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“Of course,” Ivan’s mother agrees. Yet I also notice that she’s now standing in the middle between me and the other woman. Edgar is helping the brunette up while Orlando is using his phone to message someone. “But we need to keep our hands to ourselves. Understood?”
Strike one. They are protecting her.
“Did Ivan bring her here?”
“Technically, yes. But it’s not what you think.”
“Why?”
Maritza's eyes plead with me to understand. To back down. “That’s something we can’t discuss with you. Just know that she’s innocent and was under the Uriel brothers’ thumbs.”
“Are they involved?”
“That’s something only my son can answer.”
Strike two. His mother knows and doesn’t care that I’m being torn apart where I stand.
“Why are you even discussing anything with her? Is she someone important to Ivancito?” the brunette cries, clutching at Edgar’s sleeve while she put on quite the show. Had I been a spectator, I’d be laughing at how ridiculous she looks and the clear marks I left on her neck.
I wait and no one responds, which says everything. I’m no one to him.
I’m an obligation. Moreover, who knows what else he’s done behind my back while everyone smiles to my face.
“Enough.” The older De Leon cuts in, his eyes narrowed. Not at anyone in particular, but more at the situation. His hand holding the cell phone is clenching, knuckles white. “My son has been made aware of the issue and will call you. Please remember your role in this family, Miss Ibarra.”
“You want me to leave?” Voice low. They’ve cut me deep with this.
“At the moment, yes. I’m sorry, mi niña.”
“Not sorrier than I am. Never come near me again.” With that, I turn and leave the room, ignoring the raised voices and what they’re saying. Someone tries to follow me. They call my name, but I run out of the house as if the hounds of hell are on my heels.
I’m done.
She can have him.
They can all go fuck themselves.
I need to leave Miami. I can’t be here.
23
I’M STANDING ON a veranda overlooking the city of Havana a few hours before my meeting with President Rodriguez. The sun is high and the palm trees sway while the people below continue with their day-to-day activities as if there isn’t a palpable change in the air. With the way they carry themselves, you’d never know that the standard government trucks parked outside are mine and what they’re delivering to the bodega on the first floor of my building is much-needed food and medical supplies.
It's been a routine here for the last few years while we use the ports. The agreement was simple, but then Placido Rodriguez became greedy. Ambitious. Had he left well enough alone and let us give back in the memory of my grandparents, he’d be a powerful and obscenely rich man.
But human nature is one of envy and morbid hunger for what belongs to another, not once bothering to see that what you have is enough. Wanting more isn’t the problem. It’s all about how you go about achieving those goals.
The ten commandments are simple, and while I’m the poster child for most of those sins, I do understand that there’s a place for everyone. That some basic needs should never be trampled on to become successful.
You don’t starve your people.
You don’t take away their safety.
And while I agree that ruling with an iron fist is necessary to stay in power, you also create bonds and loyalties to stay on top. Take care of yours, and they have your back. They’d take a bullet for the hand that feeds versus the one who abuses.
Taking in a deep drag of my cigarette, I watch another large, high-mobility truck drive down the street and turn out of sight. The two men inside the cabin are natives and dressed the part of military while delivering my weapons to a separate location. One where a select few have access.
Every political branch, including the army, is infiltrated by people in the De Leon pocket and they all have a role to play—to execute—for the country’s takeover to work. Because the current administration’s hold is on a timer, and the countdown is near done.
