Page 23 of Cartel Devil

She’s always been blunt, but this is an utter nightmare. I would talk to her about girls I liked when I was a teenager, but I’ve never discussed a woman I’ve been intimate with.

“Joaquin, you’ve never been the playboy you portray to the world. But I’m certain there’s been at least one woman who left feeling disappointed you didn’t want more. It was your turn to discover how that feels.”

“I know, Tía. I just watched her. I had no idea what to say. It was fine during the reception because she was so easy to talk to. She didn’t wait around long enough to see what it would be like the next morning. Then she was at dinner at Serafina and Carmine’s a couple weeks ago.”

“And you were quieter than a church mouse.”

I nod and sigh.

“And now she thinks you don’t like her when it’s the opposite.”

I nod a second time.

“And rather than reach out to her, you buried yourself in work, then went on this trip. She has no idea how you feel.”

I sigh a second time.

“Joaco—”

It’s rare that anyone in my family uses that nickname.

“She called me that, that night at Serafina and Carmine’s. Her name’s Patrizia. Her friends call her Tricia, but for some reason, I call her Tre.”

“For some reason.”

My tía scoffs at me and rolls her eyes. I hunch my shoulders, wanting to shrink into myself. I feel way too exposed. She’s about the only person I’d talk to about this, but it’s still massively uncomfortable.

“Muchachito, we both know why you call her that. The men in the Cardenas family are no different from the ones in the Diaz and De Santos families. They come up with nicknames for their women that no one else uses. Something that is theirs alone. They only do it for ‘the one.’”

I close my eyes as my hands rest on the terrace rail. The sun’s too dazzling off the water. At least, that’s the excuse I’d give if anyone asked. Tía covers my left hand with hers.

“I think I missed my chance. I accompanied Toria and Alejo to that dinner at Serafina and Carmine’s as Toria’s guard. If it were a dinner somewhere else, I would’ve waited outside the dining room. You know how it is. But you also know it’s weird now that so many of the wives are friends and family with rivals. I didn’t know Tre would be there when I agreed to go. I figured I’d have some decent Italian food and keep Alejo from sticking his fork in Carmine’s eye. Sera and Toria asked Tre what she thought of the reception. Tía, she was a deer in the headlights. Instead of coming to her rescue, I may as well have gunned the engine.”

“You didn’t intervene. You went quiet.”

“Yeah. I’m so ashamed of myself.” I am.

“Quino, it’s your turn.”

She went back to my usual family nickname. She’s letting Tre have Joaco for herself. I open my eyes and turn to look at my tía as she continues.

“You’ve done your duty to the others. It’s your turn to be happy.”

My brow furrows, not understanding what she means. It’s Tía Ana Lucía’s turn to sigh.

“You and your brothers were forever changed by what happened to your papá. Seeing what you did at such young ages—at any age—affected you. It couldn’t not. Jorge worries about what’ll go wrong if he doesn’t get things right. Javier trusts no one who isn’t family and assumes everyone will disappoint him until they don’t. You try to go unnoticed whenever you can. You only have good posture because both of your abuelas insisted upon it. I saw how you hunched your shoulders as we walked over here. You wish you could be smaller—shrink your size—your presence—your aura of command—so you wouldn’t be such a target. I know you blame yourself because as the oldest, you were the tallest. You believe you were the first one the assassins spotted.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s ripping open a wound that’s festered beneath the surface.

“You believe you’re the reason your papá died. You’re not and never were, but I understand how that thought burrowed into your soul at such a young age and never left. You’ve wanted to fade into the background since you were eleven. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself because it means drawing attention to your brothers. Duty runs deep in you just like it does everyone else in our family. You’ve never let yourself be distracted from protecting your brothers. But, Quino, you’ve more than fulfilled your obligations as a big brother. Javier and Jorge both found women they love and who love them. No one expects you to remain a bachelor forever. No one wants that for you. Your papá certainly doesn’t. I know he’s watching you and is so incredibly proud of you. He always prayed you and your brothers would find what he did with your mamá. No man has ever loved a woman more than Esteban loved Luciana. They both want you to find that, muchachito. You can’t if you hide from it, hide behind guilt and obligation.”

My eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed. Trust Tía Ana Lucía to articulate everything I’ve felt since my brothers and I watched men put bullets in our father’s head and heart. We’d gone to the movies and eaten popcorn and candy until our tummies hurt. Mamá never would’ve allowed it, but Papá always spoiled us on our guys’ day out. It was the best day ever until it wasn’t.

Men cornered us in an alley. Papá and our guards protected us until our SUV could pull up. Papá practically threw all three of us in the backseat, shielding us with his own body. Before he could climb in—just after he slammed the door shut—they shot him.

If I hadn’t stepped past the guard when we walked out of the theater, my father would’ve lived. At least, that’s what I believed until I was in college and finally reasoned myself out of it. That doesn’t mean the guilt’s ever gone away even if I rationally understand that wasn’t what caused the series of events.

I knew the protocol, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too excited, rambling on about the parts of the movie I loved best. It exposed me to anyone outside the theater. As the tallest Tres J, I was the easiest to spot. I caught the gunmen’s eyes and drew their attention.