“I thank you,” Gunther said, looking about the plane. The blood had been cleaned from the seats and the carpets, but less than three days ago, he was certain the young Czar was on a direct path to Heaven. “Three days ago, Yuñior was close to death. You moved quickly to save his life. I am grateful to you.”
“Gunther, he wasn’t in any jeopardy of dying outside of me and Irena cutting him to bits,” she said, offering a smile. “The wound was a through and through.”
“No, Tito. You shot Tito to keep Tito from shooting him,” Gunther said.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Is Tito alright?” she asked, looking at Yuñior.
“Yes, that fucker is fine. He has lost some of the dexterity in that hand, but he’s still a breathing asshole as far as I know,” Yuñior replied going back to the tablet.
Diadra turned in the chair to look him in the face. “Ed, have you ever considered having a conversation with Tito about taking a different role in your...organization? Is that the right word?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Diadra. He is a bastard child with limited rights and responsibilities. Normally, the bastards perform the illegal activities which civilized men do not want to touch their plates, but ultimately, they use the funds to feed their families,” Yuñior said.
“Yes, but he still has to eat as well. I think, and this is just me, that the story can take a whole new turn if you and Tito aren’t trying to kill each other, but creating a legacy of inclusion for the children left to fend for themselves,” Diadra offered.
He did not reply to her words on Tito’s life choices, but offered instead, “You did well this morning. I was very pleased with how you handled yourself.”
“You mean not falling off the horse, crying, or screaming when that huge bug flew into my mouth? Also, something fell out of one of those trees on my shoulder. I didn’t look, but whatever it was, Angel grabbed it and threw it on the ground. I still get the willies thinking about it,” she said, shivering with a frown on her face. “Oh God, I bet it was something that slithered.”
“All of that, but more importantly...I am pleased at how you represented yourself in the presence of mi familia, which directly reflected on me,” he complemented.
“Does this mean I am forgiven for questioning you about riding a horse with a bullet wound in your shoulder in front of all those tough guy family members?”
“It was endearing, but do not make it a habit,” Yuñior said, blinking once.
“Meaning there is more for you and me...what about Irena?”
“What about her? You agreed to the sixteen months. Have you changed your mind already?”
“Ed, right now, I don’t know what in the world to think, feel, or understand. So much information has been given to me to process about your life. I live simply. A two-bedroom apartment with a clawfoot tub where I can soak my cares away after a long day. What can I give to you or bring to your world that you can’t get from any woman in South America who speaks your language and knows your life?”
“If I wanted those things or that woman, she would be on this plane with me and not you. There is no questioning my choice, Diadra. We are here,” Yuñior told her.
“Yeah, but where the hell is here?” she asked, pulling a book from her backpack and flipping it open.
Yuñior had work to do and meetings to attend over the next three days. He looked forward to none of it, and letting Diadra go for the next three weeks didn’t set well with him either. Waking up next to her the past five days had given him a glimpse of what his life could be like. An image returned to him so strong, so vivid, so bright, that he felt it in his heart, attaching itself to the downbeat shifting oxygenated blood to his ventricle. The image was of Diadra holding a sleeping Isabella stuck with him in a way he’d never thought possible.
He imagined Diadra holding his son, who was napping, after feeding the boy from her breast. The image of Irena doing the same never paid him a mental visit which is why he knew they were not meant to be by chance, by fate, or by choice. The one object he was not clear on and had never been made clear up to this point was the thing Irena wanted. That was the key. What did Irena want above all else?
If he could find the answer to that, he would be in the home stretch and could be happy with his Diadra. In the interim, he would toe the line and be the dutiful son. A smile would adorn his face when required, and his arm would be provided for escort when required with Irena. Outside of those moments, he would plot the downfall of Enrique Villareal and his bastard son Tito.
The other times, he would fill in by falling into the arms of the one woman who seemed to understand when he needed quiet although he never asked her to give it. Diadra understood what he required. She was his choice.
Now, to figure out a way to show the lady how it could all work out without making everyone around them miserable.
TITO MONTOYA WAS MISERABLE. His arm ached, his bum hole was sore from the diarrhea, and his head hurt as if he’d been hit in the top of the soft portion of the skull with a hammer. To make matters worse, the use of his hand would be limited due to the severing of the tendons from the bullet that had torn through his forearm. He was shot by a young woman he didn’t even know.
“I’m still mad,” he said to his right-hand Santos.
“At what now, Jefe?”
“What do you mean, at what now? I’m still mad about all the same shit I was mad about yesterday! Yuñior Delgado. My funky ass father! My conniving cunt of a sister! I want them all to pay,” he growled, hitting the desk hard with his bad hand, making the wound bleed in his upper arm.
“It doesn’t seem fair that they should have all the money and nice houses, and we live here. Why do we not have a nice house, Tito? You have the money. We could have those things too. You make us live like animals,” Santos said, questioning the logic of it all.
“In some ways, my friend, you are correct, but in other ways, you are not,” Tito corrected.
“If you ask me, which you never do, you could buy a good bit of land in Panama, build a fortress, and have a conversation with your father and Delgado and explain what you will and won’t do going forward,” Santos said. “Delgado bought him a small place in Costa Rica to get away. Why don’t you have homes to relax in and scratch your ball sack, a peaceful place away from the noise?”
Tito looked upon the man with new appreciation. At times, he believed the man to be a total idiot and unprepared to deal with life, then out of the blue, Santos spoke of something intelligently, with depth and a modicum of understanding. This once, he considered the advice of Santos.
“You might be on to something there,” Tito said.
“Bueno. Bueno. I want a corner office and a bedroom in the back of the hacienda next to the garden,” Santos said, delivering a broken tooth smile.
He would give it some thought, but first he needed to have a one-on-one conversation with his father. Tito needed to explain his intentions to Daddy. That or kill Enrique Villareal, but right now he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do first.
Chapter Three- Meeting with Force
Gunther was insistent upon coming to the apartment with them, which put a damper on the plans Yuñior had for the hour he planned to spend with Diadra. He understood why Gunther refused to leave his side, but it wasn’t in the plans. The plan was to fly into a small airfield close to Brooklyn, disembark, get to the apartment, and allow a couple of conversations to occur. It didn’t appear as if those conversations would be private since Gunther refused to stop being his giant, quiet shadow. Before calling for a Lyft, Yuńior placed a call to Andres.
“We have landed. I’m here for a few hours and then on to my next stop. I should be home in a few days,” Yuñior told his brother, much to the surprise of Diadra, who didn’t know what that meant in relation to her spending time with Ed.
“The package you requested is arriving at the front door in fifteen minutes. It should coincide with your arrival as well,” Andres replied.
&nb
sp; “Have all of the details been completed as requested?”
“Down to the last petal,” Andres said.
“Thank you. I love and appreciate you, Andres,” he told his brother, who fumbled the phone, and it sounded as if it hit the floor. Yuñior waited for Andres to gather himself and found his brother’s lighthearted antics to be refreshing at times. This, however, was not one of those times. He sighed heavily into the line.
Andres asked, “Oh shit, are you dying? What’s wrong, Yuñior?”
Yuñior found himself smiling into the device. Andres meant the world to him, and it was only in their home or at their grandparents where the two of them could spend time together. In an ideal world, it would be nice to hit the beach and do a bit of surfing or go out and enjoy a pleasant dinner in a fancy restaurant with white tablecloths. It could never happen. Yuñior was the heir and Andres the spare and never could the two of them be in the same place at the same time outside of home.
“Nothing, I just wish we could do more together than we have, that’s all. Thank you for your help, hermano,” Yuñior said.
“Whatever you need,” Andres replied, clicking off the line.
The car pulled up at the front door, and Diadra still hadn’t said much and neither had Yuñior. There was so much to process and discuss, but now was not the time. The car came to a stop, and they all unloaded, walking into her building and taking the elevator to the third floor. The doors opened to a tall man standing in front of Diadra’s door. She gasped, staggered at the presence of the visitor.
“Daddy? What are you doing here? This is a surprise,” she said, moving forward to embrace her father, who looked over her shoulder at the Hispanic gentleman with amazing dark hair and very large white man with a mohawk.
“DeeDee, who are these men?” he asked, using his fatherly tone while pushing his daughter behind his back.
“Oh Daddy, cut it out,” she said, using her keys to open the front door. An unfamiliar chime sang out as the door opened. Diadra looked around to discover where the sound emitted from, and Yuñior pointed to the inner frame of the door. She tilted her head at him, as if she were asking if he had that done while they’d been away. He only nodded.
The father blocked the doorway, not allowing the men entry into the apartment. Arthur Parsons was not budging an inch one way or another. Yuñior respected the protectiveness of a father over his daughter. In his estimation, it was an hour too late since the first sixty minutes had already been spent rolling in the pile of hay in the barn. He would, however, continue with the current plan since he’d had Andres ensure the father would be present at a chance meeting.
“Good afternoon, Arthur the Parsons. I am Eduardo, and this is my right-hand Gunther,” he said to the large black man.
“And what is that supposed to mean to me?”
“I am dating your daughter,” Yuñior said with no expression on his face.
“Oh you are, are you?” Arthur Parsons replied as Diadra came back to the door, pulling her father inside the apartment and allowing Gunther and Yuñior to also enter. “I’m starving, but I think if I had to cook anything today, I would lose my mind. I’m also sore from all that horse riding this morning.”
“What horse riding? You hate horses!” Arthur said, looking at his daughter, who walked down the narrow hallway to the bathroom and started filling the tub with water.
Yuñior, on the other hand, went straight to the kitchen and began to prepare Diadra a quick meal that he’d seen on Pinterest of seared chicken breasts with vegetables over a bed of field greens, all of which had been added to her fridge as well as restocking her supply of cheap wine along with a few particularly good bottles of twenty-dollar wines.
“Daddy, I’m going to start my bath water. Are you staying for dinner? Wait, how did you know where I lived? I didn’t tell you yet,” Diadra said, coming out of the bathroom.
Yuñior raised his hand and then pointed his finger at her bedroom, meaning he wanted the alone time with her father. The conversation he planned to have with Mr. Parsons would either go extremely well or rather poorly. It was too soon to tell; however, Yuñior knew the type. Four years of dealing with Big Sarge Kevin Trodat, Senior gave him the structural understanding of the career soldier and father of daughters. Watching his own father with his sisters also helped a great deal. He didn’t think this man would be much different. All he needed was to make it appear as if Yuñior was providing him a choice in the matter.
“Señor, I had hoped to spend this time having the chit chat with you about my relationship with your daughter,” Yuñior said, taking the chicken cutlets from the fridge. He placed a skillet on the stove, waiting for it to warm.
“A chit chat with me about my...,” Arthur started to say but looked over again at Gunther. The man sat in a chair, which he had moved to get a better line of sight, watching closely not only his daughter’s man, but also him. He looked at Yuñior once more with fresh eyes. “Wait, what did you say your name was again?”
Yuñior added a few droplets of oil to the pan and seasoned the meat. Once the skillet was hot enough, he added the breasts, listening to the sizzle of the chicken in the pan. Next, he removed the artesian lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers. He also spotted a mango in the fridge and thought half of it would make a wonderful vinaigrette dressing for the salad.
“My full name, Arthur the Parsons, is Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado, Junior,” he repeated, rinsing the lettuce under the faucet.
Arthur asked, “as in...”
“As in,” Yuñior replied and provided a direct stare, daring the man to question, yet he softened to take a different approach, placing the focus on Diadra. “I’m making my lady a nice dinner so she won’t be tempted to order food online and have some pervert come to the door to bring a greasy meal. I find such a practice to be very disconcerting.”
Arthur blinked several times. “I find having the son of a drug Czar in my daughter’s apartment to be very disconcerting. What is this, what are you doing, and shit...help me understand this,” Arthur said. “I want to ask what your intentions are, but I know you must marry within your own cartel, so what are you doing with my child, Señor Delgado?”
“At this point in my life, I am questioning everything and everyone,” Yuñior replied honestly. “I am the future of the cartel and strongly believe that fresh blood is needed. The rest of that, I can’t answer as of yet. Also, call me Ed; Señor Delgado is my father.”
“Young man, I appreciate the candor, if that is what you call all of this, but there is no way my child is going to travel to Colombia, meet your family, and ride through your coffee fields next to your father. It is not your way, so again, what are you doing with my daughter?” Arthur spoke, using his knowledge of other cultures as a basis. “I couldn’t walk up to the front door of a Japanese man’s home and say, ‘Hey, I’m here to date your daughter.’ I know you can’t do it in your world, so help me understand this meeting I assume you arranged for you and me.”
Yuñior used a set of tongs to turn the chicken in the pan. As the sound of meat sizzled, he sliced through the tomatoes, diced the cukes and slit the mango, squeezing the pulp between his fingers to draw out the savory juices. He had an answer for her father and one other answer that until that moment he hadn’t been willing to admit.
“What I am doing with your daughter is falling in love,” Yuñior said, offering a soft smile.
“Your father would never permit this relationship even if it’s what you want. I don’t want to see my daughter caught in the crossfire of some war between your cartels when you reject another Czar’s daughter in order to be with mine,” Arthur protested.
“You know a great deal of our way of life I see,” Yuñior said.
“I spent a number of years of time in my military service in Panama and Central America. I know of your father and your way of life. It is not a life I want for my daughter as your side piece,” he said. “Sir, I respectfully request that this relationship en
d as soon as possible and you leave her life.”
“No,” Yuñior said quickly, sliding the vegetables from the cutting board into a glass bowl. He removed the chicken from the skillet and blotted the pieces on a paper towel. He plated the meal, for not only Diadra, but also a second one for her father. “I’m working out the details, and I want her in my life. If I can’t work it out to a favorable outcome for all involved, then I shall walk away from my life in order to be with her. I can’t see living here though. I would have to buy a place in mid-town.”
Gunther sputtered.
Arthur got to his feet.
Yuñior didn’t flinch.
“Finding love in this world is very difficult. Finding love and living a life as me is a horrible experience I wish for no one,” Yuñior said. “I’m smart enough to recognize what I have found with your daughter. I arranged this meeting for us to meet so you could hear the words from my mouth that she is becoming the sun to my shine.”
Arthur’s lips pressed tightly together. The man was the son of a drug gangster who trafficked body parts, bodies, and women and children. The farm that he’d heard about in central Colombia was one of the major manufacturers of cocaine and leaf growers for the pharmaceutical companies over the past four years. Just because Eduardo Delgado was going legit and legal didn’t make them better people.
“Son, I don’t care. My daughter does not belong in your world,” Arthur insisted.
“I shall share with you one last thing before I depart. My words I shall leave with you and give you time to think it over before you tell your daughter I am no good for her and will only bring her pain,” Yuñior said. “Can we agree upon that much, Arthur the Parsons?”
“I’m not agreeing to anything at this point in the conversation.”
“Fair enough,” Yuñior said, opening a bottle of wine for the contents pressurized inside could breathe. “Four, was it four, Gunther, or five days ago?”
Becoming the Czar Page 3
