m suspicious. It reassures me that I’m not paranoid. Though after almost dying in a car bomb, I think it’s justified to doubt everything and everyone—but Joaquin—around me.
We barely make it halfway down the sidewalk before glass shatters, and the sound of gunfire follows.
I twist to look over my shoulder, but I see nothing because Joaquin’s now standing in the way.
He’s already injured, denying that it’s serious, and now he’s my human shield.
It’s not what I want, but we’re both thinking about our baby.
“Where’s it coming from?”
I’m panting as I run. These sudden spikes of adrenaline along with ligament pain in my belly make it hard for me to move fast enough.
“Within the bank.”
“What? Did you see someone? Is that how you knew?”
“Sensed it. Tío Enrique suspected someone would get in through the back, and clearly they did. Can you keep going?”
“I’m trying.”
I know Joaquin won’t fireman carry me again because it’d expose me as a target. It’s awkward, but he sweeps me into his arms and cradles me as he runs. I move to wrap my arms around his neck, but he stops me.
“Curl them in against your chest, don’t expose them.”
“But it would protect your neck.”
“I protect you, not the other way around.”
“Bullshit. Are you really going to say something that asinine right now? Are you trying to pick an argument for later?”
“Protect me when you’re not pregnant, mi corazón.”
I gaze up at him for a moment before tucking my chin and resting my head against his shoulder. He didn’t call me that to silence me—though it has that effect. He’s reminding me that I matter to him, and not just because I’m pregnant.
“Diaz!”
I look up at Joaquin since I can’t easily turn my head to look around. I recognize the voice. It’s Mikey D. Sounds like a shitty DJ’s name, but there are at least ten Mikeys working for my uncle along with several Mikes and Michaels.
“This way. The don’s cars are waiting.”
My uncle’s men got here faster than Enrique’s.
I don’t give a shit who’s who as long as Joaquin trusts them.
He switches course as more gunfire erupts behind us.
This time, it’s closer, so I know it’s our men returning fire.
I didn’t think Joaquin could run faster with me in his arms, but he releases a burst of speed to get us to the SUV’s open door.
He’s climbing in as he moves me to the middle seat.
His door’s barely closed before we peel out.
I think about the fourth SUV that was with us. I don’t think it blew up. I think those men stayed behind to deal with the dead and wounded.
“Mass General.”
“Thank God, you’re going to get looked at, Joaco.”
He looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
“We aren’t going for me. You’re having an obstetrician look you over. Then all the doctor’s findings are going to Madeline and Tía Margherita. Don’t bother arguing, Tre.”
I know it would be futile, but I’m still terrified.
Not that someone’s going to kill us. It’s looking at the wounds on Joaquin’s back.
He’s leaning forward because it must be excruciating to put any pressure against the multitude of cuts.
I can’t tell how deep they are, but his entire back is bloody.
I see a shard of glass protruding from one, but I don’t dare pull it free.
How he has enough adrenaline to handle this is a testament to the life he leads.
The training I’m sure he’s had, and the experiences I can only guess, at best.