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Graciela swooped in the moment Ruben was dead and instantly took control of the organization. It was so thorough and fast that it had to be planned ahead of time.

Either that or she’d been secretly the brains behind the throne for years.

I never got an explanation and it never mattered.

The fallout from Ruben’s murder was ugly. The police got involved as they tend to do when someone gets brutally killed. Lawyers descended on the case, crooked cops were paid off, detectives were bribed, and in the end there were no charges filed and Ruben’s death was ruled an accident. It was about the most corrupt failing of the justice system I’d ever seen. I loved it.

Now that the black pall of the legal issue is gone, Carmine’s here for an official visit.

“And you, Doña Graciela. I assume you speak on behalf of the Escalante?”

“With full authority,” she confirms.

Carmine seems to accept that without much fuss. He surveys us and I keep my hand on Marisol’s thigh, unable to stop myself from touching her. It’s been like this ever since Ruben was killed and I found her huddled beside the dumpsters covered in blood, injured, shivering, and afraid.

I can’t let her out of my sight. It’s an obsession, making sure she’s safe.

Letting her follow through with the plan she cooked up with Graciela was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Never in my entire life have I let anyone I care about put themselves in that level of danger.

But Mari made it clear that she wouldn’t accept any other way. And I had to admit, there was some sense in her reasoning: Ruben would underestimate her. He’d let her get close and wouldn’t bother checking her for weapons. Anyone else and he’d instantly be on the offensive. But not little, weak Marisol.

I should’ve gone instead, but getting Cruz was important to her.

It worked in the end.

And there’s no way in fucking hell I’ll ever let her do something that reckless again.

She’s still dealing with the emotional aftermath of getting attacked by her own cousin.

Carmine’s attention turns to me. His face is stern and hard to read. I know he’s unhappy about the drama down here and my position within the corridor has been hanging by a thread.

But I have no regrets. If I had to go back, I’d do it all over again.

Because I have Marisol now and there’s nothing in our way anymore.

“I can’t say it’s how I would have handled everything,” Carmine says, a smile creeping to his lips as he puffs on his cigar. “But it does seem that you handled it.”

“Yes, I did, Don Scavo.”

“Well done then, Don Serafino. It seems our business association will continue for some time.”

“Here’s to forever,” Marisol says, raising her glass. “And to close friends.”

“I prefer business partners,” Graciela mutters, but everyone drinks.

More promises are made. Details are hashed out. Graciela is surprisingly knowledgeable about the corridor and all the logistics involved. She makes a few small concessions to Carmine and he agrees to increase his monthly purchase numbers. When the meeting is over, Marisol and Graciela talk quietly together in the parking lot while I linger back with Carmine.

“It was a close one,” he says softly, not looking unhappy. “But you pulled it out.”

“Nearly killed me.”

“I always had faith.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, not always, but we’re here anyway.” He grins and shakes my hand. “It’s a corridor first. Then it’s bigger shipments, deeper partnerships, until we’re both old men, fat, happy, and rich, with enormous families to dote on.”

“That’s a good dream.” I gaze over at Mari and try to imagine our life in the future on the ranch, filling every available room with more children, and maybe grandchildren one day. “But we have a lot of product to sell first.”