Carlos: A Zambrano Family Novel

by Deici, Olivia

  His sounded fictitious.

  Slowly, I moved away from his hand.

  He hadn't broken rule number one. My tank top was on. I now pulled up the top of it over my boobs, though.

  I, somewhat, did a walk of shame, only it was unwitnessed. Running to his bathroom, which was freaking immaculate, huge, and gorgeous, I hurriedly peed, gave myself a quick cleaning with a towelette and soap I'd found, and followed the trail of clothing out of his room until I was again fully dressed in his entryway.

  It was like an adult version of the breadcrumbs in Hansel and Gretel.

  My cheeks flamed as I saw the shattered mess on the entryway floor and remembered how amazing his tongue had been between my thighs.

  Looking at myself in the very same mirror I'd leaned my head against just a few short hours ago, I gathered my purse and snuck out.

  Not really snuck out- I didn't owe him anything.

  He didn't owe me anything.

  We’d been two consenting adults looking for a night of fun, who miraculously were beyond sexually compatible.

  We were amazing together.

  I groaned low and headed towards the elevator. Grabbing my phone, I saw Lyft would be faster and hailed a ride.

  As the elevator doors closed, I briefly lamented that I'd never see him again.

  Goodbye, Los.

  It was a fun night, but it was time to return to reality.

  Our sexcapade was over.

  1

  Carlos

  Getting Away with Murder,

  Papa Roach

  Tss. Tss.

  With the sounds of the bullets exiting through Marco’s silencer, the two extorting wannabe gangstas fell like the pieces of shit they were.

  “Done.”

  His words were louder than the bullets that had killed them.

  I lowered my gun that I’d had ready as a precaution.

  “This all you called me for? Why did you call me and not Roman?”

  Marco snorted, holstering his gun. Taking out a cigarette, he balanced it between his lips and spoke out of one side of his mouth, tilting his head.

  “I didn’t want a fucking lecture.”

  He cupped his hand and lit his cigarette. He took a long pull from it. Lifting his head up, he let the smoke out slowly, looking at me.

  “You want to call the cleaners or do I?”

  I shook my head. “Your mess, your call.”

  He laughed. “Bro, they got your balls or something? Scared of la familia?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “My cojones are intact. I came as back up, but I ain’t getting sucked into this shit more than I have to.”

  He raised his hands, the cigarette going up with them. “What shit, Los?”

  “You’ve become fucking sloppy.”

  The two fingers holding his cigarette pointed at his chest. “Me? Sloppy?”

  My nostrils flared in aggravation as I pointed to the dead men.

  “What the fuck do you call them?”

  Marco laughed. “Dead opportunistic fools. No one extorts me.”

  “They saw you bloody that night. You weren’t careful.”

  “It’s taken care of, Los. Todo bien.”

  I pointed at him.

  “And that is the problem. I agreed with you and your actions because I thought you’d done the leg work. I was wrong, and Roman was pissed that I didn’t tell him about your plan to kill the heads. You had bad intel and you acted impulsively. You don’t even see how you’ve changed and who you’ve become.”

  He stared at me for a minute, taking another drag from his cigarette. He tapped the ashes over one of the dead bodies.

  The eyes that stared at me resembled only a small fraction of the brother I knew. Every day, more of the Marco we knew and loved, died. In his place, a cold, impulsive, and unraveling man took hold.

  His eyes were emptier today than they had been when I saw him last, at our weekly Sunday family dinners.

  Marco took his phone, pushed a button, and held it up to his ear. His gaze slid to the dead men that were mere feet away from us.

  “Yea. Two orders of pepper steak. The alley behind 1650 Southeast Palm Drive. Make it fifteen minutes, we’re starving.”

  He’d ordered a chop job.

  Marco laughed as he ended the call. His eyes found mine again, and my lips picked up at the corner. He walked over to me.

  “See, laughter. Makes the soul lighter, Los. No harm, bro.” He slapped my back and rubbed my shoulder.

  We began walking forward when I heard something behind us. I turned, and saw a man hiding.

  He’d witnessed everything.

  He’d heard everything.

  “Fuck,” I snapped, looking angrily at Marco. In one motion, I reached back, palmed my Glock, and fired one shot between the eyes.

  Marco slapped my back, laughing. “Nice shot, bro.”

  I shrugged his hand off me, walking towards the body. I was glad I’d kept my silencer on.

  “ID?”

  I shook my head. The guy had nothing on him. Checked him over for tats that marked him as one of the families, but there were none.

  “No family tats.”

  I walked over to the first two bodies. “None on them either.”

  “Assholes,” Marco said before spitting on the third body.

  “Keep your bodily fluids to yourself, Marco.”

  He snorted, taking a pull from his cigarette. “Okay, Roman.”

  Angry eyes met his humorous ones. “That shit right there is sloppy. But whatever. You go ahead and break Mamá’s heart when you’re arrested for murder.”

  Marco shook his head. “That’s what the cleaners are for, Los. Relax, man.”

  I pointed at him. “You fucking relax.”

  Ten minutes later, the cleaners arrived. Their van had their logo with their saying on it:

  Yung Phan’s Chinese Food, Delivered in thirty minutes or it’s free.

  It was obviously a front, but they meant the part of about arriving in thirty minutes.

  They were trusted by the family. Yung Phan was an independent group that did what was asked of them and never spoke about it or asked questions.

  Marco’s face hardened as he approached the main cleaner. I watched in fascination, and a bit of fear, if I was being honest.

  He was mercurial.

  This Marco was beginning to scare the shit out of me.

  We watched them for five minutes before turning to go. I drove, so we took my car.

  “What the fuck, bro? You stuck in a time warp, too?”

  I shook my head, laughing, as Marco fiddled with the radio that had been silent on our way to the meet spot. 80s music was playing.

  “Izzy needed a ride.”

  Marco looked at me, forehead furled.

  I shrugged. “Roman was in a meeting.”

  Marco laughed. “What's the other half of the story?”

  I joined in his laughter. “She didn't want to hear it from Roman. He's been wanting to get rid of Lola.”

  “Lola?”

  “Her car that is literally on its last tire.”

  His laughter lightened my soul. It was a rarity these days.

  “He's gonna buy her a new one. You know how Roman is.”

  I grinned. The brotherly gossip reminded me of better times when there was more stability in our lives.

  Marco switched the radio station, and A-Ha’s one-hit wonder stopped mid-song. Finally settling on a station, he sat back.

  The ride back was quiet, if you ignored the heavy dark rock songs bleeding from my car speakers.

  The similarities between that and my brother were too much for me to even consider any further.

  Burn It Down, Linkin Park

  2

  Carlos

  “What the fuck, Marco!”

  Roman’s tone was fire.

  Sighing, I got up from the leather couch and half sat on the windowsill that overlooked Mamá’s garden. Pop had made certain that his office l
ooked on upon it, both because her garden was beautiful, but also to keep an eye on her.

  No, he wasn't one of those men. Their eyes never strayed from one another. The trust between my parents was solid.

  So was their love.

  It was that love that made my Pop careful, obsessively so. He wanted to make sure that she was safe, and he wanted a front row seat to ensure that she remained so.

  Sipping my Bacardi, and most people didn't know it was originally a Cuban-born company, I watched my family. This was nothing new. Marco had become more impulsive since Jenny’s murder. Diego was, thankfully, better now, but he's a drug addict- and he always would be.

  Wasn't that the first step of recovery? Admitting what you were. Even though he's been sober and clean for several months now, he knew how precarious sobriety could be.

  My eyes centered on Roman. Roman was strategizing and already grabbing his sword to slay the beasts for the family.

  He looked good. Physically, he was stronger than ever. He liked to run and work out with Izzy. She was a saint and the best fucking thing to happen to my brother. He was happy, and I couldn't be happier for him. He deserved it.

  At the moment, though, he was pissed. His leer was aimed at Marco.

  Pop had completed his cancer treatment. We were watching and waiting for the labs Cari had run.

  Cari.

  Just the thought of that woman’s name made my dick hard.

  That night I saw her across the bar, I knew I had to have her. She drew me to her, like a moth to a flame- and any other poetic cliché phrase you can think of. It wasn't just her beauty, and don't get me wrong, she was a ten. She had long, soft brown hair that she always had up with a pencil in place the several times I'd seen her. I figured she always forgot her hair clips. She was a bit absentminded and I liked that. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of green. Her skin was amazingly soft.

  And her body.

  Cari had curves like hills and valleys. There were a few that I hadn't licked yet, and not for want of trying. She was reserved with her body and wouldn’t let my hands or tongue stray.

  Make no mistake, though- that was on the top of my list. My tongue was going to run across her skin like I was enjoying an ice cream cone on a sunny Miami day.

  “It's done.” Marco shrugged and sipped his whiskey. He was so nonchalant despite the war he’d potentially set into motion.

  “Jesus Christ, Marco, this isn't a crossword puzzle. You say that so casually. You fucking killed the wrong people.” Roman’s vein was throbbing in his neck.

  He seriously needed to rein in the anger. Roman had a bad temper. He didn't always show it, but when he did, don't be near his vicinity. I was the more level-headed Zambrano brother. My temper was just as severe but I rarely brought it out to play. Roman wasn't the only one who cleaned up messes. I was the peacekeeper.

  And it was exhausting.

  Do you know any Cubans? If you do, then you understand. If you don't, then let me explain.

  We have a temper that burns hotter than the Caribbean sun. If you get too close to us while we’re blowing up, bring sunscreen- you're gonna need it.

  Now you have a better picture as to the difficulties I face as the peacekeeper. I also have my own vices- I’m not a saint. My temper is bad, too, but if I blow up with them, our family would go up in a conflagration of anger.

  “The Russians are all guilty. It's not like Pavel Zaitsev was an innocent, anyway. The bastard wanted to bring the skin trade into this city.”

  “Marco’s right. And don't forget Yuri Semenov actually agreed with them,” Diego added. “They had never agreed on anything- even fought over the pronunciation of Russian words.”

  I smirked. It was true. They had been like cats and dogs, and not even sharing the same homeland helped mend matters.

  “Did you leave a calling card?”

  My eyes left Roman’s and focused on Marco’s, curious.

  “What do you mean?”

  Roman snorted. “Did you fucking tag the walls like a fifteen year old with a can of spray paint?”

  “Fuck, no, I didn't. What the fuck kind of question is that? I know better than to leave a business card, Rome.”

  My eyes strayed to Pop. I saw the fatigue in his eyes. He wasn't at a hundred percent yet.

  “Chill out, guys.” They looked at me and I looked meaningfully at Pop.

  “Let’s hope they won't know it was Marco.” Roman knocked back the last bit in his tumbler.

  “So what if they do? Who's going to fuck with us?”

  “Spoken like someone who has little to lose, Diego.”

  My eyes locked with Roman’s after he spoke, and I finally understood him on a new level. Him and Marco.

  Cari.

  You couldn't call what we had a relationship. We weren't in one- but I wanted to be. Diego’s statement was naïve. When women were involved, we had a lot to lose.

  “I've lost a lot, too, Rome.”

  “Let's not get into a pissing contest as to who's lost more. Focus back on why we’re here.”

  We looked at Pop, waiting for him to continue.

  “We’ll increase security. They don't know it's Marco. Let us have that advantage for as long as we can while we reinforce the family.”

  “What do we tell our guys?”

  “Certainly not the fucking truth, Diego. Just say we got info of potential threats on the DL. They won't question it anyways. The Zaitsev pakhan and several of his high-ranking soldiers were assassinated. Nobody's going to question shit.” Roman walked over the the mini bar and poured another drink.

  “Word on Tony?’ he asked me.

  I shook my head. “Disappeared into fucking air.”

  Pop’s phone rang. Picking it up, he looked at us.

  “Si.”

  He continued to look at us.

  “De acuerdo.”

  He hung up. “The Zaitsevs want a sit-down.”

  There was a middle man who was in contact with the families. He contacted all of us when one wanted to meet. He was the human equivalent of international waters.

  The Scheduler.

  That's all we knew him as. He spoke all of our languages and communicated with each family in theirs.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Two days. All of the families.”

  “What's the plan?” Diego asked.

  Rome spoke first. “Deny any knowledge. No one saw Marco.”

  “That we know of,” I chimed in.

  Roman shrugged. “It's all we have to go on.”

  “I took out the fucking cameras. Shit, you act like this is my first rodeo.”

  I snorted and Marco looked at me in censure. We had agreed not to say anything about the other night.

  “Still, it's always good to calculate for the worst case scenario.”

  That was Roman for you.

  “Everyone keep their normal routines. No one will question the extra muscle and security. All of the families are doing it out of caution. If we didn't, we’d be the oddballs out. Our actions have to mirror those of the other families’.”

  We nodded at Pop.

  “Agreed.” I got up from the windowsill.

  Pop looked at Roman.

  “Our security is tightening up, but we could use added muscle. Think Shadow is available?”

  Roman nodded. “Yea. He might be. I'll call him. How many of his guys?”

  “I want surveillance twenty-four seven on the businesses, our homes, and our women.” Pop looked at me and jutted his chin. “Oasis, too.”

  I slowly nodded my head. “My security team has been on alert. Things are good for now.”

  Pop looked at Roman again. “Ten. And I want one out of state where Gaby is.”

  “You mean add one more to the detail already on her?” Diego looked away from us. I knew Daniela was on his mind.

  God rest her soul, my little sister. We still didn't know what had happened to her. One day she was here, and the next she wasn't.

&
nbsp; It had been the beginning of the shit storm for us- that, and Jenny’s murder. It was hard to believe that years had passed since we last saw Daniela. Arianna was over a year-and-a-half old now, and had been without her mother since she was a few months old.

  “It'll get taken care of.” Roman was taking his phone out of his pocket.

  Before we left out the door, I asked Pop, “Any word?”

  “From Dr. Zavala?” He shook his head at my nod.

  “I'll go pay a personal visit to find out the status.”

  Pop looked at me for a long minute. There was a half-smile on his face and a playfulness I hadn't seen in a long while entered into his eyes.

  “Don't shit where I eat, hijo. She's a good woman.”

  I smirked. “Wouldn't dream of it. She is a good woman.”

  I walked out of the office, slipping my sunglasses on as I headed out to my car.

  I just wanted her to be my woman.

  3

  Cari

  “Are the labs back?”

  I looked at my PA, Luis, and his face was grim. My heart stuttered in my chest. I both loved and hated my job. When I was able to help my patients into remission, I felt like a hero.

  He handed me the results and I looked over the numbers.

  Times like these, I hated it.

  I placed the paper on the counter and my hands gripped the counter on either side of it as I leaned down to take a breath. The numbers didn't look good. This would be the third time her cancer was returning.

  “You ok?”

  I nodded and fought for my mask to slide back into place.

  “Can you call Carol? Make time for her, whenever she can come in. I don't care what's on my schedule, just move it.” He didn't blink an eye. “I know it's not your job, but she feels comfortable with you.”

  He nodded. “It's all of our jobs.”

  I smiled at him, and as I recalled the words I told him during his interview and first day of work, they spilled from his mouth.

  “No job around here is too small.”

  “Thanks, Luis. If I call, she’ll be worrying until she comes here. If it comes from you, at least she won't be agonizing before coming to the appointment.”