Page 118 of Chris

“You went to Mexico for a job.”

Chris chuckled as he poured a small glass of whiskey at the wet bar. “I did.”

His father came to stand next to him with a knowing smile. “Seems you came back with more than you intended to, Christopher.”

“And?”

Gian sighed, his gaze drifting across the room to where Cara was helping Valeria settle Maria for the evening. Once she was in bed, his parents had promised they would leave them be to relax for the night, or as much as they could.

“Bit … rushed,” Gian murmured. “What is it about you boys of mine rushing into love, hmm?”

“Don’t you know?”

Gian shook his head. “I don’t, so tell me.”

Chris thought it was simple.

Obvious.

“You taught us not to be afraid of love, Papa. You and Ma—watching the two of you growing up showed us what love is supposed to be. Not perfect. Not always easy, or given to us. We earn it, we nurture it, and we do that so we can keep it. That’s the wonderful part, or I thought so, anyway.”

Gian made a soft noise in the back of his throat, turning so that his back was to the wet bar, and he could watch the women across the room as he spoke. “So, what you’re telling me is not to worry, yes?”

Chris smiled. “Not about this. I have it handled.”

“You always have everything handled. You were not the one of my five boys I had to worry about that. Trust me.”

He did.

“And I am proud of you,” Gian added after a moment.

Chris tipped his glass up for a drink, letting the spices of the heady liquor rove over his tongue before he swallowed it back. Setting the lowball down, he asked, “For what?”

“Doing the impossible. And finding something you wanted, I suppose.” Gian glanced his way, that soft expression of his father’s turning into something else. The Don was in the room—just like that. All it took was his father flipping a switch, and his mood changed. “As for the cartel …”

“What about it?”

“I would appreciate knowing what we’re looking at now where they are concerned.” Gian shrugged his broad shoulders under his tailored, black blazer. “I let you go into Mexico with little plans, or even understanding how all of this would play out.”

“To be fair,” Chris replied, amused, “even my plans got fucked up. Someone else had her own plans, and she did what she wanted do whether anyone else cared.”

“And who is this someone?”

“Abril Lòpez. The youngest daughter—same age as Val, but nothing like her, if we’re being honest here. And that’s not a bad thing, let me say.”

“She helped?”

“Helped … caused a war.” Chris made a dismissive noise and waved a hand in the air. “What do the details matter if it’s all the same, yeah?”

Gian grunted under his breath. “And what, I assume a surviving male will now take over the cartel? Will we have to be concerned about retribution for our part we played down there, or not?”

“Oh, no. I assume nothing. Abril is now a new queen on a very broken throne, and that’s fine, she likes it there.”

His father blinked.

Chris nodded.

What else could he do?