by Sasha Leone
So, then why does he want to marry me?
Before I can think better of it, I ask that question out loud. I immediately regret it. Dante was about to turn around and leave me be, but instead, he pushes his face a little further through the thick steel bars.
“Who wouldn’t want to marry you?” he teases, his words purposely vague.
“You...” I respond, though I know it’s only wishful thinking.
“Wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re useful. You were useful to my brother and now you’ll be useful to me.”
Pain rips through my chest. Angel’s proposition wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was far kinder. I remember those old times with a sweet coat of nostalgia. “Some good I did your brother.”
Dante gurgles out a greasy chuckle. “He failed because he was weak. I’m not going to make the same mistake. Two years ago, I wanted you for different reasons, but now I’ve seen the light. You’re nothing but a tramp, and tramps don’t deserve kings.” His bony fingers squeeze tighter around the bars of my cage.
A part of me wants to spit back at him that I’m not a tramp, but I know that would be stupid. Someone has clearly talked Dante out of wanting me for personal reasons, and I’m not going to try to undo that mindset. I may not be safe under his cold hard grip, but life under his wandering hands would be even more unbearable.
I shudder at the thought of Dante forcing himself on me, and thank my lucky stars that at least one thing has changed in my favor.
“I agree,” I whisper, trying not to challenge his view, but my curiosity is pushing more out of me, and I can’t quite seem to stop myself... Plus, if Dante is as impressionable as he seems, then who’s to say I can’t try to change his mind on our wedding?
Before I can contemplate whether or not talking him out of marrying me would put me in more or less danger, the words are out of my mouth. “But what good could marrying a tramp do for a king.”
Dante hesitates to answer. His eyelids open and close in slow blinks like he’s trying hard to remember the reason someone else told him. Finally, it seems to catch up on him. “Because this country is filled with tramps,” he sneers. “You’re one of them, and if I’m going to get them off my back, I’m going to have to show them that I’m not so different... even though I am.” It’s obvious that Dante doesn’t quite grasp the master plan, but it’s clear to me. He wants to use me just like Angel did: to fix his image.
But there’s no fixing Dante. “They don’t like you now?” I quietly taunt.
“They don’t have a choice,” he hisses.
“Then why are you trying to please them?”
Dante’s gaunt cheeks compress against the bars as he lunges forward. Despite the thick grey poles separating us, I can’t help but flinch away; that seems to satiate Dante’s anger for the time being. An evil smirk crosses his bar-framed face as he revels in my fear.
“You know, you’re worth far less than I had once thought. If it wasn’t for this marriage, I might have already started sending pieces of you to my brother in the mail.”
The horrific imagery sends a frigid chill skating down my spine. The only thing that keeps me from violently shaking is the knowledge to call Dante’s bluff—he doesn’t even know where Angel is, so where would he send my body parts?
“Lucky me,” I grumble, more to stave off my own fear than to inflame my captor.
“You have no idea. If I had bought you all those years ago like I’d originally wanted to, then you’d be long dead by now. There’s no way I would have put up with your shit for long...”
The confusion caused by Dante’s statement is enough to blanket my terror. If I had bought you all those years ago like I’d originally wanted to... “What do you mean?”
That evil smirk of his returns. “Stupid girl. Didn’t you recognize me? I recognized you...”
My cold heart starts to beat faster as I remember how oddly familiar Dante had looked that first night at the compound. “Where did we meet before?”
Dante chuckles. “I knew Barella was wrong when he said you were smarter than you looked.”
The monster seems to enjoy my struggle to pick up on what he’s getting at. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you are a dumb whore.” It looks like Dante’s about to tell me everything, before he thinks better of it. Knowing him, he’s decided that keeping the truth from me is even crueler than revealing it.
“I’ll see you at the alter,” he hisses, pushing himself back from the bars. “Double security!” those are his last orders before he disappears around the corner and slams the door shut behind him.
10
Angel
I try again.
My aching hands tingle as I flex my fingers around the burner phone I’ve been using to try and get a hold of Juan with.
It’s been three days now, and I haven’t heard anything. He gave me this number before our attempted rescue of Catalina in the slums, but so far, no one has picked up. I don’t dare leave a message—the last thing I want to do is blow Juan’s cover. He’s my only tether to Dante’s organization right now, and that means he’s my only source of information on Catalina.
Catalina...
I failed her again.
My lightly burnt hands don’t hurt nearly as much as my crushed heart, and my heart doesn’t even feel as heavy as my mind does.
... Our child needs you.
The meaning of her last words seem obvious, but the specifics are impossible to grasp. The only two people who could tell me what the fuck is going on are nowhere to be found; the last I saw of them, they were surrounded by corrupt cops.
As frustrating and heartbreaking as all this is, I haven’t been able to wallow in my misery for long. Instead, I’ve been busy at work, enacting the plan that Juan and I conceived during our reunion.
The line rings and rings and no one picks up, but I can’t quit now. Catalina still needs saving, and apparently so does our child.
I’m a father...
It hardly seems real. I haven’t seen a baby, I wasn’t around when Cat would have given birth; I don’t know the details of how any of that works with Dante in the mix... So, I try my best not to think of it.
When my call goes to voicemail, I hang up in frustration. What the hell happened to you, Juan?
“Sir, would you like to speak to the crowd?” Jesus stands in the doorway of my makeshift underground office. I’ll forever be grateful for all the help him and his boys have provided me—they were integral in getting Catalina out of Dante’s limo in the first place—but we’re not done yet.
After our failed rescue attempt, those of us left reconvened on the outskirts of the city. There we decided that we should set up shop in the tunnels that Juan had shown us. That way, we’d be closer to the revolution.
That’s right. A revolution.
That’s the plan. At least, that’s what Juan and I came up with.
The people of this city—hell, of this country—are sick of the cruel corruption that Dante has openly flaunted during his short reign—they want an end to it, to him, and to all the politicians and generals who’ve allowed him to grow so powerful.
I pat Jesus on the shoulder as I brush by him. “I probably should. Where are they waiting?”
“Just on the surface, sir.”
“Do we have an escape route planned out, in case things go south?”
“Yes sir, this area is perfect to disappear in. There are three nearby escape hatches that lead back underground.”
“And you’ve made sure they’re all open?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.”
It’s time to address the first of my revolutionaries.
We called on a few of them earlier, to start a fire on the street where we knew Dante’s men would be driving Catalina down, and then we called on those few to spread the word of my return.
Jesus follows me down the main tunnel until we get to a crossroads, then he leads
the rest of the way. A few hundred yards down a winding path, we’re greeted by a ladder that leads up to the surface. Jesus checks to make sure that his gun is fully loaded and primed before he starts climbing. I follow close behind, weaponless.
If I’m going to be a messiah to these people, I’m going to have to play the part. That means no violence from me, not yet. I’ll lead by example eventually, but right now, it’s my words that are most important.
All of those board meetings and business calls I took before my empire crumbled may actually be of some use, if they prepared me for this in any way.
I step out into the daylight and warm sunshine blinds me for a slow moment. When I blink back into focus, I see the crowd waiting for me.
There must be two hundred people packed into the cobblestone terrace hidden away in the far corner of this hillside slum. All eyes are directed on me. I puff out my chest and step up onto the boulder that will be my podium.
“The coast is clear,” Jesus whispers into my ear. He sits on a residential window sill behind, along with another bodyguard. I gaze out onto the silent crowd and notice that even more are watching from their own windows.
I have quite the audience. Good. I’ll need this entire town at my back if we’re going to defeat Dante.
“Introducing, Mr. Angel Montoya!” Jesus booms from behind me. In a split second, the crowd goes from reverentially quiet, to raucously loud.
My first instinct is to flex my fists, ready for a fight, but the tone of the event becomes instantly clear.
They’re cheering.
I let them shout and clap and wave for a moment, before I raise my palm to the sky and they quiet back down. It’s hard for me to believe how well this is already working, but I also know that it hasn’t truly been an easy or quick task.
While I was away, Juan was hard at work, secretly sowing the seeds of my return.
“Some of you may have read about me,” I start, as a hushed stillness comes over the crowd. My voice echoes through the terrace and down the alleyways. “Some of you may have heard your neighbours whisper my name. I am here to tell you who I truly am. I am here to tell you what I stand for.”
Without turning from the crowd, I reach back towards Jesus and he hands me a newspaper. It’s opened up to a page that has that same picture of me and Catalina that I found in the alley behind Stefan Mendoza’s building. I read the headline out loud. “Where has the mysterious billionaire gone? Could he save this city’s soul?”
Mumbling criss crosses the restless crowd. I let them stew in anticipation... all while I try to tear my eyes away from the photo of me and Cat. Heartache fills my heavy chest, but I push it away.
Use that pain, Angel. Let these people see that you are just as sick of all of this as they are.
“The author of this article does not answer his own headline,” I continue, waving the newspaper above my head. “Because he could not. There is only one person who can tell you where I went, and that is me...” A small cheer erupts at the back of the crowd, but I don’t stop. “There is only one person who can save this city’s soul.” I pause for effect. The air fills with anticipation. “And that is not me.”
A groan washes across the restless crowd; I can feel the air being sucked from the terrace. I let it dwindle down until it’s almost gone, then I step back in. “I cannot save this city’s soul. Not alone. There is only one person who can save this city’s soul, and it is not me... it is you!”
The crowd erupts with applause and a shiver of adrenaline works its way across my skin. I flex my singed hands—at this moment, there is no pain, only determination. “Together,” I shout through the roar. “We can uproot corruption, we can defeat evil, we can take back our country!”
The ground shakes and the shanty buildings sway as the crowd cheers and stomps and reaches for me.
I stand tall and let them release their pent-up frustrations. From what Juan has been telling me, life has been hell for these people since Dante took over.
Not only has he enacted a strict curfew, he’s also ordered the destruction of property, public executions, and extorted money from local businesses that simply can’t afford the shake down.
These people haven’t been able to fight back, and their politicians and police men have all either been bribed or threatened into subservience.
But through all that shit, Juan has made sure that a golden mythos has found root. When I was exiled, my old advisor immediately went to work. His brilliant idea? Take the public good will that I was fostering for business matters and use it to set the stage for my comeback.
He used his back-door connections to multiple newspaper agencies and promised them protection from Dante if they agreed to write favorably about me. Dante, of course, quickly caught onto this and went after the publications, but Juan helped them go underground. So, Dante banned newspapers from the slums. He halted their distribution and made it a punishable offense to be found with one.
That, of course, explains why Dante’s men didn’t recognize me when I first returned. Any mention of me among the lower tier of his organization was met with harsh penalties.
Dante may not have seen what Juan was trying to do, but Enzo Barella sure did. He tried to nip my mythos in the bud, and he mostly succeeded.
Mostly...
Dante, though, couldn’t stop newspaper distribution to the richer areas of Cali—the people who live there are too influential to accept such an overstep onto their comfort. Sure, Dante could terrorize the poor, but fuck with a CEO or banker’s morning read? That might be cause for termination.
According to Juan, Enzo Barella told Dante to allow the rich people to have their newspapers, as long as he stopped the poor from getting theirs. The poor were the real threat, they had the numbers and they had nothing to lose—out of everyone in Cali, they would be the most useful to me... if I were ever to be endeared to them.
What Enzo didn’t think of, however, sitting on his throne all the way over in America, and what Dante was too spoiled to recognize, was that while the rich and poor of Cali live separately, they do not work separately, not entirely.
The cooks and the cleaners and the nannies and the folks who come downtown to get their hands dirty also get those same hands on these newspapers, and they’re liable to bring word back to the slums.
There is hope. His name is Angel Montoya.
And now, he has returned.
Spread the fucking news.
11
Angel
“That went well.” Jesus smiles as we head back down to my underground office.
He’s right. In fact, it went far better than expected. By the end of my speech I was confident that I could count on every man woman and child in that crowd to fight for me if I asked.
But still, the little victory is spoiled.
Away from the limelight, I’m left to think only about my failures—my empire, Catalina, a child, and all the things I don’t know.
That quickly changes when my phone starts ringing.
I immediately answer. Only one person knows this number, and I haven’t heard from him in days.
“Juan?”
“How was the rally?”
Fuck. If he’s already heard about it, then that means someone else in Dante’s organization probably has, too. We don’t want word spreading too fast, otherwise we risk Dante setting fire to the hillside. If he quells this resistance before we can get it going, then everyone will suffer greatly for it. Cat included.
... Our child.
“You better have some answers for me!” I growl, excusing Jesus. I slam my office door shut and start to pace.
“I have a truckload of them,” Juan responds. “Let’s meet. Can you be back at the ruins by nightfall?”
“Yes... How is Cat?”
“She’s fine. We’ll talk.”
He hangs up before I can ask any more questions. There are still a few hours until dusk, but I don’t waste any time. A child of mine could be out there, in dange
r, without his or her mother or father...
God, I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.
Curiosity threatens to eat me alive as I make my way back to the burnt-out ruins of my old jungle compound. The sun sets softly but a hard determination comes over my peeling skin. When I stop long enough to think about it, my hands start to ache, but I never have long enough to linger on the pain. For the first time in my life, I’m more focused on the pain in my chest, in my heart, in my soul.
I show up at my old palace just as the bottom tip of the sun is disappearing beneath the horizon. The eerie golden light that washes over the charred and overgrown ruins fills me with a sorrowful nostalgia. I’m almost nervous. So much has changed; so much continues to change.
If what Cat said was true...
A child.
“Yo!”
Juan spots me before I spot him. He’s already over by the jungle wall that borders what used to be a vast lawn. I kick myself for getting lost in my daydreams of the past, if Juan wasn’t a friend, he could have easily gotten the drop on me. If I’m going to succeed in reclaiming what’s mine, I’m going to have to be more vigilant.
“Where are we going?” It’s one of the least important questions I want to ask, but it’s a good enough start.
Juan starts walking and I don’t hesitate to follow him. “I don’t have much time,” he explains. “Dante’s in town and that means I’m on call, but I have to show you something. We can talk on the way.”
I immediately jump forward and grab him by the shoulder. He turns around and I get right in his face. “No more pussy footing around, Juan! I should have asked on the phone... What’s this about a child?”
Juan’s head drops like it weighs a thousand pounds. The last thing I want to do is snap at the only friend I have left, but my patience only goes so far, especially if it involves a potential family. “I’ve been waiting for days, Juan,” I explain. “Cat’s words have been tearing me apart.”
Juan takes a deep breath before finally looking me in the eye. “Catalina had a child when you were away... your child. A boy.”
