Prologue
White walls sprayed with blood. Art at its finest. I stare at the red splotches and lines, seeing images in the shapes that the blood mixed with brain matter form against the otherwise pristine wall. If you focus hard enough, you can see all sorts of pictures. A cat, a shoe, wings… always fucking wings.
I’ve spent months trying to figure outthe meaning of the wings. They’re certainly not the kind that belong to angels. Nothing good belongs here. This place is hell on earth.
I used to dream about this, about having a father to teach me everything I didn’t know. I stopped dreaming when I was eight. I’d give anything to be able to go back to the days when I thought the man standing in front of me was dead. It took him fourteen years to find me. He says my mother stole me from him, denied us the opportunity to be a family, denied me my birthright.
At fourteen, I believed him. I hated my mother for the lies she told me. Hated that she made us struggle when we didn’t have to. Now, just two years later, I’m thankful she did what she did. The sacrifices she made to try to give me a normal life. Not that it made a difference. He still found me.
It took three months for me to see my father for who he really was. The devil. The ruthless cartel leader everyone fears. Including myself. The things I’ve witnessed this man do in just two years… it’s what nightmares are made of. Nothing could have prepared me for this life.
“You see where he went wrong,mijo?” my father asks, pointing to what’s left of the man’s face that is hanging from rusted chains in front of the white wall.
“Where, Papa?” I ask him. The title tastes bitter on my tongue. He might be my father by blood, but he will never bemy papa. No matter how many times I call him that.
“Love,” he says. “Made him weak.”
I look to the right of the man. The body of his wife lays lifeless on the ground. My father spits at it. “Puta, if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have had to blow the brains out of one of my best men,” he says.
“Of course, Papa.” I have no idea what this woman did to cause both her and her husband’s deaths. Whatever it was, I’m sure it’s not worthy of the torture they both received.
“Walk with me,mijo.” My father put his hand on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin as he guides me out of the building.
I don’t utter a word. I have nothing to say to this man, unless he asks a direct question.
“I’m glad you were here to witness what love does to a man. It’s a weakness that we must kill before it kills us.”
My mind goes to my mother, who is still very much alive, in a very nice house in Las Vegas. It’s a gilded cage, but it’s much better than the alternative. My father doesn’t allow her to leave the grounds. He says it’s because she’s a target. I just think he’s a control freak.
“I’m sending you back to Vegas tomorrow, Emmanuel. There is a problem I need you to fix.”
I smile before correcting my face. I’m going back to Vegas. I’ll be able to see my mother, my friends,my girlfriend. I don’t even care what the problem is. Whatever he wants me to do, I’ll do it. I haven’t seen Laura in a month. We haven’t spoken or messaged.
“What is it?” I ask.
“There will be a full brief waiting for you on the jet. You have two weeks,mijo. Make them count,” he says before adding, “And don’t disappoint me.”
I nod my head. “I won’t.”
I’m so eager to get back to Vegas. I message my friends, Louie, Carlo and Sammie. They’re street kids, but I know they’re going places.
Me:
I’m coming home. Today. Just boarded the jet.
Louie:
You’re being let out of the palace?
Carlo:
Party?
Sammie:
Do you even know how to party still, E? You’ve been gone a while. Do they party in Mexico?
Ignoring all their stupid questions, I ask the one that’s burning in the back of my mind. Laura. I might not have been able to keep in touch with her while I was gone. That doesn’t mean I don’t keep tabs on her through everyone else I know.
