Page 102 of No Merciful Corruption

His brows furrow a bit. “Eight years perhaps. She died only a year or so before you and Alejandro met. It’s hard to remember. After a time, grief makes all the days and weeks blend together.”

“You must miss her.”

When he smiles it’s with a sorrow I feel deep in my bones. “No sabes cuanto.”

I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry for bringing her up. I didn’t mean⁠—”

He’s already shaking his head. “No, no, no. Me hace bien recordarla. Es como…” he struggles for the words. “It’s like she’s still here. And one day you’ll be able to tell Lela all about her when I’m gone.”

“I hope there are still many more years before that happens.”

“With the number of headaches your husband gives me, I suspect I’m not long for this world.” He smiles and squeezes my hand. “You’re exactly what my grandson needed. Sharp and gentle in all the right places.”

I consider him a moment. “Do you have a hard time letting go?”

“I respect Alejandro’s place in this family. I retired because I trust him.” He gives a light shrug. “In a few years, my opinion won’t matter. I won’t live to see the next twenty years of our family and the rest of you will.”

“But?”

“But…” he relents. “I am still paralyzed by fear. Terrified of what will happen once we lose control of this city, no matter how unreasonable that fear may be. Sixty years and I still feel we haven’t climbed high enough or gone far enough.”

I hesitate before responding. “Abuelo, may I ask you something?”

He bows his head in response.

“How do you feel about the Ortiz family?”

The disdain in his eyes is all the answer I need. “Why do you ask?”

“Edith Ortiz invited Alejandro and me to dinner this evening. Apparently, they’re being called the thirteenth family.”

“And what do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” I confess. “Alejandro is firmly against it and I can’t say I disagree. Bringing another family into the fold is too great a risk. The Ortizes appeared seemingly out of nowhere. We have no idea where they get their narcotics, how they got their start, or where their money initially came from.”

“You make a fair point.”

“Part of me thinks it’s too soon. We’re already experiencing an unprecedented amount of change. We haven’t seen this much turnover in leadership since the drug wars of the eighties and nineties. Less than six months ago, Don Alfonso died and his son Luis Alberto took over. Don Enrique retired and Don Samuel now runs the Villamizar family. Not to mention Don Cayetano has one foot out the door and his eldest grandson is posed to inherit. Count our family and Regina’s, that’s nearly half of us experiencing a transition of power. We’re vulnerable.”

“And you think the Ortizes are a risk?”

“I do. I think they’re hungry and desperate for power. Everyone knows a fortress is most vulnerable during the changing of the guard.” I have a thought to finish my sweet bread but suddenly lose my appetite. “However, we’d be in even more danger if we neglected the Ortizes and they chose to instead align themselves with foreigners. They could disrupt the entire system and our legitimacy would be at risk.”

“How so?”

“No legitimate family gets involved in a mob war, Abuelo. Imagine the PR catastrophe it would be. I can already picture the headlines: Narvaez family—owner of privately held Narvaez Enterprises—embroiled in mafia terf war over Mediterranean port city. We’d have every government agency from here to Canada breathing down our necks.”

Abuelo taps his fingers on the edge of the mosaic tabletop. A moment of unsettling quiet passes before he speaks. “Take a walk with me. I’d like to show you my lilies.”

I wait for Abuelo to stand and pull out my chair. He extends his arm and I take it in mine as he leads me through his garden. An array of different flowers and plants grow in neatly arranged sections, some native to Spain and others imported. Roses mixed with lilies mixed with tomatoes and peppers and cilantro. Dahlias in all my favorite colors and marigolds representing October, the month Allegra was born. At the very edge of his garden, grows a small bundle of foxglove. It’s so out of place that my gaze lingers on them longest.

“I was very uncertain of you in the beginning. In fact, after the year you spent separated from my grandson, I told him not to go after you again. Begged him to let you go.” We pause and he examines his flowers with great interest. “I didn’t think you were built for this life any more than his mother was.”

Reaching into his apron pocket he pulls out his gardening sheers and bends down to snip at the stem of a foxglove. He twirls it between his fingertips and once satisfied with its appearance, extends it to me.

“You remind me of my Aurelia. Gentle by nature and hardened by the elements.”

I take the flower from him.