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I rolled my eyes. “What do you think we should do?”
“It is your call, unless you think that you are not capable of making the calls on this situation.”
I frowned.
“You are healing—”
“I can make the calls, but I’m still riding on training wheels when it comes to global conflicts.”
“You think so. I disagree.” Kaz returned to Emilio and gently poked his cheeks. “What do you think, little cub? How did mommy handle herself in Italy? You were also there.”
“I didn’t truly handle Italy.”
“I am comfortable with saying that in comparison to my maneuvers in Italy and yours, you gained us more power and territory, and I earned us more enemies and news reports of bombings.” He looked back at me. “So in this situation, what would the Mouse do?”
“Jesus Christ.” I shivered and turned my view back to the congregation of artists.
One was a Black woman with streaks of yellow paint adorning her right cheek as if they were intentional marks of war paint. Her braids were pulled back into a messy bun that contained every shade of the rainbow.
Her canvas was alive with the image of Jackson Square, the iconic St. Louis Cathedral rising majestically against a backdrop of a sunset that bled purples, oranges, and pinks into the sky.
The way she captured the light reflecting off the ancient bricks made the scene pulse with an almost ethereal energy.
I swallowed and looked back at Kaz. “The Colombians are killing and exploiting helpless migrants and it’s fucked up.”
Instead of responding, Kaz kissed Emilio again, walked him back to the front of the stroller, and gently laid him down.
“Our son could have been born in Haiti or some other country in a messed-up situation.” Rage rose within me. “Who is looking out for the people that have no one and nothing?”
Kaz widened his smile and spoke to Emilio, “Do you hear that, little cub. I am about to marry Captain America.”
Against my better judgement, I smirked.
Barely six feet to our right, Max stopped Paolo by another artist and admired the man’s work.
Harlem chose that moment to piss on the street.
I checked out that artist. He was an older gentleman, whose beard was as white as the clouds above. He sat there, painting the vibrant life of Bourbon Street. His canvas was a riot of color, capturing the blur of people as they meandered down the famous street.
Calm washed over me.
Max probably felt the same way I did because he gave Paolo a few dollars.
Beyond excited, Paolo skipped over to the artist’s tip jar, dropped the money in, and then clapped for himself.
The artist gave Paolo a toothless grin and a deep voice left him. “Much thanks, young sir!”
Paolo ran back to Max and giggled.
Kaz got behind the stroller and began pushing it.
I strolled beside him. “Kaz, you can’t say it’s on me. You must give me direction.”
“You know me, mysh. What do you think I would do?”
Explosions detonated in my head.
I sighed. “I have a feeling that you would kill everyone.”
