“It’s March and nearly tax season.” It’s my most creative time of year.
“I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”
“I was at your house a week ago, and you complained I cleaned out your fridge.”
“I don’t blame you for that. That was you and Joaquin.”
“Humph.”
I cross my arms and pretend to pout. She slides her arm through mine and leans her head against my shoulder. I know she misses my brothers and me now that we don’t live at home. All of us stop by at least once a week just to annoy her. We leave our shoes strewn in the middle of the foyer, our suit coats tossed on the sofa, and dishes stacked in the sink—for an hour.
Then we clean up after ourselves because we still fear her.
I know she’s not exactly lonely withoutPapá, but she is alone.TíoEnrique hasTíaElle.TíoLuis hasTíaMargherita.TíaCatalina hasTíoMatáis.Mamá’sa widow.
She’ll never remarry. Not even the slimmest chance exists. She saysPapá’sspirit is always with her, so she doesn’t get lonely. But my brothers and I still don’t enjoy knowing she rattles around her house with no one else there most days and every night. Even now that Javier’s married, the three of us go over there for dinner together at least once a week. We go separately too. Now Javier brings Madeline when she doesn’t have a rotation as a midwife at a hospital.
“You shall trip over that lip,mijo.”
“You always say that, and I haven’t yet.”
As the youngest of three, I’ve perfected the pout. Doesn’t get me anywhere, but I’m good at it. She chuckles and lets go as we pull up to the hotel.
I’m on the side with the curb, so I get out first. My gaze sweeps our surroundings as I button my suit coat. When I’m certain it’s safe, I offerMamámy hand. I wrap my arm around her shoulders because it’s chilly tonight and as a shield. We thank the driver as we hurry inside.
Alone, I don’t worry as much about myself orMamá. But I never want her to be a target because she’s next to me. My brothers are the same. We can be a smidge overprotective. She calls it suffocating. We remind her the apples didn’t fall far from the tree. Not her tree orPapá’s.
She’s nearly a foot shorter than my brothers and me and slight boned, but she’s deadly. Like as in she cut off a guy’shuevoand sent it to his wife with a bow on the box because he was part of the plot that killed my father. She swung the first machete that made a head roll when mytíoscaught the three brothers who murdered my father. They did it in front of my brothers and me when I was eight, Javier was nine, and Joaquin was ten. She ordered Diaz Cartel men to drop the men’s heads into Bogotá traffic to be pushed around and run over by cars like soccer balls. She had their bodies strung upside down from the busiest bridge in the city.
“Que sueñes con los angelitos, mijo.” Dream of little angels, my son.
She’s been telling Joaquin, Javier, and me that since we were born. I close my eyes for a moment as she stretches, and I lean over for her to kiss my cheek. I hug her tightly enough she thumps my back. Something I’ve been doing since I was twelve and outgrew her.
“Te quiero, Mamá.” I love you, Mama.
“Te quiero también.” I love you too.
I wait until the suite door closes, and I hear her bolt it and swing the bar. I nod to the men guarding her door as they shift into place after giving us our privacy. I head down the hallway to my suite, greeting the men outside my door.
I felt my phone vibrate in the elevator and checked the screen. Joaquin texted me. I pull out my phone and unlock the screen, reading as I take off my coat and tie. I stop with my pants halfway down as I read the last sentence.
Joaquin
They leaked the deal again.
I click the link to an article that outlines our investment plan and hints at our intention to take over both divisions of the Heidemann holdings.
What the ever-loving fuck?
I bet the Kutsenkos are loving every minute of this. We’re supposed to be sticking it to them, not the other way around. This pisses me the fuck off.
I look at my watch and notice it’s a few minutes after eight. Even I have some boundaries. I can’t call Liesel. I sure as fuck am not calling Gunter, that lying sack of shit. He did this. What’s worse is he knows it’ll put his daughter in my crosshairs. What game is he playing?
“Guten Morgen, Fräulein.” Good morning, miss.
Liesel narrows her eyes at me.
Was it something I said? Like using the now antiquated—even bordering on offensive—greeting for an unmarried woman.
