Chapter 32 #2
"We handle our side, you handle yours." He shrugs like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Standard rules. We're not responsible for your problems, you're not responsible for ours. But we communicate when shit gets complicated."
Behind him, Elías leans down, murmuring something in rapid Spanish too quick for my limited understanding to catch.
The words blur together, but I recognize the serious tone, the way Damián's expression shifts slightly as he listens.
He responds in the same language, voice dropping low and controlled.
The only word I manage to pick out is "cuidado"—careful.
A warning about something, but what exactly remains frustratingly unclear.
Sofia jumps in then, rapid-fire Spanish that makes my head spin trying to follow.
She speaks with authority, gesturing sharply as she makes whatever point she's driving home.
Whatever she says carries weight, because Damián's expression shifts to something almost amused—respect mixed with the kind of fondness that only exists between family who actually trust each other.
He agrees with a sharp nod, responding briefly before turning his attention back to us.
"Any issues with territory?" Nick asks beside me, practical as always. "We don't need beef with crews who think we're stepping on their toes."
"Already handled." Damián waves a hand dismissively. "Anyone who matters knows this partnership exists now. They won't interfere. And if they're stupid enough to try, they'll deal with me personally."
The casual way he says it makes it more threatening than any direct promise of violence would be.
We hammer out more details after that—communication protocols, payment schedules, what happens if shipments get seized by law enforcement or rival organizations.
All the boring but essential shit that keeps people alive and out of prison in this business.
Routes. Contact methods. Emergency procedures.
The infrastructure of drug dealing dressed up in professional business language.
"You just need to set up a meet with your people and let Sof know when it is," Damián says, looking directly at me with that penetrating stare. "She'll coordinate everything from our end. She's the one you'll be working with directly most of the time."
Sof pulls out her phone with quick, efficient movements. "Give me your number."
I rattle off the digits. She types quickly and my phone buzzes in my pocket a second later.
Unknown Number: It's Sof. Save this.
"Got it," I confirm, pulling my phone out just long enough to add her to my contacts.
We continue talking through logistics for another fifteen minutes—drop locations that make sense for both sides, backup plans if primary spots get compromised, emergency contacts if shit goes completely sideways.
Standard drug deal infrastructure that both organizations need to agree on before moving forward.
Nothing gets left to chance or assumption in arrangements like this.
Behind me, Sevyn shifts his weight subtly against the wall.
Most people wouldn't notice, but I've spent enough time around him to recognize the tell.
He's done with this meeting, patience wearing dangerously thin in that silent, simmering way of his.
Time to wrap this up before his mood affects everyone else in the room.
"Well," ángel announces smoothly, standing with that politician's grace, "now that we have business out of the way, feel free to enjoy some food and drinks."
I stand immediately, already moving toward the door. "I can't. I need to meet someone."
ángel gives me a knowing look that makes my jaw tighten involuntarily. There's something knowing in his expression.
"Of course." His smile stays perfectly neutral, politician-smooth. "Another time, perhaps. We'll do this properly then."
I nod shortly and head for the exit. Nick falls into step beside me, with Spider and Sevyn close behind. We move through the restaurant as a unit.
At the door, Damián stops me with a hand on my arm—not aggressive, just firm enough to get my attention. The others keep walking, instinctively giving us space for whatever conversation he wants to have privately.
"I'm glad you're in charge of this operation." His voice drops lower, taking on a serious tone I haven't heard from him before. "Grace adores you, talks about you constantly. And I know you'll be good for my cousin as well."
What the fuck?
The comment catches me completely off guard. This isn't what I expected from Damián.
"Don't get me wrong," he continues, reading my confusion, "Sofia can absolutely handle herself. She's been doing this longer than you have. But I like knowing you're working with her if anything goes down. Having Grace's brother watching her back gives me peace of mind."
That surprises the hell out of me—the genuine emotion in his voice, the trust he's placing in someone he barely knows.
Damián Lázaro, the man who rules through fear and violence, trusting me with his cousin's safety.
Maybe there's more human underneath all that cartel prince bullshit than I gave him credit for.
"I'll watch out for her," I say simply, meaning it.
"Gracias." He pats my back—firm, respectful. The gesture feels like acknowledgement passing between equals. Family to family, not business to business. "I appreciate that more than you know."
I jog down the front steps to where the guys are already straddling their bikes, engines idling with that familiar rumble that feels like home.
"What was that about?" Nick asks as I swing my leg over my Harley, settling into the worn leather seat.
"Just wanted me to watch out for his cousin." I start my engine, feeling the vibration through my entire body.
They nod in understanding, accepting the explanation without question.
It makes sense strategically—I'm running point on this operation, which means I'll be dealing with Sofia regularly for the foreseeable future.
Of course Damián wants to know she's got solid backup if shit goes sideways during a deal.
"I'll see you guys at the shop tomorrow," I announce over the engine noise, already planning my route home.
The Harley roars to life properly beneath me as I twist the throttle, and I don't waste any more time with conversation.
Spider and Sevyn head toward the clubhouse, their bikes disappearing into traffic.
Nick peels off toward his place after a few blocks, his tail light fading in my mirrors.
I speed toward home, weaving through evening traffic with single-minded focus and probably too much speed.
Every minute away from her feels too long now.
Fallon's waiting.
Everything else—the cartel deal, Sofia's safety, the MC's future—all of it can wait until tomorrow.
Right now, the only thing that matters is getting home to my woman.