23. The Thirteenth Family #3
I lean against the dresser and remove my watch. “Is there no way to discreetly hide the kitchen doors without forfeiting the back stairs and bathrooms?”
She chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “If we moved the bar…maybe.”
“To where?”
“Where the kitchen doors used to be. I would have to reconfigure the bathrooms and cellar access but it could work. I wasn’t sure if you’d mind where the bar was which is why I didn’t move it before.”
“No, that’s perfect.” I remove my cufflinks next and leave them on a small gold jewelry tray. “Mauricio and Dimitrio suggested getting rid of the apartment all together but I’d prefer not to. Once the lounge is up and running, I want someone living there. Just in case.”
“Just in case?” She echoes. “I hope you don’t plan on keeping any hostages.”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
“Alejandro,” her expression hardens. “Estoy hablando en serio.”
I sigh as I unbutton my shirt.
“You can’t do that kind of thing, not anymore. And most certainly not at the lounge.”
“Be fair. I’ve been exceptionally well-behaved in recent years.”
She crosses her legs and stares at me patiently. I walk over and kneel before her.
“No hostages—willing or otherwise. Te lo prometo.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it.
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth but decides to let it go. I lean forward to kiss her lips before standing.
“I’m going to go shower and change. God forbid I sit at a dinner table with my grandfather and I’m not wearing a suit.”
“Alex,” she catches my wrist. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about and I’m not sure if we should ask Abuelo about it.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I received an invitation to dinner from Edith Ortiz.”
“An invitation?”
She juts her chin in the direction of her vanity. “I was going through the mail this afternoon when I stumbled across it.”
I walk over and pick up the thick ivory envelope. Inside is a simple but elegant card.
Dona Edith de Ortiz
tiene el honor de solicitar la presencia de
Don Alejandro Narvaez y Dona Dahlia de Narvaez
para una distinguida cena que se llevará a cabo el
día 15 de agosto a las 21:00 horas en su residencia.
“What do you think?” Dahlia asks.
“She’s very formal.” I leave the invitation on the nightstand. “And her husband is very desperate.”
“They’re calling themselves the thirteenth family.”
“Not to mention presumptuous.” I remove my shirt and head to the bathroom. A second later, I hear her footsteps as she follows. “Twelve Apostles is more than enough. The last thing this city needs is another Don.”
“I didn’t mention it before because it slipped my mind but Paloma Caceres brought it up at our wedding. Apparently, some of the other Dons are hoping the Ortiz family will replace ours when the time comes. They’re obsessed with keeping a balanced twelve, they think it’ll help keep the peace.”
“Untangling this family from a sixty-year-old system it helped build will be difficult enough. Grooming a whole new family for entry will be nearly impossible and I’ve already told as much to the other Dons. It’s out of the question.”
“I don’t disagree with you.” She stops in the doorway of the bathroom and crosses her arms, leaning against the wall.
“But it’d be a mistake to ignore the Ortizes completely.
Regina has abandoned the narcotics side of Sandro’s business.
She may have kept a hold on her brother’s territory but the Ortizes are quickly gaining ground.
When you tried going legitimate the first time, the main objection from the other Families came from a fear of foreign interference.
As they continue to expand, the Ortizes are going to look for alliances and it won’t take long for the foreign families in this city to corrupt them. ”
“Corrupt them?”
“Yes, corrupt them. They’ll look for support and acceptance wherever they can get it.
Families like the Belovs and Maslovs, Sarris, Opreas, and Demirs.
All foreign and all a threat. On their own they don’t amount to much but if they all came together with the kind of money the Ortizes are pulling from their drug operation, you face serious opposition.
The kind that would jeopardize our plans for legitimacy. ”
I stare at her a long while. “It’s concerning to me how you’ve figured this all out on your own. I liked it better when your nose was stuck in a textbook all day.”
She smiles but there’s no joy in the expression. “I’m a Narvaez now. I have to think like one too.”
I abandon my place at the shower door and close the distance between us. I take her face in my hands and press a kiss against her forehead.
“I wish I could uncorrupt these thoughts.”
“I don’t,” she says. “It’s better this way. I can help you.”
“I never wanted this for you. I always hoped that by the time you became my wife, all of this would be behind us. And you’d spend your days being peacefully, blissfully unaware.”
“I may not be unaware but my days are peaceful and blissful. Every day with you is.”
A loose curl falls over her brow and I tuck it behind her ear.
“Don’t you ever just want to say to Hell with it? And let the other Families figure it out on their own?” She asks.
“Every single day.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because people aren’t a business.” I reply.
“The Twelve Families haven’t seen this much change since my father and Gregorio died.
Most of the old Dons are either dying off or retiring.
A whole generational shift is taking place.
I want to make sure we do this the right way so that when we leave, it’s for good. ”
She opens her mouth to respond but decides against it. I step away and go to turn on the shower.
“May I?”
She purses her lips at me.
“Or you can watch.” I unbuckle my belt. “You know I love putting on a show for you.”
Dahlia’s cheeks heat and she looks up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. Then she turns on the balls of her feet and enters the walk-in closet that connects our bedroom to the bathroom.
“Suit preference?”
“Whatever will look good standing next to you.”
I undress fully and step under the cool spray of water to scrub the day away.
We haven’t been home a full twenty-four hours and already the honeymoon-induced high I’ve been riding for weeks is whittled away to nothing.
I’d hoped at least a week would pass before reality settled in once more. I suppose not.
The Ortizes’ rise to power in Barcelona was nascent, covert, and incremental.
Up until a year ago, they were a small operation peddling low-end narcotics to the city’s infamous party scene, a demographic Sandro once dominated.
Now they live in a multi-million-dollar mansion up in the mountains overlooking the city and rub elbows with the local Dons.
I’ve heard the rumors; I know some of the other Families are in favor of initiating a temporary thirteenth Don in anticipation of my eventual departure.
And I know that the Ortizes are primed to take the Sandovals’ place in the drug market now that Regina is taking her family in a different direction.
Edith Ortiz’s invite is a play for power on behalf of her husband and I don’t like it.
It’s tasteless not to mention an afront to one of our cardinal rules: never, ever involve a wife in a Don’s business.
Archaic and patriarchal as the system may be, it’s been this way for over sixty years and not even the Dons my age are keen on changing it.
It’s part of the reason Regina is struggling to establish her independence and dominance among the other Apostles; she’s a woman.
No longer acting on behalf of Sandro but now in her own right, the Dons don’t know what to do with a woman in power so they undermine her authority instead.
Simón Ortiz is eager for his family to join our ranks but what he doesn’t understand is it takes more than brute strength and money to do so.
Anyone can traffic narcotics, run a gambling ring, or launder money but not anyone can siphon it into true power and influence.
The kind of which becomes generational. The Twelve Families have survived decades of social, political, and economic change, constantly evolving and adapting to the world around them through alliances and partnerships with one another.
Our system works because we understand everyone’s success and safety is intertwined.
We follow our honor codes, support our neighbors, and respect our enemies.
And when those cardinal rules are broken we have what happened between Sandro and me: war.
Abuelo and my father were the mediators and voices of reason among the Twelve and it’s a position I inherited when the time came.
And it hasn’t been half as easy as I thought it would be.