by Karina Halle
“I’ve decided on a name,” I said, walking out to the balcony where I knew Luisa was relaxing.
She was lying down on the chaise, reading a spy thriller, which she then lay down on her chest and turned to face me. She peered over her large sunglasses expectantly.
“Oh?” she said, amused. We’d been doing this for a few weeks now and every time she had a name, I disagreed and every time I had a one, she’d do the same. Normally a game like that would drive me insane with impatience, but this was actually somewhat fun.
“Yes,” I said coming over to the railing and leaning against it. The Pacific crashed just a few a feet from the house, though the surf wasn’t as angry today and all the surfers who bobbed in the distance were looking disappointed. I relished the fact that Esteban would have been rolling in his grave had he known Luisa and I would end up by all his favorite surf spots. I even considered taking up the sport out of spite, but the idea of all that salt water drying up my hair was too off-putting. Besides, Esteban was deader than dead and the two of us were very much alive.
Two, plus one on the way.
“Well, what is it?” she prodded, running her hands over her stomach. It was absolutely huge now. It made her look monstrous, which I’d found wildly attractive for some reason. Six weeks to go and our son would be born.
Son.
Some days I couldn’t even fathom it. Couldn’t even wrap my head around it. But it’s what we needed, not just for us, for our marriage and our souls, but for the business. The moment I found out Luisa was pregnant with my child (and yes, I made sure it was in fact my child) I was over the moon with fear and relief, the two feelings in a constant battle. Fear that I would fuck things up as I had been known to do with every human being I’d ever come into contact with. Relief that finally I had an heir to take over the cartel. My blood. Someone I could truly trust, someone that I would raise to be just like me.
I mean, why not? Another version of myself couldn’t hurt. He’d be wicked, intelligent, unapologetic, handsome, and if he were really lucky, taller than I was.
Up until now though, we couldn’t decide on a damn name. If it had been a girl, I would have honored Alana by bestowing her with that name. But the sonogram proved it was a boy and for that I was grateful.
I was certain we’d have a brood of kids in the future regardless, and if we had a girl, she’d need an older brother not only to protect her, but to look up to. Sure there was risk in having a family. I knew that for a man in my position having loved ones increased the chances of loss and pain. But it didn’t matter anymore. It would be worth it. It already was.
I came beside Luisa and put my hands on her stomach, gently tracing over the side where the acid burn still remained, albeit fading away. “He’s Vincente,” I told her. “Vincente Bernal.”
“Vincente,” she repeated. “Vincente Bernal.” She smiled. “I like it. No, I love it. Does it mean anything to you?”
I shook my head. It didn’t mean anything. It just came to me that morning. “It just means our son.”
I leaned forward and kissed her, putting my hands into her hair, which was now chin length and glossy black. Her scars on her face were fading and barely visible when she covered them with makeup, but I still liked her bare-skinned. She looked more like a warrior that way. She looked more like Mrs. Bernal.
“Ahem.” I heard Diego’s voice.
I pulled away from Luisa to see him standing by the French doors.
“You and your timing,” I said to him.
He gave me a vaguely apologetic look. “Sorry, patron. Luisa. I just wanted to make sure that everything was on for tomorrow, for the meeting.”
I nodded and waved him away with my hand. “It’s fine. Go and enjoy the beach or something.”
“Yes sir,” he said, even though I knew he was going right back inside to guard our bedroom door.
Luisa tugged on my arm. “I wish you didn’t have to go to Tijuana.”
“It’s just for the night,” I told her. It had taken a while, but a few months ago we were finally able to kill Angel Hernandez, the leader of the Tijuana Cartel, and I’d promptly taken over the plaza.
Naturally, I couldn’t have done it without torturing Evaristo to begin with, but that was now water under the bridge. He was living in the nearby town of Todos Santos, acting as a priest for a tiny Catholic church which was a bit of a riot in itself, since the man wasn’t holy whatsoever. Considering the church was so small to begin with, we all thought it would be the perfect cover now that Evaristo Sanchez was a wanted man across the country. The federales really hated a snitch – after all they’d tried so hard to prove to the government and the DEA that there was at least one official organization that could not be corrupted by the cartels.
Well, that didn’t go so well for them. It just proved that no one was above corruption in this country and if there had to be any changes made in Mexico, it had to start with the government. If they weren’t paid so poorly they probably wouldn’t have to take bribes from people like me anyway.
But in the end the way the country worked was better for us, although I’m not so sure about Evaristo. Though he’d become somewhat of a right-hand man to me, a lot of his time was taken up at the church. Father Armando, as he was known, was a handsome devil and after he took his place as priest, suddenly the congregation doubled. Mainly women who were fawning over him, though there were a few husbands dragged along.
Still, there was a lot of business to conduct in Tijuana as the plazas and power shifted and I was becoming something more of a business man again, constantly going back and forth. It was one of the reasons why we settled along the Baja Peninsula, so I could be closer to the new expansion and one of the busiest drug lines into America. It was worth it though – we were now more powerful than ever.
“Look,” I told her, straightening up. “Next time I’m up there, you can come with me and we’ll get you across the border. I’m sure your parents want to see you one more time before you give birth. It must be good luck or something.”
“I don’t think we need any more luck,” she said, even though we both knew that wasn’t true. We may be at the top, but that didn’t mean we would stay there. There was no security in this business, just a survival of the fittest. Luck could go either way, but as long as you had your own moral code and were willing to fight to the death to protect what was yours, you would go far.
And I still felt I had farther to go.
“Oh,” she said quickly, reaching down beside her and picking up a tote bag that carried a stack of magazines. “I found something weird today when I came back from town.” She pulled out a postcard. “It was at our front door. I thought maybe they got the wrong house but …I don’t know.”
I took the postcard from her hands, staring at the glossy surface. It said “Utila, Honduras” on it and had a picture of a white-sand beach.
I immediately felt uneasy.
I quickly turned it over and read the back.
There was no return address and no address to us. How could there be when this house didn’t even exist officially.
The postcard just had a simple sentence scrawled on it, in familiar handwriting that knocked the wind out of me.
Pepito,
I’m doing okay.
Everything stilled around me, except for the postcard which began shaking from my tremoring hand.
Luisa raised her sunglasses on her head, staring up at me curiously. “Pepito,” she said. “Alana called you that a few times.”
I swallowed hard. “My nickname, when we were young.” I stared at her, waving the card vigorously. “This is Alana!”
She smiled. “I was hoping it was.”
She was alive. All this time, my sister was alive. And apparently living on the island of Utila, so close but so far.
So alive.
All the grief, guilt and sorrow that once pulled me under and made me sink to the greatest depths of violence and depression I had ever known all bubbl
ed up at once, overtaking me.
I collapsed on my knees beside Luisa and cried.
I cried because I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried. If I ever had.
She sank her fingers into my hair and held me as I got it all out, all the years of fucking up, all the terrible things I’d done to the people I’d loved. I would make no apologies for who I was but I would to the ones I cared about the most. I had been a terrible brother and for that I was sorry. I didn’t deserve to have Alana back in my life. But she more than deserved to live.
When I was done, I’d felt cleansed. Definitely not pure, just … refreshed. Somewhat similar to when I would go on a violent rampage, but at least my hands weren’t dirty this time. It was bloodless. I was clean.
“How did she find me?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “She’s a Bernal. She’s resourceful.”
“She must be with Derrick,” I said, remembering what Diego had told me. As a first-class assassin, Derrick was infinitely resourceful but if he was keeping my sister alive, keeping her happy, then he could spy on me all he wanted. I owed him the world.
I took in a deep, steadying breath, composing myself. “What do I do next?”
Luisa kissed me softly on the forehead. “Javier, my love. Go to Tijuana. Do the right deals. Kill the right people. Then come back here and fuck me.” She ran her hand down the side of my face, smiling wickedly. “This is your empire. Go build it.”
And so I did.
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