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“No. I’m saying that if I didn’t know you, I’d think what happened with your accountant and a few hiccups in your distribution would have you furious and distracted. You are well aware of the image you portray to the world.”
He nods, pleased with that assessment. Then his brows furrow in a way I recognize—he’s still interested, for now. Thank God. “So, how can I use you?”
I square my shoulders. “Gather your men and let it slip that you plan to change things. Promotions for some. Demotions for others. Make it seem casual.”
Internally, I wince at the plan. It’s devious and manipulative, something Diego might have employed to suss out deceit.
“And?” Jaguar prods. “Then what?”
“Then… With Braulio out of the way, you will need to fill his place. And you can see who seems smug and who doesn’t. Who trembles in your presence and who remains calm.”
“And who thinks they can set a trap for me, be them woman or man. Damn, is that a reckless plan,” Jaguar surmises.
“But you will use me as the bait,” I clarify. “There will be no risk to you. If he thinks I’ve told you anything, Braulio will have nothing left to lose. He’ll come after me.”
And so might Diego. I grimace at the possibility.
“You are creative in your scheming. I will give you that,” Jaguar admits. A compliment? Not quite, according to the gleam in his eye. The look he gives me makes my pulse race. It’s so damn predatory, seeking out every sensitive area he has access to—my breasts, my throat, even my knees as they press together. “Then again, I think you overestimate your importance, chica. Now run along.”
“By the way, Franco chose a school,” I add while withdrawing the winning brochure and tossing it onto his desk.
Without waiting for a reply, I turn on my heel and escape the basement like a bat out of hell. My ultimate destination is Franco’s room. He’s still asleep, snoring, as I quietly take up my usual position at the foot of his bed. Tonight, however, the thoughts weighing on my mind won’t let me sleep. When I open my eyes to daylight, it feels like they’ve been closed for only a few minutes.
There’s no point in stalling. After checking on Franco, I slip into the hallway and enter the master bedroom. To my surprise, I find it empty and Jaguar gone. I get dressed in a modest-length black skirt that seems the most casual of the garments he chose for me. Rather than one of the silky tops meant to pair with it, however, I take a risk.
Pivoting on my heel, I turn my attention to Jaguar’s clothing. As I appraise the nearest items, an odd realization comes to mind. For all his wealth, his garments are relatively simple, lacking any fancy, expensive fabrics or designer labels Braulio liked to drape himself in. The illusion of grunge must be part of his narco ruse. In fact, the nicest thing he seems to own is a small selection of button-up shirts. I finger a rare white one, amid the sea of black, and pull it on over my naked torso.
In the bathroom, I find an arrangement of toiletries and take my time getting ready. I shampoo my hair, brush my teeth and even scour the drawers for some makeup, finding not even a Chapstick. Apparently, that luxury is reserved for the women in Jaguar’s main harem. When I finally emerge and check on Franco, he’s just woken up. I help him dress, and we head downstairs to find the kitchen empty.
Here, I take another risk. If Jaguar has grown bored of me, or wants to make a public spectacle of Braulio’s demise after all, I’ll deal with that later. For now, Franco is my only concern, and I aim to give him as many positive memories as possible.
At least before my actions ruin his innocent childhood forever.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him while scouring the ingredients in a stainless-steel fridge. I’m in luck. There’s enough food to whip up something for breakfast without having to beg Horatio or his boss.
Relieved, I set about, picking ingredients for an old childhood favorite I haven’t made in forever. While rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes, Franco sits on a stool at the center island and watches me.
It isn’t long before I sense that he might be suppressing tears instead of merely waking up. He looks sad. I wonder if he had another nightmare.Damn it.Rather than ask him, I spin to face him, forcing a smile.
“Remember that song I used to sing you? When you were little, and I wanted you to eat all your veggies?”
“Oh no!” He sighs, burying his face in his hands. “Please, don’t, Auntie.”
But I do. Loudly and off-key, I recite a silly adaptation ofFeliz Cumpleañoscentered around eating the proper vegetables. I know I’m stalling and avoiding the inevitable. I know that a shitty breakfast and terrible singing aren’t enough to make up for what he’s lost.
I know that.
I can’t stop myself from trying, though, and gradually, Franco begins to grin while heckling me with playful ad-libs of his own.
“We eat our veggies because they…”
“Stink!” Franco interjects.
“Are lovely,” I trill. “They make us strong and—”
A shadow catches my peripheral vision, and I break off, whirling to face the man who entered the kitchen unnoticed.Damn.He has a way of sucking the air from a room. Despite not sleeping in the master bedroom, he’s gone in there at some point to change into a fresh black shirt and pants.
“Morning, Lupe,” he greets in a low rasp. He isn’t looking at me, and I can’t decipher how he feels toward me after our conversation last night. Is he still angry? His smile seems warm enough, though I’m not the one he directs it toward. “Good morning to you, Francisco.”
