Chapter 16 Angel
Angel
Imeant to pick Emma up from the estate myself, but as the time ticked closer, I couldn’t break away from my office.
I checked my watch for the tenth time. I wasn’t going to make it back to get her in time.
This meeting had to go well: it would help me to establish the Castillos as an organization to be reckoned with in the international markets.
It was something I had discussed with Padre, but he didn’t see my vision.
He wanted new ventures and had no interest in furthering the market that we had already conquered.
We were at odds, but I would show him what we were capable of. What I was capable of.
Omar sighed. “So, I’m your delivery man?”
“I’ll owe you a favor.” Even between brothers, a favor meant something, and we both knew it.
“I’ll bring her to you,” he said.
“Gracias.”
He hung up, and I went back to my projections. My men were setting up the bar area for the meeting, stocking the bar with premium spirits and prepping garnishes. I lost track of time, and when Omar called me back, it felt like only minutes had passed.
“We’re here,” Omar grunted, and there was something off about his voice.
“What’s wrong?”
Omar let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not allowed to kill anyone tonight. We have to keep our relationship with the Cosa Nostra and make direct connections into Venezuela and Colombia for our plans to work.”
I went tight with annoyance. “I’m aware of that,” I said. “What’s your point?”
“You’ll see.”
The line went dead, and then the door of the club opened. Emma came through with Omar closing the door behind them. I could feel my mouth drop open, but I couldn’t close it; my brain wasn’t connected to the rest of my body anymore.
Omar was right. I was going to put a bullet through the head of the first man who looked at her.
She was wearing a black dress made of a fabric that appeared to flow down her body.
It dipped low in the front but lower in the back.
On her feet, she had on a pair of heels that I might classify as weapons.
Her hair was curled and fell around her face.
I had never gotten hard so quickly in my entire life. Her eyes landed on me, and her red-painted lips stretched into a smile. “Hola,” she said, walking to me. “Buenas noches.”
“Buenas noches, mi esposa,” I greeted and reached out and brushed my thumb across her bare collarbone.
I would touch her face, but I didn’t want to ruin her carefully applied makeup.
“You look beautiful.” It wasn’t the right word.
She was perfect. Exactly what I needed in the woman who would stand at my side.
Her smile softened. “Thank you,” she murmured. “What do you need me to do?”
“Be a good host,” I told her. “Be welcoming and charming.”
Emma nodded. “I can do that,” she assured me.
“I know you can,” I said.
Before I could really explain what was going to happen, my guests began to arrive.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Emma, but she smiled as the contingent from Venezuela, an older man named Miguel and his son, Francisco, approached us.
Behind them was Elio Vitali: he came as his cousin’s representative.
“Bienvenido, gentlemen,” I greeted. “This is my wife, Emma.”
She smiled, and it was wide and welcoming. It wasn’t the smile that she used with me, but it didn’t come off as cheap or false. “Welcome,” she said. “Is there anything I can get you all?” She glanced at me. “Are we starting the evening with cocktails or champagne?”
The younger man, Francisco, eyed Emma in a way that made my hands curl into fists. “Whiskey,” he said. “Neat.”
Elio, decidedly keeping his eyes off Emma, grunted, “I’ll have the same.”
“Me too,” Miguel said. His eyes, too, didn’t wander Emma’s body freely. The joy of doing business with married men.
Emma glanced at me. “Should I prepare the same for you?”
I opened my mouth to say that we had a perfectly good bartender who could pour the drinks, but there was a look on her face that begged for a job. For a task. “Chilled tequila, mi esposa,” I said. “Thank you.”
She went to the bar and shooed the bartender away and began making drinks. Emma wasn’t a big drinker, but she reached for bottles and glasses as if she’d been behind a bar her entire life. “She’s stunning, Angel,” Miguel said.
“Gracias,” I said, eyes on Emma for a moment longer before I turned to the men. “Ademir’s fashionably late, as always, but would you join me?” I gestured to the table that I had prepared. The men followed me, and we sat. “I have my projections prepared if —
“I’m here,” a voice from behind us boomed. “I’m here.”
Ademir was big and loud; he reminded me of Omar, but my brother knew when to shut his mouth. “Ademir,” I greeted. “You’re earlier than I expected.”
The man grinned sharply. “While I might be fashionably late for a party, I am never late for business.” He winked at me. “Besides, I heard you got married, and I have to meet the woman who tied you down.”
“That would be me.” Emma came back; she was carrying a tray of drinks. Ademir’s eyes went wide for a moment before he reined it in. Emma handed Elio, Miguel, and Francisco their drinks with a smile and then put mine into my hand. “I’m Emma,” she introduced herself. “What can I get you to drink?”
Just from the look on his face, I could tell that Ademir was charmed. It was bolder than would be acceptable with most of my business associates, but for his boisterous attitude, her response was spot-on. “Nothing for me just yet,” he said. “We’ll have champagne once we’ve settled matters, yes?”
“It’s already on ice for just that purpose,” she said. She must have seen it behind the bar. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, looking at me.
I wrapped an arm around her waist. The material of her dress was just as soft as I imagined it would be. I wanted to bunch it in my hands, drag it up until it was belted around her waist. “Come sit with us,” I said.
Emma was startled. “Really?” she asked.
I cocked my head. “Do I ever say things that I don’t mean?” I asked.
“I suppose not,” she said, and for the first time, she sounded a little uncertain. “What do I need to do?”
“Just do what you’re doing now,” I reassured her and led her over to the table with a hand at the small of her back. Normally, a wife would never be expected to sit in at a business meeting, but the men liked her, and I would take any advantage I could find to make this work.
I dragged a chair over, and Emma sat primly, crossing her legs at the ankle. Very ladylike. “Let me know if there’s anything I can get for you,” she said as she settled herself.
“Thank you, mi esposa.” I opened my laptop, and we began to discuss my plans for expansion. Elio, Miguel, and Ademir were dialed in, everything else forgotten.
Apparently bored, Francisco’s eyes turned to Emma. He tracked the curve of her throat, the plunge of her dress. I imagined splitting his head open with my bare hands. It would make a mess of your knuckles, I reminded myself.
When Emma noticed him staring, she pressed herself more firmly against my side.
It was a reminder, without being rude, who she belonged to.
I rested my hand on her thigh. Ademir smirked at the silent declaration.
“You look like a young king, Angel,” he said.
“Sat beside your queen.” Miguel and Francisco agreed, and then, they plunged back into the logistics of smuggling products from South America to the States and beyond without drawing attention to themselves.
Elio added his two cents here and there, careful not to overstep whatever bounds Lorenzo placed on him.
Our relationship with the Vitalis was still relatively new, and Lorenzo was being, understandably, cautious.
I was stuck on Ademir’s words. A king, huh? I glanced at Emma, who was trying not to look embarrassed, and for the most part, she was succeeding. I leaned in and murmured in her ear, “Should I get you a crown? Then you’d really look like my queen.”
She rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “I’m not a doll,” she hissed back at me.
I traced my finger up the fabric of her dress, and she trembled. “Not a doll,” I agreed, “but I think you like dressing up for me.”
Emma hummed softly. “Maybe I do,” she breathed, “but maybe you should be paying attention to your meeting.”
Miguel clicked his teeth. “Your pretty wife has a point, Angel.”
He was right, but I didn’t appreciate the chastisement. It was too much like Padre’s soft admonishments before he struck. I dug my fingers into Emma’s thigh, and her breath stuttered out. “My pretty wife needs to remember her manners,” I said.
Emma cleared her throat. “Sí, jefe,” she said, which got a laugh from the men. I’m going to put her over my knee one of these days, I thought and smiled. I knew it was a vicious one.