Yet.
What if I already do?
Chapter Fifteen
Alejandro
My stomach feels like it doesn’t remember the last time I ate. I’m a big guy who works out twice a day. I’m used to eating three to four thousand calories a day. Anything else feels like I’m fasting in the desert for forty days and nights.
After running upstairs to redress, Vita and I head into the kitchen to see what’s available in the house. While the fridge is virtually empty except for condiments, there’re plenty of options in the pantry. I silently thank mymamáandtíasfor always being prepared.
I consider all the things the women in my family do to support the Cartel. They’re all willing and able to defend the people they love most. All have had to do that, but the everyday running of the Cartel falls on the men’s shoulders.
The women do all the things behind the scenes. They ensure families have enough food and proper roofs over their heads. They protect the women and children from men who can’t separate work life from home life. They even look out for the men whose women never reconcile with the life they live and take it out on their partners.
The women in my family are the silent strength behind the men. They’re the beauty and the brains that keep us going. Hell, half the time they’re the brawn too.
“There’s plenty of rice in here. I’m certain we can do something with that as well as this canned tuna. It may not be the most delicious meal you’ve ever had, but I can make something that resembles a tuna casserole.”
Vita’s brow furrows at my suggestion. “A casserole? How very American of you.”
I chuckle. “When in Rome.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“They’re little more than peasants living on a hill. When they can survive living in a city that floats on water, then they can brag.”
Her dismissive tone makes me grin. While the world knows of the ancient Roman Empire, there’s certainly plenty the Venetians have offered through the centuries.
“There’s an unofficial hierarchy of countries in Latin America. It seems like in your mind there’s a hierarchy of Italian culture.”
She vigorously nods her head.
“Absolutely, even if it may only be in my mind. Though, ask anyone in a Mafia family, and they’ll certainly let you know where their hometown ranks.”
“At the top, I assume.”
“Of course, and everywhere else is a million miles below.”
“So, I shouldn’t buy you Neapolitan ice cream.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not the American shit you people call a dessert. Find me a proper gelato, and then we can talk.”
“Choladois what you really need to try.”
It’s sort of a mix of fruit cocktail, a drink, and a frozen dessert. Delicious.
She pauses for a moment; her mouth hangs open as though she’s deciding what she wants to admit.
“I’ve had that several times.”
That grabs my attention as I set a pot of water to boil in preparation for the minute rice.
“How much work have you done in Colombia?”
“Not a ton, but a few jobs here and there for my family.”
If that’s the case, this is something she should’ve revealed to me several hours ago, certainly before having mind-blowing sex.
