Page 113 of Cartel Devil

“This looks so good.”

I’m excited for my twice-baked lasagna. Joaquin pretends to reach his fork toward my plate. I’m not pretending when I aim mine for the back of his hand. He pulls away just in time.

“If you haven’t learned already, Trish can be territorial with food. It’s the only way she ate at some family meals with so many boys at the table.”

Mom grins at me, and everyone knows she’s not exaggerating. I mean, I can share. I just don’t like to. Food may be my love language, and I enjoy cooking for others, but I don’t enjoy sharing my servings of some dishes. Apparently, that’s extra true while I’m pregnant.

I cut the first bite, and I savor the aroma. My appetite’s been unpredictable for weeks. I still have bouts of morning sickness that often last well into the afternoon. If I feel well enough to eat, I seize the opportunity.

Steam rises from the food on my fork, so I wait for it to cool off a bit. I nearly bump into the table when Joaquin turns up the vibrator again. At least he made sure I wasn’t chewing. I don’t dare look at him.

The first bite is divine—until it isn’t. It feels like it went down the wrong pipe, so I grab my water. I sip it. There’s definitely something wrong. Seriously wrong.

“Mom—coriander.” I struggle to say two words.

“Trish! Do you have your Epi?”

“Pur—”

My throat’s rapidly swelling. My eyes water, and I’m getting lightheaded fast. Joaquin’s pulling shit out of my purse, uncaring what lands on the table. Luckily, there’s nothing too embarrassing. Not like I’m carrying tampons these days. I look at him and grab his sleeve as he prepares to inject me.

“Mikey—knows.”

His brow furrows as he jabs me, then he looks at my parents. My mom wraps her arms around me while she pulls out her phone to call an ambulance. Joaquin looks at my dad, not understanding what’s happening beyond I’m having a massive reaction.

“Mikey knows she’s severely allergic. He always reminds the kitchen staff that she can’t have anything that comes near the spice.”

Joaquin glances back at the kitchen, then at my dad. They’re both on their feet and charging toward it. My gaze tries to follow them, but I feel like shit. I can’t focus on anything but how my heart’s now pounding.

“Mom, something in arancini too. Thought…too hungry. Now…think tainted.”

My mom lifts her head and looks toward the kitchen. It’s not one that diners can see into. We don’t know what’s happening in there. It feels like years before the sirens blare outside the restaurant. Mom and I have tried not to draw any attention, but a few diners noticed. A couple servers hover nearby, but Mikey never comes.

That’s odd.

Something is going on back there.

I’m certain Mikey’s not responsible, but I bet he’s making sure Dad and Joaquin find who is.

Mikey’s never been a Mafioso, but plenty of his staff come from Mafia families. Plus, there’s his connection to Salvatore. He’s been the don’s best friend since they were kids. Everyone in the NYC underworld knows Mikey’s off limits. Not just because he’s Salvatore’s friend and this is Salvatore’s favorite restaurant—the Mancinellis even have a private dining room here. It’s because he gives out paper sacks of unserved food to the homeless every night. He sponsors at least a dozen youth sports, and he gives kids their first job when their families don’t have enough resources. He’s a pillar of the community. It’s suicide to fuck him over.

As the paramedics come inside, Joaquin rushes out of the kitchen. I look past him, waiting for my dad to appear, but he doesn’t.

“He’s taking care of something.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Joaquin

Can’t we have just one nice thing?

I by no means thought this shit was over just because it was quiet for a week. But I hoped against hope that we could make it through a dinner out with Tre’s parents. Two syndicate men at the table, and they still went after her.

The hit-and-run.

The car bomb and chase.

Poison.