“If you weren't fucking flirting like a bitch in heat or a whore looking for her next John, my food wouldn't be cold!”
He grabbed her arm and she snapped it back. “Don't you grab me,” she growled, nostrils flaring.
By now, Ari had stopped eating and was turning to see what the commotion was about. Her lips were wobbly and tears crowded her small blue eyes.
The asshole grabbed the plate and threw it on the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Ari began to scream.
“Watch her, Carlos,” Marco said as he walked over. He held his hand to stay his security detail.
“Always,” I said, reaching for Ari. She latched onto me and buried her tiny head into my chest.
I watched as Marco bent down to check Natascha’s legs, which had been cut. Blood was beading on the top of her ankles, where it met her white socks and sneakers.
“It's ok, Marco.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The look on my brother’s face could've frozen shit in mid-air. Not even Natascha’s words infiltrated his haze of fury.
Towering over the son-of-a-bitch, Marco gripped him by his throat and sent him flying into the wall behind them.
“Marco, no!”
Natascha’s sneakers screeched on the floor as she ran behind Marco, who was already in front of the dazed customer.
I'd managed to calm Ari down, and she was eating her fruit again.
Thank God.
She kept wanting to turn her head to see her father and I did my best to redirect her attention away from where he was.
He squatted down in front of the man who was dumbstruck on the floor. Reaching out, Marco grabbed the man around his neck again, lifting him to his feet. The sneer that spread across Marco’s face rivaled the hostility in his eyes. He lifted him until he was a few inches off the floor.
“You're lucky I don't kill you.”
“Let me go!”
Marco’s laugh was humorless.
“What? Scared of me? You should be. You like to treat women with disrespect?”
“Let me go!”
Marco slammed him against the wall.
“Marco, please. It's alright.”
Marco looked at Natascha. “No, it's not.” He looked back at the rude customer.
“You don't tell me what to do, but listen up, because I'm going to tell you what you're going to do. You're going to apologize to her, and you're going to grab a mop and bucket, and clean this fucking mess up.”
“I ain't doing shi-”
Marco slammed him back again and leaned into his ear. His tone was softer.
“If you don't fucking clean your mess up, you're going to be eating the food and glass off the floor like the perro that you are.” He took a step back. “Is that clear?”
The man looked at Marco for a long second, presumably judging the ability of Marco to carry out his threat. He looked at me and the security surrounding us.
“Fine!”
“Natascha, where are the cleaning supplies?”
Natty, who had been standing by, walked out just then with a mop and bucket.
“Thank you, Natty,” Marco said, getting them from her. She was amused judging by the small smile on her face.
“Welcome.”
Marco shoved them in the customer’s direction.
“Apologize.”
The customer’s jaw worked back and forth and his nostrils flared.
“I'm sorry.”
Natascha, red-faced and in shock, nodded.
“Natty, do you have first-aid supplies?”
“No, really. It's fine.”
Marco’s head shake was curt.
“You're bleeding, Natascha. Sit.”
I sat and watched as Marco helped clean the cuts on Natascha’s ankles. She appeared mortified by the attention but tried to take it in stride. I saw her watching Marco intently, eyebrows furled. Finally, he turned his face to hers, placed a hand on her shoulder, and spoke softly to her. She shook her head but it seemed as if he was insisting. A look of defeat crossed her face and she took out her phone. Marco grabbed it and input something, handing it back to her. Standing, he turned back to me and Ari and walked towards us.
“Interesting.”
Marco picked up his cafe and took a sip.
“Don't want to hear it, Los. Any one of us would have done that.”
I nodded to the side, agreeing.
“Fine. Ok.”
He set his cup back down.
“Ask Marcelo about Tony.”
I watched him for a long moment. “You do realize if we find him, that the family will be upset if his story doesn't justify your actions.”
He looked cooly at me.
“What are you talking about?”
“You'd always said that Tony had the DL on the Russians and that the Zaitsevs were behind…”
I couldn't finish the sentence, but he did it for me.
“Jenny’s murder.”
I nodded and swallowed. His eyes danced with fury and hollowness.
“And so if he can't back up your story, you're in some deep shit with pop and Roman.”
He shrugged.
“I guess we’ll have to see then.”
“Yea. I guess we do.”
And I hoped that Tony could at least justify some of Marco’s actions.
Because if my older brother had gone rogue and in such a vicious way without concrete evidence, we had more problems than just the Russians.
It also meant that my older brother was officially lost.
12
Carlos
The usual security shit began as we made our way into the industrial container we owned for such meetings. Weapons were kept in lockers, and we walked through metal detectors. We were the first to arrive but not by much. Minutes later, the table was full and there were a few new faces.
Here we go again.
Pop sat back, lit his Cuban, and waited. His gaze was on The Scheduler.
“You didn't mention new faces.”
“There are new representatives but not new families.”
Pop’s eyes moved from The Scheduler to Marcelo, to the newcomers.
“Between the Fiores last time, and now these new ones, it's fucking American Mafia Idol.”
“Señor Zambrano-”
My father held his hand up as the Zaitsev man began. He had a heavy Russian accent. We knew all about the families, but I wondered who the fuck this guy was and where the hell was Demyan, Pavel’s son. I'd assumed when Marco killed the bastard, Demyan would take over. The Russians didn't normally do the family thing with their organization. It was typically a brotherhood not blood, that held them together.
The Zaitsevs were different.
“Then who the fuck is that?”
My father’s eyebrows did the pointing as his fingers brought the cigar to his mouth.
“They are not new,” The Scheduler began but was cut off.
“We just haven't been here-”
My father’s dismissive hand halted the new Colombian’s words and the action ruffled the man’s feathers, too.
Two-for-one.
Pop was racking up the annoyed stares.
“We pay you for organizing the meetings, secrecy, and security. You need to be clearer as to attendance when making your calls.”
“Agreed,” the Kellys said.
“Yes,” Yuri Semenov added.
“Agreed,” Marcello said. Izzy’s brother was down here permanently, much to Izzy’s satisfaction.
“Porque no empezamos-“
The Colombian began saying “why don't we begin,” but my father cut him off.
Again.
And this time the Colombian earned a look from my father. That was serious.
My father’s temper was rising.
“First, never cut me off again. Second, we don't speak to one another here in our own tongue. We all agreed to English. You speak to your own men in your language. And third, it’s been a long f
ucking time since you and your organization came to a meeting if you don't know the rules here, so shut your fucking mouth and learn.”
My father turned back to The Scheduler.
“Be specific when calling and arranging. I haven't seen the Colombians since TVs were black and white,” he said, clearly exaggerating to make his point.
The Scheduler nodded. “My apologies to the families.”
The leaders nodded their heads.
I stood with my brothers behind my father, all of us leaning against the back wall with arms crossed.
The Scheduler left the room, going to where the indiscriminate muscle was. All of the families and organizations paid their fair share ensuring no preferential treatment from the muscle or The Scheduler. They were there in case the shit went south in this room.
However, what everyone else didn't know was that my father paid the men extra, under the table.
Could the others be doing the same? Maybe. But my father was the most generous with bribes, so we weren't concerned.
My father turned to the new Russian.
“Who are you?”
“Pyotr Federov. Pavel’s nephew.”
“Why isn't Demyan here?”
Federov looked taken aback.
We knew all the players.
Always.
I guess he didn't know we always did our homework.
“He's taking care of things in Russia.”
My father looked to the other families and they nodded, accepting the change.
“Fine. And you?”
He looked at the Colombian.
“Manuel Orozco. I've been the head of the Valladares Cartel in the States for over three decades.”
“So why the fuck are you here now?”
Yuri Semenov asked that one. He was as suspicious as my father was.
And after the killing of Pavel Zaitsev and his top men, I would be, too.
He lifted up his sleeve to show off some fucking awful prison tats.
“Did time until a few years ago. We moved operations to the west coast a long while back.”
“Well that fucking explains your rude behavior,” my father snapped.
“We want to reclaim our territory here.”
The leaders laughed.
“Jesus, another one,” my father grumbled. He took a long drag from the cigar. “Your territory hasn't been your territory since a Bush was President. Forty-one not forty-three. Where is your cartel’s namesake, Tomás? I only deal with men who have power.”
Marco snickered.
Pop’s words got to the Colombian.
“I became the head in the States when Valladares returned to Colombia. Now, he wants to reclaim what was his.”
Pop pulled a face and sucked his teeth.
“I’ll consider it. But I want to speak to Valladares.”
Orozco looked around the table.
“Why you, Zambrano?” He looked at the others again. “You all let him speak for you?”
My father laughed but there was no humor.
This idiot had NO. IDEA.
“Listen, I'm going to extend a courtesy this one time because you're new and obviously have no fucking idea when to shut the fuck up and not put your goddamned foot in your mouth. This is my city. I run it. Always have. You understanding those simple words?”
Ooof, the Colombian’s face went red, from anger or being belittled, I didn't know.
He looked around again at all the serious and annoyed faces.
The left side of his lips pulled up in a telling gesture but he agreed. “I understand.”
Pop took another drag and sat back. “Good. Let's get on with the meeting.” He looked at Federov.
“My condolences to you for the loss of your uncle.”
The other groups offered the same.
Except Yuri.
“Have you found who was responsible?” Pop asked smoothly, puffing from his cigar.
“We have. It's been taken care of.”
“Good,” Pop said, without missing a beat.
We'd have to talk about this later. We knew it had been Marco, and obviously they'd gotten the wrong person.
As the meeting progressed, it was agreed that Pyotr would take over for his uncle.
Orozco was another story. He sat stewing as he watched the meeting go on. At the end, my father looked at him.
“I'm at a loss that I have to mention such obvious things, but since you haven't gotten your dick wet in a while, I'm forced to tell you-”
Orozco’s eyes widened a fraction along with his nostrils.
Some of the other men snickered, which made him angrier.
“- that whatever was said here, is to be kept confidential. Only your most trusted men may know. Got it?”
At his nod, Pop added, “Next time, I expect to see Valladares here. No exceptions. Only men who make the decisions and have the balls to back them are allowed.”
“I've been leading the cartel on the west coast for decades.”
My father’s eyes iced over.
“This isn't the west coast.”
Pop looked at the others.
“We’re done here.”
With that, we left, watchful of the asshole newcomer.
13
Cari
I tried to ignore my feelings. The feelings that were hurt that Carlos had snuck out of my home and hadn't spoken to me since the night before last.
Two days.
Well, ok. He'd sent me a quick text telling me he was busy and couldn't see me.
That should've placated me.
It didn't.
Now I knew how he'd felt after our one-night stand. To be fair though, we knew each other better now. We'd been seeing each other for a little over a month. Back then, it had literally only been a one-night stand.
So I tried to ignore how my situation would justifiably hurt more. I thought we would've moved past this preliminary stage.
Maybe he was finally tired of me.
Fine.
Fuck him.
I didn't need relationships in my life.
Especially complicated ones-
That I didn't want to even acknowledge was a relationship-
Especially with a smart, fine ass man.
I knew better than to love someone again. I'd loved Chris, and look what happened.
Still, I had Izzy.
She wasn't going anywhere, thank God. Although she'd given me a good scare when that asshole had kidnapped her and she had sustained all of those injuries while trying to escape.
I'd been frightened out of my mind. I only had Izzy left. She and Chris had been the only ones I'd ever let in.
Snapping my head out of those thoughts, I made my way to my office.
I had such a busy day. I had so much work still left to do.
Maybe if I was busy enough, I'd forget how much I missed Carlos and how much it hurt that he'd left without saying goodbye.
Two days.
Fourteen hours.
Thirty-five minutes.
Ago.
And I hated that I cared.
It bothered me that it bothered me.
Ugh. I was turning into one of those women.
I’d kept trying to ignore him and still the egotistical ass had crawled under my skin and was attempting to get into my heart.
I plopped down behind my desk. It was a long damn day with so many new patients, I couldn't believe it. I'd held off on taking on new patients for a while, but there were always exceptions. Carlos’ dad, Alejandro, had been one of them. Other colleagues had referred very sick patients to me, and I couldn't turn my back. Needless to say, my ‘No New Patients’ status was essentially non-existent in practice.
The phone on my desk rang and I picked up.
“Late patient? The no-show from earlier?”
I was planning on updating charts now, but I wouldn't turn the latecomer away.
There was some fumbling on the phone. I didn't want to give our new receptio
nist a hard time. She was probably leaving now anyways.
I sighed and didn't wait for her answer.
“Just send him back.”
14
Carlos
I knocked on Cari’s door just in case she had someone in there.
“Come in.”
She didn't look up as I walked in.
“I could be anyone. You could at least look up from your computer to see who came into your office while you're alone.”
Her head leaned to the side of her monitor with one eyebrow raised. She sighed, but her face told me she wasn't expecting me.
“Should I jot that down for your bestseller? Carlos’ Guide to Safety.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Seriously, Cari.”
Annoyingly changing the subject, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
I placed a palm over my chest. “You wound me, Cari. Can't you just enjoy the pleasure of my presence without questioning it?”
She ignored me and looked at her screen.
“Dinner. Let's go.”
Her fingers never slowed as she said, “Can't.”
“I'll drag you out of here.”
She popped her head up and looked at me again, eyebrow higher than the last time.
“Can't.”
“I'll give you thirty minutes, at which time I'll heave you over my shoulder fireman style, slap your ass, and carry you out of here.”
We had a stare-off.
“Late appointment my ass,” she grumbled. “I'm not a plastic surgeon, Los.”
“Why would I need one of those?”
Anger and hurt swirled within her eyes. It surprised me.
“Your ego needs augmentation. It’s far too large for your head. Can't help you with that.”
I laughed. It was funny and that was a good jab. It was also true for all of us Zambrano men.
Big egos.
Big men.
Big…everything.
“Come on, caramelo. Let's go to dinner.”
“I haven't heard from you in two days, Carlos.”
I grinned.
“Counting, huh? Miss me? At least I sent you a text.”
“It hasn't been long enough. Maybe you should go away for a few more days and let's see how long it'll take for me to miss you, if ever.”
Carlos: A Zambrano Family Novel Page 8