Fuck being the baby of the family. Javier’s barely a year older than me. Hell, Joaquin’s barely a year older than Javier. At twenty-one months apart between Joaquin and me, we probably could’ve all been in the same grade.
“Until I have some certainty about what’s going on, I’d rather she fears the unknown than panic over inconclusive speculation. I don’t want to leave her alone here to search for her father. I need help tracking his last known whereabouts. If we can narrow down where he might be, I’ll send men to check it out. I need to get her mother and sister here too.”
“And her boyfriend?” I hear the humor in Javier’s voice.
“I don’t know if he’s on shift at the hospital or not. I won’t call him away from that unless I confirm he’s in danger or poses a danger to those around him.”
I sure as fuck don’t want to watch him holding and consoling her. I’ll rip his fucking lips off if I see him kiss her.
“I’ll call as soon as I have something. I’ll start digging online. I’ll also callTíoMatáis to see if he knows anything about Clyde or has heard anything about Gunter.”
“Thank you, Joaquin.”
TíoMatáis—Alejandro’s dad—is on his way to Hong Kong today. I’m glad I came here in his place, but that’s because I’m a glutton for punishment. I want a woman who’s already taken, and now I have to help her discover who chopped off her father’s hand.
Fuck if this isn’t some eighties mystery TV show shit.
Murder, She WrotemeetsFriday the 13th.
FuckingKojak,but I’m not bald. Though Telly Savalas looked like he could’ve been in a syndicate.
If anyone knows shit no one in the international finance world wants made public, it’s mytío. He knows shit abouteveryone, but not everyone gets to know him. Anyone who’s unaware he represents Diaz Holdings wouldn’t guess he’s linked to narco-traffickers. Hell, they wouldn’t know he is—was—I guess still is—one. He maintains a clean image to make people feel safe investing. Those investments often go through shell companies we control without them knowing until a merger or acquisition. His last name is Dos Santos—All Saints—so he must be harmless.
I practically snort at my thought.
No one would believe that.
“Do you need one of us to meet you?”TíoEnrique’s voice pulls me back to the conversation.
“No thanks. For now, I can handle this. If it looks like I can’t, I’ll ask for help immediately.”
I won’t endanger Liesel if I can avoid it. I don’t think my dick’s so big that I’m less of a man if I ask for help. I even ask for directions—sometimes.
“All right. Keep me posted, Jorge.”
“I will,Tío.”
“Te quiero.”
There’s a round of “I love you” before we say goodbye, and I end the call. I look at the bedroom door. I heard the food arrive, then it went quiet for a moment before Liesel turned on the TV. I brace myself to go back out there since I have no news. With a deep inhale, I rise from the bed where I perched. I hang up my suit coat and fold my tie, placing it on top of the dresser before I head back to the living room. I unbutton my cuffs and roll up my sleeves.
I fucking hate suits. I truly do.
Liesel watches me as I approach. Her gaze follows my movements, and I see curiosity as parts of my tattoos peek beneath my sleeves. I’m not covered in them, but I have several.
I have what looks like a sundial over my heart. Where there should be numbers, there are initials. Twelve o’clock has an E for Esteban. My father—when he was alive and now his spirit—has always been my north star, my guide.
One and eleven o’clock have Js for Joaquin and Javier. They stand besidePapá.There’s M forTíaMargherita at two o’clock, and P for Pablo at three o’clock. Four o’clock has J for Juan—I have mixed feelings about covering that with the initial of any wife I might have. Five o’clock is L forTíoLuis.
Six o’clock—directly across fromPapá’sE isMamá’sL. When I’m lost and get turned around,Mamá’salways the one who puts me back on the right path.
Seven o’clock is M forTíoMatáis, and eight o’clock is A for Alejandro. Nine o’clock is C forTíaCatalina. Ten o’clock—directly over my heart—is E forTíoEnrique. He’s the head of our family, and mine beats for them.
Mamádidn’t let go of me for a solid five minutes the first time she saw it. I feared I pissed her off since it’s a sizable tattoo, and it was my first. Instead, she cried happy tears when I explained its meaning. Mytíaswere misty-eyed, and the men were silent—the macho way to handle being choked up.
“Did you learn anything?” Liesel’s slow to stand from the sofa after she puts her tray on the table.
“Not yet. I asked my family to help.”
