Cartel Wives

by Mia Flores

  Olivia

  In fact, Milwaukee was one of the first cities they expanded out to as their empire began to grow. When Adrian was in prison for drug conspiracy in 1998, one of his associates named Tommy Arevalo introduced Junior and Peter to a couple of connects from Mexico, and they began shipping cocaine right up interstate 94 to Milwaukee.

  Mia

  By the time Peter was kidnapped, DEA agents in Wisconsin had started to question street-level dealers, who spoke in hushed tones about “Peter” and “Junior.” The investigation led back to Chicago, where the feds were trying to build their case and had started sniffing around.

  Olivia

  All that time, they felt they had to keep working. But Peter thought he was putting in more time than Junior, and he was on his brother’s ass because of it.

  “You’re slipping, Junior,” he said. “You care more about your girl than your business.”

  Junior didn’t care; that was just Peter being controlling. Junior always handled his business.

  In September 2003, we got a beautiful condo together in Lincoln Park. Some people were mad that I hadn’t waited a year to find someone new after K died, but I couldn’t help what had happened. You can’t dictate when you fall in love. We moved together with Xavier, who was in middle school and was growing up to be this wonderful little man. After all that my son had been through with the men in my life, I was initially reluctant to have him get to know Junior. I’d told myself that if I ever moved on from K, it would be with someone who worked a nine-to-five job. But I fell for Junior when I saw the good in him and the great father he was to Samantha and Sasha. I knew I could trust him.

  Xavier absolutely adored Junior, and Junior felt the same. He’d drop my son and his friends at Dave & Buster’s, or spoil him by buying the new Jordans that were always so hard to get. To Xavier, Junior was this hip, cool guy, like his buddy, and when I saw them together, I’d tell myself, It’s okay. Relax. You’re being a good mom by surrounding your son with good people who love him.

  I think that North Side condo is where we really became a family. Junior had Samantha and Sasha every other weekend, and I babied them like they were my own. I’d always wanted a daughter, so I secretly wished they were mine, and I’d change their Pampers, shower them, cook for them, and comb their hair. They would tell me, “I want to be pretty, too!” so I’d let them put on my makeup and play dress-up with my clothes.

  We did everything together, me and Junior and the kids. And when they weren’t with us, we were traveling and living it up. We sat ringside at the De La Hoya–Mosley fight in Las Vegas. Junior invited all his friends, who happened to be his workers, and he rented out sixty rooms at Mandalay Bay for them. We all went out and shopped all day, ate steak and lobster for dinner, partied in the VIP sections of clubs at night, and had drunken sex till the morning. It was exactly what Vegas should be.

  That Christmas, Junior gave me a ring. It was this big, beautiful yellow diamond ring, around seven carats. Is this an engagement ring? I thought. But Junior didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask. I knew I wanted to marry him someday, but it could wait.

  “Let’s go to Mexico for New Year’s, baby,” he said that night. Without any hesitation, I agreed.

  We drove thirty-six hours to Mexico and talked the whole way about everything—our kids, our families, and how we wanted them to come together in the future. I didn’t care whether the ring on my finger meant anything or not. All that mattered is that I was with Junior.

  We went to his family’s ranch in San Juan, a few hours away from Guadalajara. Within days, I think I’d made up my mind. On that gorgeous plot of land in the middle of nowhere with more horses than people, I thought, I’m safe. Nothing is going to happen to us here. We don’t have to worry about someone coming to kidnap us or rob us or the feds taking Junior away. Simplicity, family, and love are all that matter, and we can have that here. I’ve changed, and here, Junior can, too.

  I broke the silence. “Junior, let’s stay. Let’s just stay in Mexico forever.”

  He looked me straight in the eyes and agreed.

  All he needed with him was his brother.

  Mia

  If Peter was feeling the heat, he hid it from me. That winter, he got me a condo off of Michigan Avenue, and I moved in, all on my own. I was twenty-three years old, and I’d never lived away from my parents. I even quit my job to go back to school to become an aesthetician; Peter and I were planning to open up a spa together.

  When we weren’t holed up in that beautiful apartment falling in love with each other all over again, we were going out to eat, making plans for our future business, or shopping at Chanel or Cartier right down the block.

  Unfortunately, that January, bad things started happening in the midst of what should have been the happiest time in Peter and Junior’s lives. One of their employees, a guy named Stubby, ratted on him and Junior. The feds raided one of their warehouses, then another, seizing over 400 kilos of cocaine.

  In late February 2004, Peter and I were together at my condo. We were relaxing and talking, like we always did. We decided to watch a movie, cuddle, and go to sleep early. While we lay in bed, he made me laugh so hard and so much that I suddenly became exhausted. Before I passed out cold, he told me he had to work the next morning. That wasn’t unusual; I’d begun to understand his life, but I didn’t ask questions. When you’re so happy, young, and carefree, you just go with it. At least, I did.

  The next morning, Peter woke up, rolled over, and looked at one of his twenty-some phones.

  “Oh, shit, I have twenty missed calls. Did I turn the volume off?”

  Missing calls was basically a drug dealer’s worst nightmare. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Peter switched on the volume, and the phone rang immediately.

  “Alicia, I’m so sorry I missed you. What’s up?” Alicia was his sister. He paused while he listened to her. “Oh my God. Call the lawyer and don’t say anything.”

  I was terrified. “What is it? Is everything okay?” Peter didn’t answer; instead he moved toward the window and pressed his face against it.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “The feds. They raided my house. They also hit the barbershop and Junior’s house. They’re looking everywhere for me and Junior. I’ve got to go.”

  He was pulling on his shoes when another phone rang not three minutes later.

  “Silvia,” he said. That was another sister. “Oh my God. Get out of there and don’t say a thing. Call me later.” Peter moved back to the window to scan. “Mia, I need you to drive me somewhere. The feds raided my sister’s house.”

  I didn’t even ask who he was supposed to meet. I just pulled on some clothes, got my keys, walked to my car, and started it up, afraid the whole time.

  As I drove, I was so nervous I was worried I was going to hit something. The only thing I kept thinking was, I can’t drive through a red light. They’ll catch Peter if I do.

  When we finally got to a parking lot a few miles from downtown, I looked at Peter and said, “Am I ever going to see you again?”

  He smiled, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, hard. “Of course you’re going to see me again.”

  And with that, Peter Flores walked out of my life, left the country, and didn’t return to the United States for almost five years.

  PART TWO

  MIDDLE MEN

  CHAPTER 6

  San Juan

  Olivia

  In January 2004, Junior and I decided to move to San Juan to be close to his family. That’s where his parents were from and now lived, and it was where Adrian had settled with his girlfriend, Daniela, after he’d been deported.

  Mountains cut through San Juan—some of them really rugged and tall—and in other spots there are mesas, with steep cliffs and dry valleys. It’s pretty much what you imagine rural Mexico to look like, and personally, I thought it was dramatic, gorgeous, and exactly the place I wanted to start a new beginning with Junior
. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the weight of the past or fear for our future. Mexico was a place where I could truly change my life. Where Junior could change his life.

  The only concern weighing on me was Xavier, who was now a teenager.

  “I don’t think he’ll want to move here,” I said to Junior. We had always looked out for Xavier’s best interests. I wanted to protect him, and so did Junior.

  Junior responded, “We have to put Xavier’s education first. He won’t get a great education in a town like this, so let him finish out the school year, and then we’ll move to Guadalajara, where there’s an American school. It’s excellent, and I’m sure he’ll love living in the city. Plus, it’ll give you enough time to make everything perfect for him.”

  When Junior said things like that, it melted my heart. Most men I knew were selfish and didn’t really care about another man’s son, but not Junior. He treated Xavier like his own.

  Xavier had had a complicated life with all I’d put him through. He’d been there when the feds dragged my first husband to prison, and he was there when they lowered my second husband into the ground. The last thing I ever wanted was for my choices to affect my son, but I knew they had. I had a hard time forgiving myself for it. Xavier deserved better, and I worried that if I carted him off to a small town in Mexico he’d detach emotionally and resent me.

  In my heart, I knew Chicago was the best place for him, and leaving would just crush him. He loved his school and his friends. He loved doing normal things like going to the movies, spending weekends at Dave and Buster’s, hanging out at Millennium Park, bowling, or walking down Michigan Avenue. Before Christmas, he’d literally count the days till he could go see the big Christmas tree downtown—something my sister and I had always done with our parents. He adored my mom and dad, and living with them, he’d have the stability I wanted so much for him. He was enrolled at one of the best private schools in Chicago, had made the honor roll, played sports throughout the year, and truly made all of us proud.

  I just couldn’t make him leave all of that.

  Besides, I didn’t want him to be exposed to Junior’s work. I just need a little more time to convince Junior to change and get out of this business, I told myself. And it’ll be easy now that we’re here to stay. When that happens, I’ll be the luckiest woman in the world, with the man of my dreams and my son.

  I knew I deserved to be happy, too. I was young, and I didn’t want to grow old alone. I wanted to be happily married like my parents and grandparents, and I’d have that with Junior. We were destined to be together. It was like we shared the same heart.

  Leaving Xavier was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I knew it wouldn’t be easy living without him, so I made a plan. I was still producing records, so I decided to schedule work trips to Chicago every two weeks. It was a lot on me, but when I saw Xavier, it was like all my Christmases came at once, and I showered him with gifts and tons of affection. When I left, I felt so guilty, but I told myself this would only go on for six more months. Then I’d mark my calendar for his school breaks, when he’d fly to Mexico to spend holidays with us as a family.

  In Chicago, he seemed happy, and that was all that mattered. He was at home, and now that I was in San Juan, I had to make it feel like home, too.

  The town had practically nothing in it. About ten thousand people lived there, and there were only a few local restaurants and some taco stands situated on the corners in town. There was no supermarket, just a few little fruit stalls, and you’d have to drive two hours to get to Burger King or Costco. It was in the middle of nowhere, but it was beautiful. There was a mountain nearby with a statue of the Virgin Mary on top. In Spanish, they call that a santuario, and Junior and I would walk there every day and just sit and talk. At night, there was nowhere to go out, so we’d play charades or cards and tell stories with his family.

  My future father-in-law, who we all called Señor, had moved back to San Juan in the early 1990s when he was on the run. He and my future mother-in-law lived in a pueblo just outside of town, and he was doing the day-to-day things retired guys do. He was so into betting on the cockfights that he flew in his own roosters, thinking they were stronger than the ones you could find locally. He went into town every single day to bet on the horses. And when he wasn’t eating his wife’s delicious cooking or hanging out with whatever kid or grandkid was there visiting, he was waiting for money from Peter and Junior to show up. They supported him because, in the old country, that’s what you were supposed to do.

  Señor was completely different than my sweet dad, but I clicked instantly with him. He was very macho, very Mexican, and thought that women should stay home, have kids, and never work. He’d sure found the right wife for that, too. I loved Junior’s mother, but she was the polar opposite of my firecracker mom. She obeyed her husband, raised seven kids, and lived for him. I’d always take her places and spend quality time with her, and I think she liked going with me mainly because it got her out of the house. Plus, I was missing my mom, so I appreciated being with her.

  “You should have as many wives as you can afford,” Junior’s dad used to say to his sons.

  American girls are offended by statements like that, and I was no exception. I called him out. “Who do you think you are, treating a woman like that?”

  He wasn’t used to a strong, opinionated woman, so he’d smile and smirk. I entertained him and made him laugh. He enjoyed having real conversations, even though we’d get into these heated debates that I’d never back down from. He started to respect me because of it, and I felt the same.

  He was such an authority figure in his family, always preaching about not doing drugs or drinking. He’d say, “Smoking will kill you!” if anyone around him dared to light up a cigarette. You’d think that would make him some kind of saint, but this was the man who introduced his kids to the drug trade. He was a bundle of contradictions.

  Junior’s older brother Adrian and his girlfriend, Daniela, were more my speed. They were funny and outgoing, and like me and Junior, inseparable. Adrian was a Latin King back in the day and ran with K, who’d been one of his best friends. In fact, he was a drug dealer, and he’d introduced K to hustling. I’d never met him, though, because in 1998 he’d gone to prison for drug conspiracy and was there the whole time K and I were married. Guess who was his cellmate in prison? My ex-husband, Leo. Chicago was a small town, especially if you knew the money makers, like we did.

  Daniela became a sister to me almost immediately because she was sweet and protective, like my own sister. She and Adrian were instantly welcoming, making us feel right at home. They’re a big reason I wanted to stay; I missed my family, and they stepped up and created one for me from the moment we got there.

  Family really was everything to Adrian. He’s fifteen years older than Peter and Junior, and when the twins were born, their dad was in prison. Adrian stepped in and basically raised them. He sold drugs to provide for the family, but he was insistent that his little brothers not get into the kind of trouble he was always in. He had them on a curfew when they were old enough to leave the house, and he did everything he could so they wouldn’t join the Latin Kings. He’d constantly point to gang members and say, “Look at them. They’re losers. You’re better than that.” He wanted the best for them, so he made sure they kept their grades up, taught them responsibility, and when they started working at McDonald’s, Adrian matched their paychecks, dollar for dollar.

  Like their dad, though, he was full of contradictions. One day he asked Junior to retrieve the keys from the trunk of his car. Junior walked out, came right back, and said, “Adrian, there are no keys there.” His older brother’s face dropped, and he ran outside with Junior, popped open the trunk, and grabbed ten kilos of cocaine from inside it.

  “They’re right here, Junior,” he said. “Let this be a lesson to you. Not only do you have to be book smart, you need to be street smart, too.”

  Adrian honestly wanted to kee
p Peter and Junior away from the bullshit, but he couldn’t; it was a family thing. When Adrian went to prison when they were seventeen, he’d made them too smart for the streets. Most drug dealers work in quarter kilos or ounces, but Junior and Pete’s first deal at age seventeen was for thirty kilos. They made their first million at eighteen. By twenty, Junior was flying to Culiacán to negotiate prices.

  In my mind, though, the past was the past, we were building a new future, and Junior was making me the happiest I’d ever been in my life. He wasn’t that busy, so it was just him and me, with no distractions. Even though we spent every moment together, I still couldn’t get enough of him. All I wanted to do was make love to him, and when I did, my love for him grew deeper.

  Everything around me was new and exciting. When I arrived, the entire town was throwing a three-week festival called a feria. There were cockfights and carnival rides, and bands following us around, playing music. People partied every night for three weeks straight, and if your family lived in the United States, they’d flown back to enjoy it all. I remember thinking, I can get used to this. This is my home now, and this is my family. I don’t mind if we’re in the middle of nowhere; we can live a simple life here.

  Mia

  When I dropped Peter off that morning in February 2004, I had no idea he was planning to leave the country. At that moment, I don’t think even he knew. But when the DEA agents ransacked his house, Junior’s house, and his sisters’ houses, he learned that he and Junior were officially under indictment. Fleeing was the only choice he had other than prison.

  My first night alone, I didn’t do anything. I just sat in my big, empty condo, staring way up at the ceiling, thinking to myself, I’ve never been so lonely. I might as well just curl up and die here. The next morning, I packed up my things and drove to my parents’ house. When my mom saw me at the door looking like I’d been run over by a car, she let me in and wrapped her arms around me.