Page 92 of No Merciful Corruption

“All right…” I take a moment to look around and study the space. “Walk me through the floor plan. I need to think about this.”

We spend about an hour touring the space from cellar to top floor. A renovation allows me to correct some of the design mistakes made the first time around like the placement of the kitchen doors and finding use for the empty courtyard space in the back. However, it’s also posing some challenges. In lieu of an actual corporate office, we always used the second floor as a workplace and above that was the apartment. The more I try to move things around the more I realize how infuriatingly right Dahlia was—it’s impossible to fit everything I want into the same space. I’ll either have to forfeit the apartment on the third floor or make the office space on the second floor smaller, which means the lounge can only operate as a lounge and nothing more.

We’ve finally outgrown Dad’s place. I can’t believe it.

“Let me think on this and I’ll decide tomorrow.” I say on our way out. “I’ll talk to Dahlia tonight and see what changes can still be made.”

“And if changes can’t be made?” Mauricio asks.

“I might have to leave it as is and rent an actual corporate space somewhere in the city. Or take Regina up on her offer and sublet the place on Carrer de Gàurdia. It’s right off La Rambla and not too far from here.” I reply. “It’s more commercial and on the ground floor but it’s functional.”

Dimitrio exits the lounge last and he and Mauricio exchange looks in silence.

“Is there a problem with that?”

Dimitrio gives a firm “No” at the same time Mauricio winces and sighs, “Well…”

Dimitrio smacks the back of his head and Mauricio lets out a yelp.

“Ow!”

Dimitrio says, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to further entangle your family with hers?”

My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t respond right away and instead fixes me with a leveled gaze. Although his eyes are deep brown, he reminds me so much of Abuelo in this moment. “Wouldn’t it be a mistake to conduct business in Regina’s territory?”

I stare at him a second. “Dimitrio…it’s an office space.”

He shakes his head. “No…no, it’s not Alex. It’s keeping one foot in the door at all times.”

I turn away from him. “You’re wrong.”

“Regina is your natural successor. Everyone knows you’re grooming her to inherit your seat of power within the Twelve Families. That alone should raise questions about your objectivity but the other Apostles see it as a necessary evil. The Narvaez-Sandoval feud is at the root of all the instability of the last decade and you’ve remedied it by choosing legitimacy and peacefully passing on your power to her.” He continues. “One day, people are going to expect you to step down completely. What happens when you don’t?”

“Who said I wouldn’t?” I snap.

“Who said you would?”

Mauricio shuffles uncomfortably between us and falls back a few steps so Dimitrio and I are walking together upfront.

“I know you, Alejandro. I’ve known you all your life,” he says. “And I know you’re dreading this transition almost as much as you’re praying for its success—it’s in your nature.”

I try to ignore him but he picks up the pace and eventually blocks my path.

“You’ve always struggled with the push and pull of temptation.” He shakes his head at my attempt to interrupt him. “I don’t doubt your desire for peace. Of course you want it to work out. But this life has always called to you and it always will. You’re drawn to it, Alex. It’s like you can’t help yourself.”

I’m not sure what to say. Words get tangled in my throat and I can’t sort through them fast enough to place on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I move past him and continue on the path home.

Wondering if he’s right and not willing to accept it if he is.

* * *

When I get home, the kitchen is in a state of chaos.

Doña Ana is slaving over an olla almost as tall as her simmering on the stove. Steam rises to her face and she churns the liquid inside with a heavy wooden spoon the length of her forearm. Karina stands behind her, slicing open plátanos in record speed with the edge of a dull knife, stripping them of their thick, green skins to get to the fruit inside. Once they’ve been skinned, she cuts them up into perfect cubes and tosses them into a caldero of hot oil.

“I wasn’t aware we were feeding half the city.” I say.