Page 73 of Cartel Devil

“No, Mom. We are not them. We’re us. Joaquin’s family won’t force us to marry, and I know you guys won’t either. We’re not nineteen either. We both have careers and the means to decide for ourselves how we proceed.”

“But you are proceeding?”

“Yes.”

I wait for her to clarify, but Tre offers nothing more. I’m more than happy to remain the strong, silent type. Kathleen sighs silently. I see it rather than hear it. It’s not exactly resignation. At least it’s acceptance.

“You’re staying in New York for good.”

Something passes between them that I can’t identify. I watch them even more intently. Tre’s been keeping something from me, but I haven’t pressed to find out what. Now I’m certain it has to do with why she moved to NYC. I ran her background when Toria gave Alejandro her guest list and her bridesmaids’ names. I admitted as much at the reception. Nothing popped up that made me suspicious, but now I’m certain I missed something.

Did Tommaso send her to spy on the Mancinellis?

Did he send her to spy on the O’Rourkes?

Did he send her to spy on Tía Elle?

Was she to infiltrate the Mancinellis or my family?

The brief exchange between mother and daughter tells me Kathleen knows whatever’s going on. That’s why I believe her family sent her and not someone outside it forcing her. These questions attempt to chip away at my trust, but I refuse to allow even the tiniest crack. If I’m wrong to trust her, then I’ll pay whatever penance there is for the disaster that’ll inevitably happen. But I won’t ruin what’s growing between us with unsubstantiated accusations or baseless fear.

After all, it could be something entirely unrelated to the syndicate world.

Chapter Sixteen

Tre

Life has never been uneventful. Not when your family runs a major North American syndicate. We may not be the NYC Italians, but Boston isn’t somewhere to underestimate. I’ve been around tragedy my entire life. I started going to funerals in utero—which I hope won’t be the case for our baby. I’ve lost a brother already. I’ve lost a cousin on my mom’s side, the NYC mob. Boston friends’ older and younger brothers and fathers have died. I’ve been to funerals in Venice and Sicily.

I’m no stranger to living in fear. It eased a little in New York. Partly it was the sheer size of the city. It’s easy to get lost there. Largely it was because my family doesn’t run that city like it does Boston. I didn’t feel like I was as much of a target there. Less than an hour back in Boston, and someone tried to mow me down. Maybe Joaquin was the target, but I doubt it.

“Joaquin, why didn’t you have more men?”

My mother’s question is accusatory, but at least her tone isn’t—not entirely. I open my mouth to defend Joaquin and the Diaz men, but he shoots me a look that makes me stop. It’s not hostile or domineering or anything like that. It’s more of a “I got this.”

“Mrs. Vizzini⁠—”

“Cut the shit, Joaquin. I’ve known you since you moved to the States. I may not have chatted with you, but we’re not strangers. We’re a bit more familiar than using my last name.”

My brow furrows as I shift my focus from my boyfriend to my mom then back to him.

“Chiquita, your mom is the ultimate syndicate royalty. She’s from the New York mob and married into the Boston Mafia. Short of being Maria Mancinelli, your mom’s pretty much the most untouchable woman on the East Coast. Your aunt Stella isn’t too far behind her.”

The woman who married Uncle Tommaso is the current Chicago don’s sister. When they married, her father was still don. Shit got ugly with my great-uncle Manfredo because she was supposed to marry him. Long story short, Manfredo fucked up and died. Uncle Tommaso became don right before he married Aunt Stella. Aunt Stella joined two powerful families whose influence stretches across half the country.

“You never said you’ve met my mom before.” I feel like he should’ve told me that.

“Only in passing, chica. Your parents were at the six mob weddings a few years ago.”

Dillan, Finn, Shane, Sean, Cormac, and Seamus O’Rourke.

You can’t get names more Irish than those six. They’re the men in my generation who run the New York mob. They’re my second cousins, and I grew up knowing them, but not well. Only my parents went to those weddings. They’ve been to the baptisms over the last couple years too. Since Dillan took over, my mom’s been welcome at all family events. Her uncle, then her cousin wasn’t so forgiving when she chose my father. She didn’t attend either of their funerals, but she was ready to dance a jig on their graves.

“Kathleen, I have eight men with us. We had men in the vehicle in front and behind us. There were men already in the restaurant. I wish I’d thought to have a car block traffic for us to cross. I never imagined someone would try to run us over in such a quiet neighborhood. My driver and I both shot and hit the vehicle, which is the best any of my men could’ve done.”

“Trish.”

I shift my attention to my mother. She may have addressed me, but she’s assessing Joaquin. I want to squirm on the bed. If she doesn’t approve, there’s no chance in hell my dad will. Joaquin’s expression remains neutral, even warm, despite the scrutiny. He even looks approachable, like he’d have a charming conversation with Mom if we were just about anywhere but a hospital. She turns her head away and meets my gaze.