Page 141 of Cartel Devil

“A brunch your family hosts. During it, every man in your family apologizes personally to every woman he’s wronged.” Mairghread doesn’t pause before she offers her suggestion, clearly having prepared her answer before being asked.

“Sylvia?” Laura’s no more thrilled to ask her Mafia equivalent.

“Whatever each couple lost, the bratva returns or replaces.” Sylvia rarely sounds smug because she doesn’t need to, but she does now.

Ouch. That’ll be to the tune of a few billion dollars.

“Elodie?” Laura will never show resignation to someone outside her family, but I’ve known her since we were kids, so I can tell she’s ready to be done with this.

“I suppose I should say that instigating this is our retribution, and the brunch with the apologies will be reparations. That works for the grander scheme of things. Women and children are supposed to be off limits. I understand my family’s role in how that rule was shattered. But it wasn’t us alone. Each of your families played a part in it, and as we saw tonight, it wasn’t one family after another. It’s all been at the same time. Targeting a pregnant woman is the epitome of violating that cardinal rule. Many of you have children. You can imagine what Trish has lived through. All Four Families will take a borough of their own, and we’ll divide Manhattan. Each family donates one billion dollars to the lowest-income schools and child development centers. Mairghread, I’m certain Jocelyn can help us determine which places.”

Cormac married a social worker. She’s the most equipped to give advice about where we can best give our support.

“Fair.”

Mairghread, Laura, and Sylvia respond with the same word.

“Ladies, as of tonight, women and children are off limits again. Any family who violates this will be the target for the other three families. It will be open season on the men in that ruling family. You will be widows.”

Maybe the syndicate wars will end one day.

Not today.

But maybe.

The call wraps up with all four in agreement with Tía Elle’s terms. Cold War-era MAD still remains the prevailing principle among the New York underworld.

Tre gets up and disappears into the kitchen before I can offer to help with whatever she’s doing. My jaw drops, and heat surges up my neck and into my ears when I see what’s on the tray she’s carrying. I close my eyes before I meet her gaze. She comes to stand in front of me, a Cheshire cat smile on her face as I rise.

“Cupcakes, anyone?”

Epilogue

Tre

“How’s your back, chiquita?”

“Sore. You’d think I’d be used to these false contractions by the third time around. But they still hurt.”

Joaquin stands beside me, rubbing my lower back. We look out at the sparkling aquamarine water that laps beneath our hut on stilts in the Maldives. I’m seven and a half months pregnant, and we’re on our third babymoon. It felt extravagant to go on a second one, but Joaquin and I quickly realized it was Mamá’s chance to instigate trouble with Mom.

Luciana Diaz and Kathleen Vizzini shouldn’t be allowed near children unless the parents want the kids to come back spoiled rotten.

Bedtime? What’s that?

Vegetables? What’re those?

In true grandparental fashion, any rule they imposed with an iron will goes out the window the moment the grandkids arrive at their house. Hell, the moment they arrive at your house.

But Joaquin and I aren’t really complaining. With what’ll be three kids under six, the time alone together is a rare treasure. I turn toward him and cup his face.

“I’m glad you suggested this place for our honeymoon. I appreciate your family insisting we have a babymoon each time. It’s nice to come back three more times.”

“With the way we are, perhaps we should just buy a property here, chiquita.”

“I thought we said three was enough.”

“And I thought you said four’s a nice even number.”