Page 82 of Cartel Devil

“Joaco, I just felt a little loopy for a moment. Maybe it’s the orgasm you just gave me. I’m fine now.”

If he said they’d put something in the IV, I would’ve believed him. My mind feels fuzzy, almost like I’m drunk. As I inhale, I get a whiff of his cologne. It immediately calms me. It was thinking about us that did it. Being near him is practically intoxicating.

Or maybe I just need some sleep.

I don’t know how I passed out so hard, but I did. Like I feel drool on my chin as I come back to the land of the living. I don’t open my eyes immediately because I’m still sleepy. Then it’s because I hear Joaquin’s voice. He’s speaking to someone in the bathroom. I strain to hear a second voice, but there isn’t one. He must be on the phone.

“Sean, I don’t give a flying fuck whether you think your wife is too good to talk to me. Ask her if her fucking shit stain brother went after my woman. I swear by all that’s holy, if you push back on this, O’Rourke, I’ll prove I’m the psychopath you claim I am. And where I go, my brothers do too.”

I can’t hear what Sean says, but it can’t be good because Joaquin’s even more pissed when he responds.

“The auction next week. That ruby and sapphire necklace you want for your mom’s birthday. It’ll look gorgeous around my mother’s neck. Those Cold War maps that haven’t been declassified but you’ve been begging your friend at the State Department to get you. Mine. I’ll fucking burn them in your front yard, you fucker. Ask Nicolina if Ewan sent someone after my girlfriend.”

There’s silence again, and it tempts me to climb out of bed and creep to the door. But Joaquin will sense the moment I sit up, let alone get out of bed. I’ll never make it to the bathroom door before he hangs up and plops me back where he’ll say I belong.

“Because they were friends when they were kids. Hate me all you want. That’s fine by me because I loathe you. But my girlfriend did nothing to anyone.”

There’s only a moment’s pause before Joaquin’s tone drops to such deadly calm I fear what’ll happen next.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Once more, the silence practically kills me. I’m unprepared for the bathroom door to swing open. Joaquin stands in the doorway, staring at me. There’s no point in pretending I’m still asleep, even though my eyes are only open a crack.

“Don’t forget to call me back, hijo de puta.” Son of a bitch.

He pockets his phone and continues to assess me. I don’t know what he’s looking for. I’m afraid he’ll find it, and I’m afraid he won’t. Either way, I feel like I failed him somehow.

“Joaco?”

“I knew you were still keeping something from me, Tre. It had to be Sean O’Rourke’s nosy ass that tells me the truth.”

“You believe anything coming from him is true?”

“He sent me proof. I saw it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your uncle sent you down to New York not to spy on Tía Elle or Toria. He sent you to use my tía and my new cousin, so he could learn what’s happening with our role in the Italian turf war. Is that why you kept watching me at the rehearsal dinner and talked to me at the reception? Ingratiating yourself?”

I push the covers back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Joaquin’s long stride has him at my side and lifting my legs before I can grip the handrail to pull myself up to standing.

“Do not get out of that bed, Tre. I will fucking tie you to it. The doctor said bed rest.”

“I’m not going to take your accusations lying down.”

“You took some⁠—”

“What? What were you going to say, Joaquin? That I took something else lying down?”

His silence tells me that’s exactly what he nearly said. I’m glad he caught himself because I don’t know that there’d be any coming back from that. The words themselves along with his willingness to degrade me would’ve pushed me away. I know he’s quick with his words, and he wields them as a weapon. He has responses for everything on the fly, and his instinct told him to lash out. His conscience stopped him.

Glad to know which one is stronger. At least with me.

“Do not call me by my full name, chiquita. You know that’s not how we are. I’m not a child for you to chastise when you’re far more in the wrong than I am.”

My graze sweeps over him. There’s nothing childlike about the man. Boyish when he smiles sometimes, but definitely not a kid.

“Fine, Daddy.”