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‘Pay Marco a visit,’ Emilio echoed his younger brother. ‘And his family,’ he added. ‘He has children, no? A wife?’
He was going to teach this fucker a lesson. A big lesson. And then he was going to shoot him and let him bleed out as punishment.
‘Three children,’ Julian said warily. ‘One wife.’
‘Good,’ Emilio said. ‘Tonight, then. We’ll pay them a little visit they won’t soon forget.’
Julian looked troubled.
‘You know what they say about extraordinary times?’ Emilio mused, puffing on his cigar again. ‘They call for extraordinary measures.’
‘You want me to fuck the family up?’ Julian asked.
‘No,’ Emilio replied, smiling so his lips stretched wide, baring his teeth. ‘Leave that to me.’
CHAPTER TWO
MARIANA
BANG.
Este and I were watching fireworks in the clear night sky when the first shot rang out.
Gunshots weren’t that uncommon in Villanueva, the town where I lived. Besides, it was almost impossible to hear a gunshot amid the chaos of the fireworks that marked Día de las Velitas, the Celebration of Little Lights that marked the beginning of the Christmas season.
Now, when I say we were watching the fireworks, what I mean is, he had me pinned against the wall of a back alley, my dress gathered around my hips as we made fireworks of our own.
Yeah. We were totally going to get caught at any moment, but damn, did that man make me want to do things I’d never do with anyone else. His lips on mine, the sweet taste of anise and rum mixing in our mouths as we moved in a steady rhythm. I moaned into his mouth as he did something with his hips that really hit the spot. A bed would have been a little more comfortable, but despite me being nineteen my father had forbidden me from bringing my boyfriend back to the house. My father hated my boyfriend.
It just made me love Este more.
BANG.
I cocked my head to the side for a moment, unsure of what I’d heard.
BANG. BANG.
My heart sank as I pushed Este away from me. I knew what gunshots sounded like, and somehow, this time, I knew the bullets carried my name on them. Este looked confused, but he could obviously see the terror on my face. Instead of protesting, he tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned up, as I panted and pulled my black sundress down to cover my thighs.
‘Baby,’ I whispered urgently, ‘someone is shooting close by, do you hear?’ At nineteen, I shouldn’t have known what gunshots sounded like, let alone been intimately acquainted with them, but I was no ordinary girl. I had been born into a life of terror and violence. Images of my father suddenly sprang forth in my mind, and my heart rate rose considerably. My father was a complicated man with a complicated life, and when I heard gunshots, it was usually because of something he had done, or something he was punishing someone else for doing.
Este ran a hand through his dark hair, curled at the ends from the humidity, as he bent to pick up the paper lantern at his feet. The candle inside flickered at the sudden movement before settling down again to a steady, even flame. I grabbed my own lantern from the ground beside me and stepped out from the darkness and relative privacy offered by a large air-conditioning unit, peering cautiously down the alleyway. The city street beyond was crowded with people focused on the bright sparks of colour that lit up the night sky.
Este pulled me closer and smiled tightly, his hazel eyes gleaming in the flickers of dim candlelight as he addressed me in Spanish. ‘No te preocupes, amor. Probablemente es solo un idiota disparando al cielo.’ Don’t worry, my love. It’s probably just some idiot shooting into the sky.
So long as none of the bullets rain down on us, I silently prayed.
‘Este!’ I chastised. ‘In English! Remember?’
Rolling his eyes, his easy smile soothed me, and the tension was momentarily broken. ‘Baby, you don’t finish university for another three years. We have plenty of time to practise the American language.’ He said each word in English slowly and deliberately, the words rolling off the edge of his bowed lips. Anyone could tell that it wasn’t his native tongue. Esteban hadn’t had the privilege of attending an American school like I had. Esteban hadn’t had the privilege of attending any school once he turned fifteen and had to support his family by going to work. And so, his English was faltering and his Colombian accent thick; unlike me, whose accent was merely a lilt, an intonation that I could turn off completely if required.
I shook my head defiantly. ‘We’re going to get there sooner,’ I said. ‘You’re going to get this scholarship, you’ll see.’ In my head I indulged in my fantasy briefly. I saw the beach, and a pier, and felt sand beneath my feet. I could almost taste the freedom that America offered people like me. Away from the suspicious eyes and the brutal reach of the ruthless cartels, and the meddling of my troubled father.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
My gaze cut to Este’s, and any casual hope was extinguished.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
