“Why is that?”
“Part of it is because they’re in such a residential area of New Jersey. It’s not where most people would expect a senior Cartel member and his family to live, but much of it is mytío’sreputation.”
As I glance at the house before looking back at Jorge, I try to imagine what that reputation could be.
“Jorge, what do people think about your uncle that makes him more terrifying than Enrique?”
“It’s not so much thatTíoLuis is more terrifying thanTíoEnrique, butTíoEnrique’s position makes him a greater target thanTíoLuis.TíoLuis’s nickname isEl Espíritu Santo, or the Holy Spirit. When he visits someone in Latin America, they knowTíoEnrique sent him, and there’s no redemption for however they fucked up.”
I stare at Jorge, blinking like a beached fish. I know he won’t explain more than that, but he’s made it clear one uncle serves as the executioner for the other. I don’t doubt Jorge’s killed more than one man in his life. I don’t doubt it was justified because it was surely an “us or them” situation. I don’t think he merely goes around killing people for shits and giggles. But for a man to havethe moniker “the Holy Spirit,” that understandably strikes fear in just about anybody.
Jorge already explained to me about not getting out of a vehicle without one of the guards, one of his family members, or him opening the door for me. But it still makes me jump when a man standing beside the window reaches for the door handle. He holds it wide open for me, and I glance at Jorge.
He nods his agreement—permission—I don’t know what to call it exactly. Even though we’re behind two gates, I’m relieved to know he deems it safe for me. I stand, and the guard closes the door behind me. Jorge walks around the hood and slides his arm around my waist before leading me to the front door.
“It’s impressive, I know, but you have to remember we’re an enormous family that spends a great deal of time together. All of the houses have enough room for everyone to stay there. Sometimes we get home late or have to leave early.”
That’s another veiled hint. I understand those are probably times when he’ll want me to stay with Luciana.
“Part of the house is alsoTíoEnrique’s office. There’s space for him to work in his study which is large enough for mytíos, cousins, brothers, and me. There’s also another room where he can meet with men who work for us.”
I nod because I don’t know what else to say to that. It makes sense, but there doesn’t seem to be an appropriate response. When I look up at Jorge, I can tell he doesn’t expect one from me.
There are plenty of other cars in the driveway, so he opens the door using the punch pad next to it. He already explained to me that once upon a time there was an open-door policy to most of the homes. However, more of the men have found wives and girlfriends, so that’s no longer the case. Now they call or text each other as they go through community gates and then again as they pull into the private driveways. It only took me a momentto realize this rule existed to avoid anyone walking in on the couples during intimate moments. He’s implied all the couples, even histíosandtías,are just as lusty as he and I are.
We hear several voices as we step into the foyer. It nearly overwhelms me as I consider all the people I’m about to meet. A flash of nervousness sends a shiver along my spine.
“Chiquita, everybody already knows your situation, so you don’t have to explain any of that. Just be as outgoing as you’re comfortable with. If you’d rather remain quiet and observe, no one will think less of you for that.”
“Thank you.”
He gives my hip a squeeze as we head into the living room.
Holy shit.
It’s like being in a house of mirrors. The family resemblance among the men is mind boggling. There’s only one man who doesn’t look like the rest of them, so I assume he’s Alejandro’s father. There’s also one Latina who doesn’t resemble the other two, so that must be Jorge’stíaMargherita.
I look between Alejandro and the man who must be his father. They’re standing exactly the same way but in opposite parts of the room. Their expressions are so similar, yet Alejandro looks like a younger version of the man who must be Enrique. So much so you’d assume Alejandro was Enrique’s son, if not for his matching posture and expression to his father, Matáis.
Luciana and her sister, Catalina, resemble Enrique and the other man who must be Luis. He and Enrique could almost be twins except Luis’s hair is slightly lighter than Enrique’s. While he’s clearly an extremely muscular man, he’s a little leaner than Enrique. If Jorge hadn’t explained Catalina’s a year older than his mother, I would believe they were twins.
The man who must be Pablo is standing next to Margherita. He’s a carbon copy of his father. The only way to tell them apart is Luis has some gray around his temples, and they havedifferent tattoos showing on their arms. It appears from here that the only feature Pablo inherited from his mother are his eyes—they’re dark hazel rather than brown. Otherwise, she got no say in him because even Pablo’s posture matches his father’s.
I knew Jorge and Joaquin looked similar, but now that I see a man with a blonde woman standing beside him, there’s no way I could confuse him for anyone but Javier. I get why they’re calledTres J’sand not just because that’s the first initial of their names. They could practically be triplets. They’re all the same height, same build, same hair color, and same eye color. I’m certain from the back it’s difficult to differentiate them. Their faces are just different enough to be able to tell one from another but not by much.
The blonde woman looks close to my age. She comes to greet me along with Javier. As my gaze sweeps the room, I suspect the others are waiting for Jorge’s brother and his wife to greet me first. The men’s tight embrace reminds me of when Joaquin and Alejandro arrived in Frankfurt.
“Hi, I’m Madeline.”
“Hello, I’m Anne. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too. I know Javier’s been just as excited to meet you as I am. We’ve been curious to see who’s willing to put up with Jorge.”
The brothers let go of each other, and Jorge embraces Madeline.
“I’m not the one who wound up with Oscar the Grouch over here.”
Jorge tilts his head toward Javier. His next older brother scowls at him, and I admit he does remind me a little of the puppet from the children’s TV show. I used to watch it when I was in elementary school to help me learn English along with the classes I took. Javier offers me a hug as well. It’s not quite as warm as the one Jorge and Madeline shared. But I thinkit’s because Javier wishes to respect me since he’s uncertain of whether I’d welcome the embrace. When we step apart, Joaquin comes over to join his brothers.
