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And while I’m not a saint nor will I ever be one, I do believe in progress. In giving back to those that have nothing as I do business with both sides of the coin. You give and take, keep balance.
Something Quintero hates. Loathes how easily I’ve made myself into what he’ll never be.
Rich.
Powerful.
Feared.
I’m the devil they run from—a criminal in the eyes of their law—but loved by those whose stomachs would go hungry without me.
“We’re in position, brother. Waiting on your signal.”
My eyes shift to the Piguet watch on my wrist and wait. The building where the president currently sits is about seven blocks from here and has the perfect view to witness my retaliation. The SUV’s TV is playing the end of a soccer game on a local channel. The referee blows his whistle while holding up a yellow card, and the transmission goes into a commercial break. A family restaurant, a national event, and then my father’s name flashes across the screen as piano music plays in the background.
Pressing the two buttons on the right of my communication device, I wait for the beep that signals Emiliano is on the line.
“Listo?”
“Hagale.”
Not ten seconds pass when the first of five bombs go off, each one louder than the last. The justice building goes up in flames, the sky a plumage of smoke and fire as the evidence the state has on my father withers to ash. No more using his memory to further campaigns. No more using our name to bullshit these citizens.
The device in my hand beeps three times a minute later, and that’s the signal everyone’s gone from the scene. Emiliano will take a different route, meeting me back at my place here in the city, while the others have different safe points to spend time at. Where they’ll be seen to create alibis.
My eyes shift back to the screen, and I watch as old footage of my father in handcuffs plays out. Lines are fed to the nation—lies that make him and his father looks like saviors and my family to be terrorists.
Newspaper headlines.
False facts.
Empty promises made off the back of a now-dead man.
I’ve been your president, my family a part of yours, and now I ask that you trust me once more. Please vote yes on amendment one for a change to an outdated constitution. Together we can make history. We can clean up the streets of these modern-day narcos and make them safe again for future generations to come. Our country deserves to be safe. You deserve peace and prosperity.
“Take me back to my apartment, Geronimo, and take the scenic route.” Sirens drive past us, heading toward the engulfed building without so much as looking toward my bulletproof vehicle. They’re in a rush. Hoping to contain something that won’t be easily stopped. “There’s much to enjoy.”
“Yes, Patron.”
15
I HAVEN’T HEARD from him in a few days.
Not so much as a note, and it makes me unhappy. A bit moody.
I’m missing him, and it’s messing with my head. It makes my chest feel tight.
“You look beautiful, Sol,” my mother says, entering my room, and I give a small jump in my seat in front of my vanity. How did I miss the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor outside? “Are you ready to head down?”
“Almost.”
“Baby, please look at me.” The sadness in her tone causes my heart to clench and I sigh, looking back over my shoulder and meeting her eyes for the first time in days. “I don’t have much time.”
“For?” Her smile slips at my one-word response and practiced grin, shoulders dropping, but I don’t have more in me to give. Not when I still feel the sting of her betrayal. When she’s lied to me.
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Turning my attention back to the mirror, I apply my lipstick, a red shade that brings out the hints of blue in my eyes. The combination works for me, and the small moment of satisfaction fades when I remember that Alejandro won’t be here tonight to see it for himself. To tell me how beautiful I am or how he can’t deny himself a taste.
