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“Don’t take it personally. It’s the nature of his beast.”
I return to my desk and try to go on about my day, which consists of turning all my projects over to Helen, who hates me.
Sometime after lunch, Daisy visits and I make her tell me all about her date. She tells me how she wishes he was less polite and more forceful. She says he’d be the type of a guy who would ask if she were okay while he fucked her, and she wouldn’t want that. I tell her she’s lucky and should keep him because on the opposite end of her man is the man who expects absolute obedience for fucking her without apology.
I don’t think Daisy would trade her freedom for some fun in the sheets.
And that’s the problem with conceding to Corrado. Once you give yourself completely, he’ll take over everything, then depart along with your heart, leaving you walking around New York like a zombie, unable to function without him dictating your every move.
As I grab my purse, intent on going home and making that lasagna I said I’d try, I consider all the ways Corrado’s already taken over my life. Somewhere between my desk and the elevator, I decide that I want a night for myself.
I catch up with Daisy and ask her if she wants to go out. Excited, saying she hasn’t been out with a girlfriend since high school, Daisy agrees.
She takes me home so I can grab a few things, then we go to her house to change and get dolled up.
I haven’t been out clubbing with girlfriends since Katie left for Jamaica. I miss her, and Daisy’s cute, bright face is just what I need to let loose tonight.
35
WHERE IS MY WIFE?
CORRADO
The tension at the back of my neck is killing me, and the pain is spreading down my shoulders. It feels like someone’s holding a bucket of molten lead above my head and pouring it over me. I’m having to endure it because lead solidifies into armor and makes me stronger for having outlasted the pain.
Ever since I landed in Mexico, I’ve had to carry this proverbial lead armor around my body and mind so that the pair of cartel bosses I’m meeting with can’t see what I’m thinking after they told me about the dealings of the Benvenuti family as of late. Domenico endangered himself and the Order. In order to uncover his dealings, I’ve had to fly deep into cartel territory.
The bosses would come to New York, but one of them is on house arrest and can’t meet me anywhere besides at his sprawling mansion on the beautiful Mexican coast. But even with the gentle summer breeze, the dry heat, and the booze, as well as the lovely notes of the Spanish language spoken around me, I can’t relax.
Turns out the reason the Benvenutis’ profits of thirty percent more year over year for the past three years has been because they’ve been working with the US agencies against the cartels.
Once the cartels ship their products, the Benvenutis make a move. Sometimes, they work with the DEA to seize parts of the shipments, and other times, they pay local enforcement to turn a blind eye so they can keep the drugs for themselves. In either case, the cartel doesn’t get paid.
When the bosses don’t get paid, heads roll and people die.
The cartels have their own laundering system, and mainly they’ve formed their own secret society similar to ours, which recruits mostly in Mexico and South America. For the sake of world peace, we stay out of each other’s way.
Jose and his brother, Pascal, sit across from me, each smoking a cigarette with such enjoyment, it makes me want to snatch one and stub it out on their cheeks. Briefly, I wonder if that would make me not want to kill Dom, who approached me about his father’s trafficking business to distract me from finding out about his involvement with the agencies.
I wonder if other members of the Order helped him. I wonder if he used agency members in the Order to facilitate stealing from the cartel. I stew on the fact that the Benvenutis have been compromising the Order for years, making us wash the cartel’s money. What’s worse, this is a relatively new cartel and one I’m unfamiliar with.
“You see how this is a problem for us, Mr. Mancini?” Jose asks as he stubs out his cigarette.
I rub my neck and twist it a little, hoping it’ll crack. It does, and I’m relieved. If briefly.
“You have pain in the neck?” Pascal asks.
For a moment, I consider lying, but decide against it. “Yes.”
“I have something for pain.” He raises his hand and calls over a pretty, dark-haired woman.
Maria wears a white bathing suit on the bottom, nothing on the top. He tells her something, and when she approaches me, I glare at the man. “We’re in the middle of a meeting, and I don’t appreciate distractions.”
Pascal’s expression hardens. I’m sure he’s unaccustomed to being spoken to in the way I addressed him, but he needs to understand I can’t be swayed, bought, or distracted. He’s not worried about my neck pain, that’s for sure.
Pascal lights up another cigarette and leans back in his seat. “No problem. After the meeting, you will sample our hospitality.”
This sounds like an order, and I almost laugh. Instead, I take a sip of my beer, eyeing Jose until he flicks his wrist at the woman, who leaves.
