"But I am worried about him. I am also worried about the Torres clan. I just spoke with Javier and they know of our meeting with Levine. Needless to say, Manuel Torres is not pleased. My instincts tell me he is a man who thinks with his cojones and who will seek our blood if he isn't cut in on the deal."
"Manuel Torres is unlike you. I agree that he’s led around by his balls."
"You understand."
"If you recall, I've had dealings with Torres before," Emilio remarked, referring to Magdalena Torres, Manuel's daughter. Emilio had deemed her irresistible one night. When he didn't bother to see her again, she retaliated with the force of her father. Emilio was badly beaten by the Torres thugs. When he sought help from Antonio, Antonio told him that he wasn't going to begin a war with the Torres family because his baby brother couldn't control where he put his dick. More than likely, he deserved the beating.
"True,” Antonio chuckled.
Emilio straightened his back and with smug confidence asked, "What is it you're asking me to do?"
"Keep an eye on Javier. Torres will go for the weak link, and right now I believe it to be Javier. I also want you to find out everything you can concerning Torres what he thinks, which families he may be trying to convince to ride with him, and so forth. The last thing I want is bloodshed." He pointed a stern finger at Emilio and looked him squarely in the eyes. Eyes that looked at so many as mere prey. Antonio was finally giving his younger brother the chance to prove himself by becoming a predator. Little did Antonio ever guess that he was still Emilio’s biggest quarry.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Javier rocked Isabella to sleep, which had become his nightly routine. The day had taken its toll, like all the days since Cynthia's death. The precious child stirred as her father stood up and placed her in her crib. A cross above her head, pictures of the Madonna, along with one of Cynthia, made Javier feel that a force other than his own strength continually protected Isabella.
He stretched his arms after he placed the baby down and turned her light out, leaving the door cracked open. Lupe slept in the room next to Isabella and woke whenever the child cried out in the night.
He headed straight for his room, undressed, and went to bed. Exhaustion had gotten the best of him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was sound asleep. Slightly after three in the morning, a scream from down the hall near Isabella's room echoed throughout the house. Javier jumped out of bed, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He ran down the hall, blinded by the darkness. The screaming was coming from Isabella's room. He stormed through the door to find Lupe standing in front of the baby's crib in hysterics. She looked up at Javier, wide-eyed and obviously shaken.
"Dios mío, what has happened, woman?" Javier shouted at her.
"The baby, the baby! Some men came and took her away. They held a gun to my head."
"What? What are you saying?" He couldn't believe what she was telling him. It was too outrageous. No one could've gotten inside his fortress. "I don't understand."
"They left this." She handed him a letter.
Javier’s hands began to shake as he read it: "We don't like having our throats slashed by traitors like you and Antonio Espinoza. We suggest you come to your senses. You and your Jew must bring us in on your deal, if you want to see your precious daughter alive again."
Javier crumpled up the letter and chucked it across the room. A rage like none he’d ever felt before enveloped him. “Manuel Torres is a dead man."
*****
Once Antonio received word of Isabella’s kidnapping, he and Emilio flew to Guadalajara, where they met with Javier, who, within twenty-four hours, was becoming completely unhinged, pacing back and forth like an animal filled with fury and pain.
"We will find her,” Antonio told him.
"I will kill that son of a bitch."
"Let me do it," Emilio interrupted.
Antonio shot him a disapproving glare.
"He will return your daughter, and he will have to pay some kind of penance for this. If he doesn't, we have other ways of handling him." He nodded his head in Emilio’s direction.
His younger brother smiled and cracked his knuckles, knowing full well what was to be done with Manuel Torres.
Antonio realized he was taking a big step by allowing the possible murder of Torres and a couple of his henchmen to take place. But Torres had started this fight by kidnapping innocent Isabella. Nothing enraged Antonio as much, nor was anything more outrageous or disgusting to him than enemies who would involve children in the wars between them. Rules of respect dictated that this was out of line. Kill a boss, kill a partner, but don't touch the wives or children. Manuel Torres had broken that law. For this, he would pay. Isabella was Antonio’s Goddaughter, the daughter of his best friend. Her safe and immediate return was the only acceptable solution. If this did not happen and a war between the families resulted from Torres’ bad judgment, then so be it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You did what?” Manuel Torres’ voice rose an octave when he learned about the kidnapping.
"I thought you wanted us to threaten him." His youngest son Pedro tried to reason with the old man.
"A threat, yes, but kidnapping Javier Rodriguez’s baby? How fucking stupid can you be? What do you think this will mean for us?"
"That we'll get what we want," Pedro shot back, searching his father's eyes for any sign of forgiveness. At the time, Pedro and his pal José thought that taking the baby was a great idea. Granted, all the tequila they drank helped convince them of the soundness of the plan. And carrying it out hadn't been easy, either. And now this was the thanks he got. His father was never proud of him, never satisfied with anything he did to win his respect. That's why Pedro had the most menial of jobs, doing all the family’s dirty work. All his brothers had positions of authority. All he ever got were promises that were never fulfilled.
"Are you listening to me?" Manuel shouted at him.
Pedro hung his head in despair.
"How do you suppose I’m going to fix this one? For God's sake, this is the man's child. I'd rather you'd killed the son of a bitch himself than take his baby. He and Espinoza will be out for blood now. We may have some pull with the smaller families, but after this…” He flung his arms in the air. “You're a fucking imbecile!"
"I'm sorry, Papa," Pedro responded, trying to choke back tears mixed with bitter rage.
"You'd better be, you stupid asshole. Now get Sergio in here. I need to get in touch with Antonio to see if we can fix this disaster."
Pedro left his father's office, swearing silently to himself. He hated him so much that he hoped Antonio would do away with him. His father was nothing more than a small time crook. Everyone knew that Manuel was playing with fire, trying to become involved in Javier and Antonio's game.
The other families lied when they said they would support Manuel. When push came to shove, they'd back down as soon as they saw the whites of Antonio Espinoza's eyes. But Pedro had to hand it to his father. The man was either completely out of his mind or else he had huge cojones.
He sent Sergio, his father's right-hand man, into the office, and went to check on the baby. He'd given her to one of the nursemaids who took care of his sister's kids. One thing about the Torres family, they never believed in having homes for themselves. Parents, grandparents, children, spouses—everyone lived under one big roof. His father seemed to like it that way. Pedro didn't know what his mother thought. She was a quiet woman who lived the sacrificial life of the good wife. Pedro always felt sorry for her and longed to comfort her. But not only was she quiet, she was cold as well. She never responded to his affections. Pedro decided that maybe it was time to get out of this place.
"Let me see the baby," he ordered the nanny.
She handed the bright child to him. He stroked her hair and gently pinched her nose. She smiled and giggled. "You are so cute. How would you like to go with Uncle Pedro on a little trip?" The nanny looked at him quizzically. "I'm going to take her fo
r a walk. I'll be back in awhile. Pack me up a bottle."
The nanny did as she was told and prepared the baby to leave the house. Soon, he and Isabella were in his car, heading for his new life. "If they don't want me," he said aloud, "then I’ll find a family who’ll be proud of what I can do for them." He glanced over at Isabella sleeping in the basket next to him, and smiled. "And you, precious one, are my ticket."
*****
Marta spooned rice into Alejandro’s mouth. The baby kicked his round feet, smiling at his mother, who was obviously the light of his life, as he was hers.
Most nights, once the baby was asleep and she'd finished cleaning their small home, she'd find herself lying in bed, exhausted from the day’s work, but still unable to sleep. Her mind inevitably drifted to thoughts of Antonio, of their lovemaking, things he'd said, and his betrayal that last day. Eventually, tears would fall, and physical exhaustion would win out. But even after she would finally drift off, dreams about him would invade her sleep. She hated and loved him at the same time, hated and loved those dreams as well.
On those nights when she couldn’t sleep she would write down pages of poetry about Antonio. At times, she thought about sending these poems to him. But then the vision of him kissing his pregnant wife and their daughter kept her from making that mistake.
Tonight, she felt especially lonely once she put the baby in his crib. Elisa and her husband had taken her boys and gone to visit cousins up north in the Redwoods. She was the only one who understood Marta and was always there to comfort her. Marta heard Alejandro stir in the crib next to her bed. She peered in on him. Angry tears blinded her as she thought of Alejandro never knowing his father.
She balled up the poems she’d written over the months and tossed them into the fireplace. She struck a match, but couldn’t bring herself to set it under her poems. She took them from the fireplace, unfolded them, and tried to smooth them out.
Then she made a decision. If she must suffer in this hell, he, too, should pay a price. She neatly gathered the poems together, placed them in an envelope, and addressed it to Antonio. This was not the time to send them, she was aware of that. But soon she would mail them. Soon he would know about his son and about the suffering he had caused them—all in the name of his own selfish pleasure.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Javier was going mad. He couldn’t believe that Manuel Torres would do such a thing. He paced restlessly when the telephone finally rang and he grabbed it at once.
"Javier Rodriguez?"
"Yes?"
"This is Pedro Torres." Javier fumbled with the phone. "I am Manuel Torres’ son."
"Yes, I know. Where is my daughter?"
"With me. Don't worry. She’s safe. I’m bringing her to you right now."
"What?"
"Yes. What my father did was very cruel. He should never have taken the baby away from you. So I took the baby, and I’m bringing her back to you."
"Where are you?"
"I can't talk any longer. I will see you soon." With that, Pedro hung up.
Javier was baffled by this call. Why would Pedro care so much about his baby? And why would he want to betray his own father? It had to be a trick.
*****
One of the guards entered Javier’s quarters and told him that Pedro Torres had arrived, and that he had the baby with him. Javier immediately rushed downstairs, where Pedro sat playing with Isabella on the floor of the lavish living room. Large bay windows in the room gleamed with reflections of large palm trees surrounding the courtyard.
Javier ran to the child and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He kissed her and cuddled her tightly.
Pedro stood up. He was a handsome young man, with classic Latin features. He was thin, with shoulder-length raven hair. Javier didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him. First, he called immediately for Lupe to take Isabella away, and not to let her out of her sight.
"Sí Señor," Lupe replied tearfully as she took the baby from him.
Once Isabella was out of the room, Javier stared at the young man who extended his hand to him. "I am Pedro Torres."
Javier hesitated before shaking it. "Yes, I know. Why have you done this?"
"I told you on the phone. I thought taking the baby was wrong. I wanted to make things right."
"And your father?"
"My father, as I'm sure you know by now, has no respect for other people. He is a man who thinks only about himself."
"I hear bitterness in your voice..."
“I have never loved my father. He has never loved me."
"Is this the real reason you brought my daughter back?"
"I would be lying if I said no, but it’s only part of the reason. Taking the baby was wrong. She belongs here. And neither family wants a war."
"Then your father should've thought long and hard before he did something this stupid."
"I agree."
"What do you want out of this, Pedro?"
"A job."
"But you have a family. Go back to work for them."
"I have no family now."
Javier paced back and forth in the room, contemplating his next move with the finesse of a chess player. "All right, I will tell you this. I believe someone should pay for this crime against me and my daughter."
"Yes," Pedro replied.
"What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should kill the man responsible." Pedro tried to keep his hands from shaking.
"You do? And, you want a job? And you say you could be loyal to another family besides your own? I will give you a chance to prove it. You kill Manuel Torres. If you do this for me, in such a way that the blame will lie on someone else, then you will be welcome in my family."
Pedro nodded and left Javier's house, on his way back home to murder his own father.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pedro entered the house silently once everyone was asleep. He knew that his family would have figured out by this time what he had done, and that if anyone had seen him at Javier’s home, he would be dead. But he also knew his way around the crevices and shadows of the old hacienda, and therefore was none too concerned about being caught. He’d worked himself up into actually wanting to kill his own father: the bastard deserved to be sent straight to hell.
He approached the old man's suite, his hands trembling.
Once inside the bedroom, Pedro could see his father sleeping alone in his large bed, covered with the best silk sheets money could buy. Pedro let out a sigh, relieved to see that his father did not have a guest for the evening.
His father's heart medicine was on the nightstand, next to the bed. Pedro took the small receptacle of pills and emptied half of them out. Once that was done, he replaced them with amphetamine capsules that looked like the medicine for his father’s heart.
Pedro knew that henceforth, each morning after his father had taken his heart medication, he had only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving into the next week. And no one would be any the wiser. They'd assume that the son of a bitch had had a heart attack. It was beautiful and it was foolproof.
Pedro stealthily exited his father’s room and left the hacienda as quietly as he'd entered it. Sweat trickled from his forehead while he walked away from the compound. It was over. His life here, with a family that had never taken the time to know him, with a father who despised his very presence, was over. Relief engulfed him. Pain, sadness, happiness, and anger swirled together in a vicious brew as he headed toward a new life and a new family.
Book II – 1976-1983
Los Angeles, CA
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marta worked diligently at her sewing machine in a small warehouse, surrounded by more than a hundred workers bent over their tables. Dust particles and lint choked the air, making her sinuses run constantly. She stopped for a moment and wiped away the sweat dripping from her forehead. The summer heat hung heavy throughout the warehouse, her clothes sticking to her, and the smell of people working fast and furious in
the poor conditions grew sourer by the hour. But the job paid the bills.
The highlight of the day was arriving home to see Alejandro. He made life worth living. His cheery attitude and bright smile could wipe away the hardships of the worst days. It had been a long five years since the day she and Elisa had crossed the border. Unfortunately, not much had changed.
Marta and Alex were still living in the same small house where he was born on Washington Street, in a constant struggle to achieve a meager existence. America hadn't been the land of opportunity she once thought, but she knew that because her son was born an American citizen, he would have chances in life that he never would have had living in Mexico. Every once in a while, Marta’s memories of Antonio would weave in and out of her mind, taking her back to a time when she felt full of life, her heart young and naïve. She could not help but still wonder on occasion how Antonio was doing, never forgetting the love they once shared. But her pleasant memories soon turned dark as she recalled the bitter discovery of who Antonio really was—a liar and cheat. There was no way around that. Denying it would be lying to herself. Facing realities was what helped to keep her working and motivated in a country she had not fallen in love with as she’d hoped. She missed her home, her culture, her life in Costa Careyes. She was grateful though that she had a job and a child who adored her, as well as her friendship with Elisa.
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