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Eyes wide, she takes a step back. The man looks between her and Manuel, then walks away muttering, “Fuck this.”
“Do not make the mistake of insulting my wife again. An insult to her is an insult to me. If anyone insults me, I take it as an invitation to spill blood.” His eyes are colder than ice.
Her face is frozen in shock.
The moment is broken by the host appearing. He informs us our table is ready. We follow the host toward the back of the restaurant, leaving the woman behind.
My guess is the wait was for the booster seats for the girls. There’s a shiny price sticker on one of them. Once the girls are settled Manuel grips me by the back of my neck and brings my face to his.
“Talk to me,” he says against my lips, his eyes studying me.
Shaking my head, I run my hand over his cheek. “She’s no one.”
Satisfaction is clear at my words. “Exactly. Not a single thought or second should be wasted on her. You are the only one I want. The only one I see.”
This gorgeous man who warned me he doesn’t feel is making me wonder if he might be wrong. “You aren’t going to visit her later and make her pay, are you?”
His smile fills me full until I wonder if I’ll float away, high on sheer happiness. “You know me well, dear wife. However, I can be persuaded not to leave our bed.”
“Then I’ll find a way to persuade you,” I promise him.
For eight wonderful days, my husband is at my side every hour of the day he can be and takes me to the heavens at night. We play with the children, who trust him when he says I’m their new mommy. I think Luisa still thinks of biting me every once in a while, but after Manuel threatens her with a spanking—that he promises me privately he won’t follow through on—she stops. By the end of the second week, she even seems to like me instead of just putting up with me. It comes to an end when I wake up alone.
CHAPTER15
Manuel
“Sir, we have intel on the head of them. His name is Rodrigo Jimenez, out of Las Palmas. Our men were able to identify his mother. She’s very important to him. Every Sunday he calls and talks to her. Bought her the nicest house, one she used to clean. We have eyes on her now.” Pablo is the head of our security in Mexico. And if it wasn’t clear he’s doing everything he can to retrieve our shipment—I’d kill him for allowing another shipment to be hijacked.
“Take me to her,” I order him.
I spend the time it takes to get to the tiny town reading the file compiled on her and her son and every neighbor on their block. It’s not enough for us to retrieve the shipment. This is the second shipment they managed to grab so far this year. I don’t care if it’s June, and we got back the entire last shipment and a partial of the previous one. Or that I’ve managed to shut down their buyers, promising a better price if they didn’t buy from the hijackers. Jimenez needs to learn a lesson.
The house is small. What’s even sadder is it’s the nicest house on the block. I don’t miss the curtains shifting in the window.
She answers the knock on the door herself. Eyes wary. “Hello?”
The new clothes she’s wearing don’t change the weariness or the deep lines on her face. I decide to make my Spanish as rough as hers. “Hello, good afternoon. Manuel Rodriguez, of the Rodriguez cartel. Could I come in for a cup of coffee?”
Her jaw drops. She looks behind me, then down at the gun on my hip. It’s clear she wants to say no. But all she does is back up, giving me room to enter.
“Thank you. It’s hot outside,” I say as I look around the small living room.
“I can get you coffee. Yes.” She’s nodding and flees down the hall into the kitchen.
I’m at the altar in the corner of the room. There’s one in nearly every home of a good Catholic. And Mexico is filled with good Catholics. Good Catholics praying for deliverance from their sad lives.
This altar has the usual, a crucifix, a picture of Jesus, a statue of Mary, and two different saint candles. I take off the rosary on the corner of the picture of Jesus and wrap it around a hand. The rosary is a simple one in black. The cheap beads have been rubbed until some beads are thinner than others.
She enters the room again with a tray of simple dishes. They clatter from her trembling as she sets it down on the coffee table. I wait until she sits down before I do as well, across from her. The chair might be nice to look at with a silk cover, but it’s uncomfortable as hell.
“Cream? Sugar?” She whispers the words.
“No, thank you.” I take the small cup from her. My sip is small. “Good coffee.”
“Thank you.”
Tilting my head, I study her. Her eyes are on the rosary still around my hand. “This is a lovely home you have. It’s a blessing to have a son who loves his mother enough to buy her a home.”
