“We, um, didn’t tell them we were coming to Mexico.”
Eva gaped at them, while Martinez pinched the bridge of his nose. But before either could comment, servers poured out from two doors at the top of the room, placing a myriad of dishes on the table.
As they worked, he rattled something off to Eva, whose mouth tightened.
Once the servers disappeared into the kitchen, I jerked in surprise when Kitty moaned. Despite my irritation with the wholegoddamn situation, I felt that fucking moan rattle through me, giving me the beginnings of yet another public erection.
She pointed to a large, colorfully glazed bowl. “Is thatpozole blanco?”
“You know your Mexican food.” Martinez applauded, though I could tell he was still annoyed with her.
I didn’t blame him.
I was too.
“God, I used to live on this stuff when I was in college.”
As Kitty spoke, she ladled the lightly-colored broth into a bowl set to her left, making me realize the staff had presented the meal in thele service à la françaisestyle because not only were there soups and dishes spread over the table, butarroz con lecheand jugs of what appeared to behorchatacozied up to a cornucopia of tacos.
“You went to college in Mexico?” Eva displayed her knife skills as she cut upcortadillowith a butcher’s precision.
“No. But one of my best friends in nursing school was Mexican. One Christmas, she brought me a bowl of this when I was sick and I swear it’s the only reason I got through finals. After that, whenever I caught a cold or anything, Beatriz would bring me some.” Her sweet smile grew sad. “She died in a car crash a few weeks before we graduated.”
Eva, for once pretending to be a regular human being, murmured, “That’s tragic.”
Kitty bowed her head. “She’d have made a great nurse.”
“To Beatriz,” Martinez toasted softly, lifting his glass. The men around us did the same, making Kitty release a gentle laugh.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she chided with a sheepish grin. “It’s not like you knew her.”
“A fallen sister is a fallen sister.” He tipped his glass at her. “You’ll have to tell us who prepared it better. Beatriz or our chefs.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, it’s not a competition?—”
Martinez smiled. “I’m teasing you, Kitty.”
“You and your men typically eat at one AM?” I inquired, takingthe spotlight off her because she gave a rabbit in headlights a run for its money.
“Sometimes later,” Eva said primly. “Do you work a regular nine-to-five, Custanzu?”
“I suppose not. But neither do I eat at this time in the morning.” I guessed I used to, but that was a thing of the past.
“It’s good for camaraderie to have your highest ranks close to you when you eat. Breeds loyalty. You could use some of that. I understand there have been issues with the Albanians in New York.”
I could practically feel the sisters’ ears twitching. From eavesdropping on their brothers’ conversation, I had gained the impression that they didn’t involve the Frasier women in business.
That didn’t mean they weren’t nosy.
I kept it succinct: “The Albanians are scum.”
“When I ruled over my little slice of heaven in the city,” Martinez said almost wistfully. “I was accused of being scum, too.”
“You were never scum.” Eva whacked his arm with a spoon. “You have honor,cariño.”
Her husband, back to smiling now, pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I’ve behaved like a goon in my time,querida.”
“And I haven’t?” They shared a private smirk. “You wereneverscum.”
