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Knowing once I start thinking of Catarina Furnari I won’t stop, I force my attention on the man in front of me and the business at hand. “Well, I’m here, Santiago. Care to tell me what was so important that you insisted I come to Harlem at the crack of dawn when my cousin can handle matters in my stead?” I’d been about to start my daily morning workout when Jane called and told me there was an issue with the Puerto Rican gang. And that Santiago insisted I come down to the gambling den to discuss the situation.
It's his grandson, Juan, who answers, “Business is discussed between leaders. Not women.”
Jane stands to my right, arms crossed, glaring at the muscular Puerto Rican who holds sexist views despite being from a younger generation. That’s what happens when you’re raised by a man as old-school as Santiago, I suppose.
“Jane is a leader in my family,” I reply coolly. An undertone of threat laces my next words, “I’ll let the insult slide this once. Next time, I will not be so lenient.” A pause allows my words to sink in before I, once again, turn to the Puerto Rican leader. “Now, what is so important to demand my presence here barely past sunrise?”
Santiago and his grandson share a look. The latter says, “We have a problem.”
“Obviously.” It’s Myles who replies, wearing a sneer. He leans against the wall on my left. My distant relation is only here because I tasked Jane with keeping him preoccupied. I need him to think he’s being given important tasks or else I’m sure to receive a call from my grandfather lecturing me to include the worthless relation in our business more. And I don’t have time to try and appease the old man with his ridiculous demands.
Juan continues as if Myles didn’t speak, “Diaz has been slinking around our gambling dens and clubs. We believe it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move.”
“So amp up security,” I reply, sounding bored even though the information makes alarms go off in my head. Luis Diaz has been subtle in his attempts to undermine Santiago. If he actually goes after one of the gang’s businesses, he’ll be declaring outright war. And I don’t want my family anywhere near this borough when that happens.
“We don’t have the manpower to amp up security,” Juan counters. I read the unspoken words in his expression.
So does Jane. “We’ve already assigned men to protect your establishments,” she points out.
“It is not enough.”
“Then shut down a few locations and focus your resources on your most profitable enterprises,” she counters, showcasing her quick problem-solving abilities. “If this threat truly worries you, take action to mitigate it. This meeting is a waste of time.”
I stay silent, but my eyes shift to Santiago to take in his reaction. His cloudy gaze is already on mine. He doesn’t look offended by my cousin’s words, but he’s good at hiding his hand until he sees all the cards on the table.
A gray, wiry brow lifts. In a tired voice, he says, “Let us speak in private.”
I dip my chin.
Jane and Juan begin to leave without argument. Myles, however, looks like he wants to object. Jane grips the back of his bicep and practically shoves him towards the door. From the corner of my eye, I see him scowl at her even as he heeds her silent order and walks out the door. My cousin may be petite, and Myles may think he deserves her position, but he knows better than to disobey her. Especially in my presence.
The office door closes behind them. Santiago slumps back in his chair and rubs his eyes, looking ten times more tired than he did just a few seconds ago.
“What’s really going on, Enrique? What happened?”
The old man shakes his head. “I truly thought the boy would stand down. I didn’t think he’d be foolish enough to try and destroy all we’ve built for ourselves here in Harlem,” he speaks about Luis. “Butel halcónis determined. He won’t be stopped.”
“What happened?” I ask again.
His hands lower. Again, his cloudy gaze meets mine. This time, they fill with regret. “He knows.”
My hands curl into fists. “Knows what?”
“About your involvement with Antony Salvatore.”
My next words are practically a snarl, “You said no one else knew.” It’s the only reason I agreed to help Santiago. That, and that it would be beneficial for the Puerto Rican gang to owe my family a favor ofthatmagnitude. The MacKenzies haven’t risen to prominence in the criminal underworld by chance. We trade in mutual trust and well-earned favors.
“I know what I said, but it appears I was wrong.”
“What the fuck, Santiago?” I growl. “What, exactly, does he know?”
Rather than answering, the old man reaches into the desk drawer and pulls out a piece of paper. A liver-spotted hand holds it out over the desk.
I lean forward and take it, pulling back as I unfold it and take in the messy handwriting. It’s in Spanish. I have no idea what it says, but the signature is an impressive sketch of a hawk, telling me who it’s from.
“What does it say?” I scan the unfamiliar words. Except, not all of them are unfamiliar. My family’s name appears twice.
“Diaz accuses me of destroying the business he and Antony Salvatore were working on. He demands I pay him back by handing over my most profitable businesses. One of which is this gambling den.”
