Page 109 of No Merciful Corruption

I sit up in my seat. “That’s absurd. He can’t do that…can he?”

“There’s certainly precedent. We weren’t always twelve,” says Don Rubin. “I believe the last time we inducted a new Don was over thirty years ago.”

“If it comes to it, who do you think will have the majority?” Regina asks.

“It’s hard to say.” He replies. “Lopez, Garcia, and Falcón would likely be opposed. The Ortizes are eager to expand and would be encroaching too much on their territory if they did.”

“Then why aren’t they here now?” Don Luis Alberto asks.

I’m surprised when Don Javier speaks. “Because we don’t like them.”

Neither Regina nor I can help the strangled laugh that leaves us both.

“That leaves Dons Cayetano Arroyo, Samuel Villamizar, Jose Betancourt, and Fulgencio De La Vega.” Don Javier’s gaze travels around the table. “Where would they stand if it came to a vote?”

“Don Cayetano has one foot out the door. His grandson, Juame, can be persuaded.” Regina says.

“De La Vega and Betancourt are slippery foxes.” Don Luis Alberto sighs. “Always have been.”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t need a unanimous vote, only a majority.” Don Rubin points out. “I sincerely doubt that after last night, anyone would be keen on keeping the Ortizes in the running.”

“Especially since Condesa Laura has been projectile vomiting since last night.” Regina refills her glass of rum. “Don Fulgencio isn’t pleased his wife’s mushrooms were undercooked.”

“Nor am I,” I chime in. “Dahlia was sick all morning.”

“We’ll schedule a meeting with the twelve next month to ascertain how viable this information is. I don’t distrust Don Javier or his sources but I’d rather we not be blindsided by something preventable.” She lifts a brow. “Unless there are any objections.”

The other men shake their heads.

“Shopping around for another family to maintain a perfect twelve is a mistake. We should be spending the coming years stabilizing ourselves instead of vetting strangers.” I say.

“I agree,” Don Javier concedes. “But convincing everyone else will be difficult. The other Dons are married to the idea of twelve, mistaking it as some form of protection. In their minds, they’re convinced having twelve Dons will maintain order in the city, not the Dons themselves.”

“I believe in having twelve.” Don Luis Alberto chimes in. “Perhaps not right now but within the next decade, yes. We have always been twelve.”

“Not always,” I interject. “Not always.”

The table falls silent. In the early decades of my grandfather’s reign over the city, the current system operated similarly to the Five Families of New York with heads of every family and one Don to rule them all. Abuelo was called the Don of Barcelona up until my early childhood. By then, the drug epidemic had ended and with it, two decades of killing, succession wars, and instability. Out of it came a new rule of law for organized crime in the city. A system of Twelve Families and twelve Dons with an honor code to be followed by the letter.

“The city flourished under a different system before this one.”

“Alejo,” Regina looks at me. “You’re talking about a completely different world. Our fathers weren’t even born yet. This city isn’t the same as it was when Salazar and Gaspar were coming up. Not politically, socially, and most certainly not economically. Which isn’t taking into account technological advancements in the last sixty years. To survive we have to evolve.”

“This is evolution.” I argue. “We can find a new way to be. An opportunity to⁠—”

“We?” she echoes. “There is no we. Alejandro, you’re on your way out. Whatever future we come up with, you will not be a part of it.”

“So you expect me to be a silent figurehead at this table for the next decade?”

“I expect you to sit and advise. Not dole out orders.” She hits back hotly. “You aren’t ‘the Don’ anymore. Not really. In a few years the entirety of your enterprise will be fully legitimate. What you need to do is focus on decentralizing your family’s shipping business from the Port of Barcelona. And after, slowly reintegrating your territory into the city grid so the rest of us can decide what to do with it.”

“Is this it then? Am I to have no say in the future of a city my grandfather built⁠—”

“Salazar didn’t do it alone. He had my grandfather too.”

“Adoptive grandfather⁠—”

She slams her hand down on the table.