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“That day was the beginning of our adventures, wouldn’t you say? We’ve skydived, raced bikes, and got our first tattoos together.” My finger slides across her hip where there’s a bundle of white mariposas, Cuba’s national flower. Amberlyn shivers and bites down on her bottom lip. “Every time, I’ve been there. Never far, Sirenita.”
Maybe I’ve been chauvinistic—it’s been easier to keep her at bay—but this is the most I can offer. The hostile environment and bloodshed are unavoidable outside these walls; one goes with the other in a world dominated by greed, but keeping a clear head is what wins wars.
I’ll remove the threat to her life.
I’ll kill Rodriguez and his men for this.
And then I’ll lay an entire country at my little mermaid's feet.
“What are you trying to say, Ivan?” If there’s one thing my girl is, it’s perceptive. Especially in her line of work: criminals are the best kind of liars.
“Things are moving in the background that need my attention.”
Sliding my other hand down her arm, I skim her wrist before using it to turn her twice, stopping with her back to my chest. The last song ended and gave way to bachata, the melody a little bit faster, and we fall right into step. We gyrate, keeping to the basic three counts while I lower my face to her neck.
I inhale deep, and my groan isn’t quiet. It’s full of the hunger only she can create. “Yes.”
“Okay.” No more questions, and I leave it at that too. She’s aware of who I am and what I do.
We stay in this bubble for a while, ignoring those around us who continuously shift their attention our way, while everything from merengue to salsa to house music plays well into the night.
I have no idea how much time passes, but the vibrating on my phone stops me.
Pulling it out with my unoccupied hand, I bring it up and let facial recognition open the screen. The message is from someone running surveillance on a building deep in the heart of Hialeah, a city neighboring Miami and whose population is heavily loyal to my family.
The eighties and nineties were great decades for business.
Dalian Uriel is with your mark at a bar in Hialeah. They mentioned Mariposa Bail Bonds. ~ Cisco
They’re dead men walking.
I’m not far from my exit on the Palmetto thirty minutes after the newlyweds departed, fingers twitching against the steering wheel while some club banger plays on a popular station. The dashboard’s lit screen tells me I’m going well over eighty, yet the two cops I’ve passed have been smart enough to not stop me.
My mind, though, is on the look Amberlyn gave me right before I walked away after the first text came in. I knew exactly who Cisco was speaking about. They live in the same building, and my informant owes me a few favors.
And like the saying goes: one hand washes the other.
Mermaid picked up on the shift in mood at once and didn’t ask questions. Instead, I was given a nod, a quick squeeze to the arm, and the space to leave while defeat mixed with exhaustion flashed across her expression.
There was also doubt. Worry.
She has every right to feel that way, and it burns me.
I’ve never regretted the life I was born into, not once, but tonight, a part of me wishes it’d be easier for us. But that’s on me. My selfishness to keep us private and enjoy everything that came without the interference of our families has come back to bite me.
“Our day will come, Mermaid. I’ll be back for you.” Taking the exit with a sharp turn, I get off on Red Road in Hialeah and make the first left. I need this. The kind of release that comes from revenge, wearing the blood of an enemy on my hands.
Because this is more than anger.
I’m shaking as a deep-rooted rage—hatred—scorches my veins while driving down the deserted-at-this-time avenue. This area is a great mixture of new and old, from homes to businesses and everything in between while the east side of the city is known for its small factories and cafeterias.
My destination, though, is a small apartment complex near 49th Street and behind a shopping plaza.
That’s where I find my informant, cigarette in his mouth while a pistol is tucked into the waistband of his pants. The tank top he’s wearing barely conceals it.
“Acere,” he calls out the second I step out after grabbing what I’ll need, coming to my side of the vehicle. Cisco keeps his distance, eyeing my Glock and holster while extending a hand out toward me, which I take, giving it a hard squeeze. “Good to see you, bro.”
“You been good?” I ask after releasing his hand, knowing he had a kidney stone issue in the past. Had to be operated on because of it. “Your family?”
