30. The Price Of Loyalty
THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
Alejandro
September
Lettie has her own private garden on the rooftop.
A little-known fact about my baby sister is she’s incredibly inquisitive.
She likes to know things. The how, the why, the way things come together.
In her own way, she’s always shown interest in the family business—the legitimate side, that is.
She spent so much time with Abuelo in Trieste during the early stages of our Italian expansion.
She possesses a remarkable aptitude for numbers and equations something I wouldn’t have expected from her.
Lettie had always seemed more interested in creative things like fashion and art.
However, Lettie refuses to turn her special hobbies into a career.
It’s why she breeds deadly plants in her free time like a completely sane and normal person.
“Don’t touch that.” She snaps.
I snatch my hand back and spin on my heels.
With pinched brows and narrowed eyes, she examines what appear to be very dark berries growing from nearly black flowers. “That’s aconitum napellus.”
She snips the stem with a pair of gardening sheers and catches the berries in her gloved hand. She brings them close to her goggles, turns them over, and then drops them into the small basket at her side.
“You lock the door to this place, right?” I ask. “I don’t want Lela wandering up here.”
“She knows which plants are deadly and which ones aren’t.” She yanks her gloves off. “Gotta teach ‘em young.”
“Sometimes I wonder where you pick up these strange hobbies.”
“These strange hobbies helped you get rid of not one but two bodies,” she says, referencing both Garcia and Brent. “Remember how when I was little, I was allergic to strawberries.”
I frown in search of the memory. “No…you’re allergic to strawberries?”
“Exactly. Mithridatism.”
Do I want to know…?
No. No I don’t.
“Why are you here? I thought you and Dahlia had dinner plans in the Quarter.”
“We did but Tia Leticia called and asked about the financial reports—”
She hits the back of her wrist against her forehead, careful not to let the palm of her glove make contact with her skin. “Crap. She sent those a week ago, I completely forgot.”
“It’s not a big deal, I can do it. I just wanted to ask.”
She’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished my sentence. “No, no, it’s all right. I should be the one to do it. Besides, I promised.”
Lettie removes her gloves and goggles and we leave the greenhouse together.
She locks the door behind her and we had back inside together.
When it comes to supporting this side of the business, she’s all in.
Devoted, invested, interested. I should’ve known numbers and accounting would’ve appealed to a control freak and perfectionist like my sister.
Watching her crunch numbers, draft reports, analyze data, and make projections of her own is like watching a mad science in their laboratory.
I’m not sure where the crossover is between this kind of work, fashion, and deadly plants but somehow it doesn’t surprise me. It feels like it was meant for her.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do with El Rey yet?” she asks. “I was going through the books the other day. It isn’t doing well.”
I sigh. “My only option is to sell it. It’s better this way. A new owner will have an easier time of enforcing new rules. El Rey was meant to be passive income not an active headache.”
“Why not close the casino and repurpose the building? The land is worth a fortune and the building itself is newly renovated and gorgeous. Not to mention historic. I’m surprised Dahlia didn’t want to keep it.”
“El Rey is in the middle of nowhere and the land isn’t worth as much as you think it is. What made El Rey what it was, was the clientele. With that gone, it’s worth close to nothing. I’m fine cutting my losses.”
We reach the main apartment just as my phone rings and I dig it out of my back pocket. I half expect it to be Dahlia to remind me we have plans tonight. Regina’s name blinks across the screen instead.
My sister’s lips purse with disapproval. “I dislike her. Deeply.”
“Lettie.”
“I trust her even less.”
I ignore her and answer the call. “Hi—”
“We have a problem.”
“Hello to you too.”
“I don’t have time for pleasantries. I just got off the phone with Javier Sevilla.” A car door opens and slams shut on the other end. “We’re being summoned to the Arroyo house.”
“What? Why?”
“They’re calling for a vote,” she says. “They’re trying to initiate the Ortizes as the thirteenth family.”
* * *
The last time we discussed this, we deemed it a statistical impossibility.
The chances of seven Dons voting to inaugurate the Ortizes was slim to none.
More than half of them disliked and distrusted Simón Ortiz and the rest were temperamental and easily swayed.
Don Cayetano Arroyo hosts the vote in his home with his grandson present and I’m astounded when the vote breaks even.
Don Rubin Caceres drops the last slip of paper into the fireplace and announces to the room. “Split again. Which means we cannot move forward.”
A split vote is an automatic no on anything but I’m not comforted by this. Regina and I exchange looks across the table and Don Fulgencio rises from his seat to address the room.
“Should we reconvene at a later date?”
Don Javier Sevilla, who rarely, if ever, speaks says, “No. We should not.”
Everyone turns to look at him.
“What would be the point in reconvening when it’s clear we’ll never reach a consensus? No one wants a thirteenth family. At least not for the foreseeable future and not under these circumstances.”
I have no doubt Simón Ortiz plans to enter the fold to expand his drug empire but that’s the least of my concerns. If he’s planning what I think he is, he wants a seat at this table to obtain firsthand knowledge of the breadth and width of my control over the ports.
Currently, we lease several private terminals but our fifty-year contract with the Port of Barcelona is due to expire in a few years.
When that happens, we’ll lose access to at least half of our private terminals if not more.
It was part of the agreement with the other Families when I decided to take the Enterprise legitimate—the Port must become neutral territory.
Not only that but I’d be forfeiting labor as well.
Connections with logistics workers, customs agents, local police, inspectors, maritime authority officers, everyone.
Once I give up control I’m leaving a perfectly well-oiled machine out on the curb for anyone to snatch up and make their own.
Simón Ortiz wants to be a Don when that happens.
He’ll be privy to those conversations, sit in on those meetings, and have a say on who gets to lease which terminals and I wouldn’t put it past him to do something underhanded.
Like swoop in and lease them all. Something like that would give him control of one of the world’s busiest ports for the next fifty years.
Don Mauricio says, “Twelve of us voted. Half of us wanted a thirteenth family.”
“Not the Ortizes,” Don Miguel interjects quickly. “I voted for the possibility to choose a thirteenth. But I don’t trust them. We don’t know who they are, where they come from, or who funds them.”
“He has a point.” Don Luis Alberto agrees.
“Half of the Families at this table are vulnerable and experiencing a transition of power. Do we really want to run the risk of allowing another Don into the fold during such a precarious moment in time? We managed to come out on the other side of the last conflict by the skin of our teeth. And Sandro Sandoval had to die for that to happen.”
Regina says, “My vote was no. And it will continue to be no. We don’t need to keep a perfect twelve. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
The room descends into conversational chaos for the next half hour until Don Rubin finally brings the vote to a formal close. Everyone disperses and on the way out, break apart into their own separate groups. Javier, Regina, and I leave together.
“What did you think?” Javier asks.
“I thought it was bullshit.” I answer honestly. “And I think someone in this group is acting on the Ortizes’ behalf and I want to know why. There’s something here we’re missing. Why the desperation to install a thirteenth Don so quickly?”
Regina’s lips press together in concentration. “I wonder if Ortiz has some sort of unspoken alliance with one of them. Like if they agree to help install him in the coalition, he’ll give them something in exchange.”
“Money? Territory?” Javier suggests.
“Ortiz is dominating the drug trade right now. Every college-aged student from here to Ibiza is using his product. The night clubs are flooding with it.” Regina reaches into her purse and pulls out her car keys. “We just have to think about who would have the most to gain from this.”
“And who lacks loyalty,” I remark bitterly.
Javier turns to me. “You’re taking this personally when you shouldn’t.
For the first time in fifty years, there is going to be a huge and monumental power shift in this city when your lease expires and you take your empire fully legitimate.
An opportunity like this will not present itself again for another two generations. You cannot trust anyone. Not even us.”
“He’s right.” Regina says. “With that much power at stake, the Dons are capable of anything. Even the ones we think can be trusted can be turned. It’s best if we keep things between us three.”
“Or better yet, we don’t share anything at all.”
Javier bows his head at us in farewell.