by Ophelia Bell
But Toni doesn’t have the benefit of a silver lining to distract her. I don’t think I can give her one, but I try anyway. I squeeze her hand. “You’ll bounce back. He always knew you didn’t really need him. He just felt lucky you wanted him around at all.”
“You better take care of yourself. If you go and die on Celeste, I’ll fucking kill you. No more taking bullets for either of us, got it?”
She grabs my bad shoulder and squeezes just enough to remind me it’s time for another pill. I jerk away with a hiss and sit up, turning to face her. She’s lost the sunglasses, revealing eyes devoid of her standard dark liner and mascara. Instead, they’re rimmed in red, her eyelids puffy and her skin blotchy, but she stares daggers at me as if I was the one who killed Manny.
“You know the only way I can make that promise is by leaving her, and I’d die before doing that. Where is she?” I glance toward the house.
“Had to go debrief the old man. He’ll want to grill you too, no doubt, but I imagine you’ve got a day or two before that happens, so enjoy the reprieve while you can.”
I push myself up to sitting with a groan, reach for the tequila, and take another long swallow. I can’t let Celeste face her father alone, but I need to gather my thoughts first. I shift my shoulder and grimace, but the painful movement does the job of clearing my head.
As I’m catching my breath and bracing myself to head inside and find Celeste, Toni sits up and plucks at my shirt. “What the hell is this, Reyes? Since when are you a Guns N’ Roses fan?”
I frown down at the borrowed shirt. When we were getting ready to leave this morning, Maddox loaned me a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt so I wouldn’t have to put on bloody clothes, but I didn’t bother looking at it. I snort down at the design. “Since Mad Dog saved my life and loaned me his clothes, I guess.”
“Mad Dog Santos, huh? He’s the guy with the little brother who’s a prodigy you told me about, right? I need to go pay him a visit.”
I bristle at first, my gut rejecting the idea of Toni alone in a room with Maddox, but then the emotion gets fuzzy and I’m not sure if I’m feeling jealous or protective. Or if it is protective, is it of Toni, or Manny, or Maddox? Then I remember Manny’s dead and the tension in me dissolves into sadness. I push to my feet before I can let myself fall back and curl into a ball again.
“Mad Dog’s a good man. I owe him.” The sentiment doesn’t feel sufficient, but it wouldn’t make sense for me to elaborate. I don’t just owe him my life. I owe him an apology. At the very least, I ought to let him know I appreciate what he did for Celeste and me. On that thought, I blurt, “I need to go find Celeste.”
I stumble away in the wake of Toni’s objections, which devolve into curses as I disappear up the terrace steps toward the house.
20
Celeste
I slip out of Leo’s arms while he sleeps, Toni snuggled up against his back. If there was ever a time for me to get answers from Papá, it’s now. He’s seated at the desk in his office when I enter, sleeves rolled up and his phone to his ear. His eyes have dark circles like he hasn’t slept any more than I have. When he sees me, he ends the call and gets to his feet, rounding the desk in measured strides before pulling me into his arms.
It’s a struggle to hold back tears again, but I’ve done enough crying. It’s time to find out the truth. Pushing back against Papá’s strong chest, I look up into his eyes, my jaw clenched. His lips twitch and his eyes narrow as if he’s read my mind. He nods once.
“What did Amador tell you?” he asks as he releases me and returns to his seat behind the desk.
“Not enough. I forgot that the two of you were business partners. Do you think he was after another partnership with you?”
“No. We did not part on good terms, mija. A partnership between us now would be out of the question, and he knows it. There are other things in play. I believe he is trying to get to me through you. If he reaches out again, or if any of his men contact you, you must come to me first.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself to begin my interrogation. “He said you weren’t what you seem. Can you tell me what he meant by that?”
He leans forward, eyes fixed on me. “I’ve been in business for a long time. Some of that time was with him as a business partner, but our visions for the future of the business diverged when you were a child. I grew tired of the destruction our endeavors wrought. He had fewer reservations. Money mattered too much for him to let go of the guns and the drugs. But now . . .” He sighs and shakes his head. “He believes I haven’t remained true to my nature. That I’ve sold out. But he has no idea how right he is.”
“Sold out? I don’t understand.”
“Mija, I’m sorry you felt you had to go to him for answers I should have given you. I realize my mistake now. You are my legacy. This business is yours as much as mine, so you need to understand both the power I have and the steps I am willing to take to keep that power. It is no small thing. You may have an abstract understanding of the scope from managing our accounts, but you need to understand the reality too. He can try to hurt me, but he won’t succeed.”
My skin tingles in anticipation of whatever revelations he’s about to share. He’s right though. The accounts I manage indicate our holdings are as vast and varied as some of the most profitable Fortune 500 companies. Many are even legitimate, but the connections to each other are so vague it would be impossible for even a skilled forensic accountant to find a link without having access to our books.
But I have a feeling he isn’t just talking about the money.
“How deep does your influence go, Papá? Please don’t leave anything out. If something ever happened to you, the more I know, the better.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing is going to happen to me, but I can’t risk you going anywhere else for answers. Amador would stop at nothing to destroy me. There is only one way for me to ensure he stays out of our lives for good. It isn’t an ideal arrangement, but it is one that will protect the health of the organization for the foreseeable future and provide me some leverage in areas where my influence is lacking. Provide us leverage. You will be part of the decision-making from now on, if that is what you want.”
“Of course it’s what I want! We’re partners, aren’t we?”
“We have been on paper ever since you became the CFO. However, there have been decisions I made that I was unwilling to share with you, thinking the burden would be too much. This won’t make your life easier, mija, and you must not tell anyone else. Not even Toni or Leo.”
“I don’t care,” I blurt with conviction. An almost agonizing pain radiates through my chest at the thought that Manny might be alive had we taken this step already. Had I had the answers and not gone seeking them from a man like Amador.
With a nod, he places his hands flat on the blotter on his desk. “I have made a deal with the government to assist in an operation to take down Amador. Our arrangement began almost a year ago, and we still have more work to do. That he’s interested in you enough to venture back to California means he wants something. Whether it’s a need for vengeance against me, I don’t know. Whatever it is, my hope is that we can find out and exploit it.”
I’m too stunned to speak at first. When I finally find my voice, I croak, “The government? Is that safe?”
“They want him enough to accept my terms, and since I’m the only person on the face of the planet who knows all his weaknesses, they have no choice. A joint task force has been set up to cover multiple jurisdictions. Once everything is in place, they will make their move.”
I stare at him, working to digest this new development. “But you haven’t worked with him in decades. How can you be so sure you know enough? Did Mama have something to do with this intel? Those checks she wrote to him, were they some kind of . . . of payoff?”
Something still doesn’t add up, but his news has thrown me off-balance. After so long working to remain under the radar of a myriad of government age
ncies, he’s decided to work with them? Is Amador that big a threat?
“Your mother has nothing to do with this, I promise,” he says, but when his gaze cuts to Mama’s portrait that hangs on the wall over the fireplace, I know he’s lying.
“I was nearly killed two nights ago, Papá. A man we all loved died! Gustavo, a man you trusted, pulled the trigger. I didn’t have much time to talk to Amador, but in the time I did have, he only mentioned Mama. If you really, truly intend to bring me into all your schemes, you have to tell me the truth. Why would Amador even want to see me? And if Gustavo was working for him, why did Amador shoot him?”
Papá’s jaw clenches, and he opens his mouth to speak when a loud thump comes from outside the room. He raises his hand, and I turn toward the door, which isn’t fully closed.
Someone is eavesdropping.
21
Leo
“Leo, please come in.” Arturo Flores’ voice booms from within the room, and I wince. Bracing myself, I push through the door and step inside. I pause with the doorknob in my hand and lock eyes with the man behind the desk. The man’s intimidating gaze drills into me from beneath his heavy brows. His mouth is surrounded by a silver goatee that does nothing to conceal his scowl. The hair on his head is darker than his beard but shot through with silver and combed back in thick waves from his forehead. He wears it longer, like me, the ends brushing his shoulders, but his is more controlled. He and Celeste share the same eyes, but while hers were tender the last time she looked at me, his are intense, calculating, and the deep lines that surround them only enhance their intensity.
He nods toward the door and I close it behind me, then obey his silent command when he aims his gaze at the chair next to Celeste’s. She reaches out and grabs my hand as I sink down, though her look of defiance at her father makes me self-conscious about touching her in front of him, even if the contact is innocent.
Papá Flores only spares a glance at our hands before directing his gaze to me. “I will tell you both this because Leo deserves to hear it from my lips. I regret ever allowing Gustavo Delgado to remain in my employ. It was my mistake, believing he was loyal to me. He never agreed with the shifts I made in the business, so clearly he sought to endear himself to a man who still does things the way I used to. That you had to get in the middle of it is unfortunate. That your brother was a casualty is regrettable. He will have a funeral worthy of the sacrifice he made, I promise you that, Leo.”
“You still owe me an explanation, Papá,” Celeste says. “You’ve never hidden the fact that you and Amador are enemies, but there has to be more to it than that. He acted strange when we met. Like he cared about me. I think he shot Gustavo because Gustavo nearly shot me. Why would he do that if he wanted to hurt you?”
The old man pushes out of his chair and leans against his desk, staring down at Celeste. “His interest in you or your mother is irrelevant, Celeste. Just a way for him to get to me.”
Celeste leaps to her feet. “Was it irrelevant to Mama before she died? Tell me why she wrote those checks.”
Arturo’s lips tighten into a thin line and his jaw spasms, but there’s the slightest flinch and a flash of pain in his eyes. “I will say again, it has nothing to do with Lola,” he says in a cold, even voice that barely covers his icy rage. I suddenly regret deciding I needed to be here, but I stand to show my solidarity with Celeste and hope her father recognizes it for what it is. I’m trying to stand by her, not defy him.
“I think you’re lying,” Celeste challenges. “I think it has everything to do with Mama, and I want to know why. Why did Amador want to see me?” She’s yelling now and leans onto his desk to face him. I blink in surprise. After all the time I’ve spent around her, not once have I seen her this passionate or angry. She’s always been all business—except for last night, anyway.
They’re mirror images of each other, both with piercing hazel eyes and set jaws, both stubbornly refusing to give. I’m too fuzzy from tequila, pot, and pain pills to do more than observe in fascination. She holds her ground, and I don’t expect the old man to crumble, but he does, though he doesn’t give in easily.
He lets out a yell of frustration and pivots away, stomping to the fireplace and raking fingers through his hair. He pauses there and stares up at the portrait that hangs above it of a beautiful woman in an evening gown who looks strikingly similar to Celeste. “Why are you so relentless? You are your mother’s daughter, I will give you that. Amador’s deal with your mother is not a topic that has any bearing on our other conversation. Please do not ask me again!”
“Why not? Just tell me the truth for once! Why was Mama writing checks to him? The dates were after you’d dissolved your joint businesses. Why would she still be paying him?” Her voice is loud, strident, and demanding answers.
Arturo turns around again, and I can’t help but take a step back at his angry stare and reddened face. “To keep him out of our lives, mija! He believes you are his daughter! Not mine. His!”
Celeste’s head jerks back as if he’s slapped her, and I’m just as stunned. Whatever comeback she had ready on her lips sputters and her mouth drops open. “Is it true?”
“No! You are my daughter, but he never believed the paternity tests. He insisted they were faked. Lola appeased him with money, but it was only a matter of time before he came after you. You mustn’t let down your guard again, Celeste.” He looks at me, and I straighten my spine when he raises a hand and points at me. “You are not to leave my daughter’s side. You will move in immediately. Take the room across from Celeste’s and stay as close to her as you can. This won’t be the last time Amador tests me. Our animosity runs deep.” He gives Celeste a piercing stare that I’m positive conveys something more he isn’t willing to say out loud.
Celeste is speechless, as am I. She collapses into her chair again, shaking her head. “Papá, I don’t understand . . . Did you know Mama was unfaithful?”
Arturo sinks down into his chair again and leans back with a heavy sigh. In a subdued voice, he says, “She was never unfaithful to me, mija. If anyone was unfaithful to our marriage, it was me. When I first met Lola, she was my best friend’s lover. Amador’s lover. I’d recently been rejected by another woman here in LA, so I escaped to Mexico to lick my wounds. Amador and I had just begun our business endeavors and were still very close. They invited me to stay with them to reclaim my manhood, so to speak.” He pauses, his gaze growing distant, then stands and crosses the large office to a wet bar. After pouring three glasses of amber liquor, he returns to us and hands Celeste and me each a glass. I inhale the rich scent of scotch and take a small sip. And here I was sure he was a loyal tequila man. Who knew?
“Mama and Amador were together first?” Celeste asks, shocked by the revelation. I must be too numb to be surprised, but the Flores family has always been full of surprises.
Her father settles back in his chair, the leather creaking as he leans back, his eyes shifting to the portrait again. “I stayed for several months, regrouping and discussing business plans with Amador and Lola. She was a true partner in every way. The three of us became inseparable, and over time Lola confessed that she loved us both, equally. We were too drunk with the power we’d acquired with our recent success, so we believed we could have it all. Amador and I believed she was the perfect woman to match us both.
“But when she became pregnant, everything changed. She insisted on having the baby in California so you would be a US citizen, and that meant moving back to Los Angeles with me and living here most of the time while Amador managed the Mexico side of the business.” He sighed and shook his head. “He and I claimed it didn’t matter to us who the father really was, but Lola’s decision to move was the beginning of the end for the three of us. She tried to split her time between us after that, but it got harder and harder with each trip.”
Celeste is staring at him, and after a second, she gathers herself, shakes her head, and swallows her drink in several quick gulps. “The three of you we
re . . . together?”
“For more than a decade. She felt guilty about leaving me to go to him for extended periods, so she allowed me some . . . freedom. I took advantage of her trust. But it doesn’t pay to wonder whether she might have lived had I turned down her offer of an open marriage.” He turns back to us, his gaze resting on me for a second. “It is my oldest regret.”
I drop my gaze to my glass and take a sip, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Then I shoot a look at Celeste. She’s still in Maddox’s borrowed clothes, her hair mussed and tangled around her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, and my heartbeat thuds harder at the memory of how she looked when we made love. I want to take her hand, but she clutches them both around her glass, her knuckles white.
In a shaky voice, she asks, “Did she kill herself because you fought with Amador over me? Amador doesn’t believe it was suicide, you know.”
The sense that I shouldn’t be here at all takes over, but it’s too late to leave. I’m in the middle of confession central now. I keep my eyes on my drink. I’ve heard stories about her mother but only thirdhand through my brother, who heard them from Toni, who has been Celeste’s closest friend practically since birth. The gist is that Lola Flores took a trip to Mexico when Celeste was eight years old and never came home. When Arturo finally tracked her down, she was in a house she owned in La Paz, dead of a drug overdose.
