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I’ve kept her in the background for different reasons, possibilities that change depending on the scenario, but they’re all the same. With Thiago in jail over a bullshit setup, I took over and as such, the threats toward me were large enough to crumble a weaker man.
She’s seen the evidence of my car being shot at.
She’s been there for Luna during Thiago’s incarceration.
She agreed for the time being to silently stand by my side until normality returned to our family.
And maybe it’s been selfish of me to keep us private and without the attention that comes from dating a De Leon, but not once have I given her a reason to question my loyalty to her. I’m also man enough to admit we can’t continue like this.
I just need a little more time. “Cuba isn’t Miami, Thiago. We both know what I’m walking into.” While South Florida has always been great for business, the product we move through the island is vast and fast, two things others covet. Things are ever changing, the demand for the black-market weapons procured overseas and the perico Casper provides has quickly become a large percentage of our last quarter’s earnings, and this has brought unwanted attention our way.
The US government is sniffing.
The Cuban regime wants to fuck us in the ass.
Many here want to make a name for themselves.
More so, I won’t allow anyone else to pay for my sins. She won’t become a casualty.
I’m here to bend both countries over and discipline them as one would a child.
The De Leon hand feeds and takes and will fuck you over without a second of remorse.
“It’s a mess and won’t be easy, Ivan, I’ll give you that. But, keep in mind that the women in our lives are resilient and have bigger balls than we do at times.”
“And stubborn,” I mutter, but he hears. Fucker chuckles, too. “That woman is going to make me pay.”
“Agreed.” My brother shrugs. “They know who we are and accept it.”
“I’m not doing this to be an asshole. They threatened her because of me, and keeping her close will only feed their ammunition—they’ll know how important she is to me. All I want is her safety—just that.”
“What if she walks, Ivan? That’s always a possibility.”
“Her feelings for me are what I’m holding on to.” Have to. “Besides, between political greed and civil unrest—the kind of anarchy that will burn the country to the ground using the accelerant I provide—it’s unsafe either way. I won’t take the chance. Not until our family has complete control over the island.”
“What about the threat here? Are you going to tell her?”
“No.” My eyes narrow, the warning clear. He might be slightly older, but I’ve never been one to take his shit or be afraid. Respect is one thing, but betray me and I would kill my own blood. “That’s not up for discussion. I want her free and happy and untouched by this. They’ll also be dead before I go.”
I’d never forgive myself if she spent a single moment of her life afraid or watching over her shoulder. That’s my job.
“You forget just how much of a grudge she can hold.” The waiter returns then with our drinks, and we each take a tumbler. He takes a sip and grins. “Remember when I crashed her car?”
This time I snort over the rim. “Is she still giving you the stink eye for that?”
“You know it’s more than that.” And I do know because every once in a while, my mermaid gives me the same hard look. What we asked of her all those years ago, to make Luna believe that Thiago cheated, still grates on her. More so, because I’m the one that talked her into it, knowing and using what was a crush back then. “Don’t lose her. Don’t repeat my mistake.”
Without another word, my brother walks away and toward his fiancée, taking Luna’s hand before pulling her out of the room. The reception fills with chuckles and his not-so-subtle flip off from over his shoulder is typical, but I’m more riveted by the quick look of longing that flits across Amberlyn’s face.
It’s there. So much sadness.
But then it’s gone just as fast, and she says something to those around her that makes them laugh before excusing herself. I follow her every move; she’s heading toward the bar when my father intercepts and then points toward the dance floor.
“Old fucker,” I say, shaking my head as he twirls her three times fast before those around them join. There’s an old-school merengue playing, and people begin to sing, moving their hips to the beat while my viejo begins a series of fancy turns. The faster he goes, the louder my mermaid’s giggle get before passing her over to one of Luna’s family members from the Dominican Republic.
My smile drops and body tenses. The hold I have on my glass is close to cracking it, even if they’re doing nothing more than dancing. Even if the distance between their bodies is respectful.
Yet I hate it. Any male close to her.
