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The second the line disconnected, I was hit with every emotion in the span of seconds. From anger to sadness to despair to giddiness at him missing me, and then loss. Javier’s mother is dead, and it tore me in two for different reasons: selfishness and understanding.
Selfishness because I’ll never meet the woman that made him who he is today.
Understanding because I’ve been where he is now with someone I loved deeply.
My grandmother was taken from us out of pure selfishness, a hit gone wrong against Malcolm’s dad not knowing that the passenger in the car was old and here for a simple visit.
One bullet and my Mimi was gone, leaving us here to grieve and later demand the blood of every person involved. From the financial institution’s owner—a competitor trying to force us to sell—to the hired shooter: they paid with their lives and that piece-of-shit company.
“Alexa, call Malcolm!” I yell out, grabbing items in a rush before stuffing them in my bag. I’m not even sure what’s making the cut, but my goal isn’t organization here; it’s speed.
The first ring barely finishes when an audible click follows. “What time is your flight?” he says in greeting, not sounding surprised in the least. Not upset either.
“Haven’t booked it yet.” I grab my passport from a small safe I keep in my closet along with two guns and other important papers. “I’m packing now and just heading—”
“The jet will be ready when you are. Do you need a ride?”
My eyes narrow at the speaker. “Why are you being so easy about this?”
“Because he needs you more than I do at the moment, little cousin.” My eyes tear up, but I blink back those tears. Very few people ever see the softer side to this man, but those closest to him have the privilege. Malcolm shows he cares with actions, and this right here is his way of accepting Javier as family.
Not just as an employee. Not just as someone I’m casually dating.
Are we dating? Is he my boyfriend? The title doesn’t sit right with me. Doesn’t describe his place in my life adequately.
“I’ll still be available for scheduling and meetings through Skype. Refreshments can be catered and—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” I pause mid-zip of the carryon luggage, my eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. “You know we can’t have a temp in there. People are nosy, and I’d hate to go to jail this close to my birthday for killing a snitch.”
“Mom’s covering.” Thank you, Jesus! She held the position before me, helping her husband run Asher Holdings until the day he stepped down. “We’ve already discussed the upcoming week and moved a few things around.” The sound of papers being shuffled comes through the line, followed by the creak of a chair. “So don’t worry about anything.”
“But when—”
“Not another word about work.”
“Thank you,” I breathe out, letting the worry about work melt away. If anyone can run that office better than me, it’s his mother.
“Just make sure he’s okay and knows we’re here if needed.” With that, he hangs up and I smile. His acceptance of Javier makes me feel at ease—comforted by the knowledge that someone I admire finds him worthy.
“Welcome to Colombia,” a man greets me with an outstretched hand the second I exit the airport. He’s smiling, dressed all in black while a younger, female version of him stands against a black F350, studying me closely. No smile. No frown. “How was the flight?”
“Emiliano or Alejandro?” I ask, remembering a photo Javier showed me of his cousins one day while scrolling through his phone. They’d sent it to him and after I accused him of being stuck-up, I was shut down with the snapshot in question. All three were standing side by side with goofy drunk grins, but I was too busy staring at Javi to understand who was whom. He’d been younger in the photograph, but still just as handsome while wearing that grin I hate to love.
“Emiliano, Miss—”
“Mariah. Just Mariah.” His grip is firm before dropping my hand and grabbing my bag, motioning with his free hand to get inside. “You want the front or back?” I ask the girl, but she doesn’t answer, choosing instead to climb into the second row and buckling up.
I know who she is and why she’s upset.
It’s hard to lose someone you love—watch them take their final breath—while another close relative moves away without plans for a return. So many changes for a girl still in her teens surrounded by blood and carnage—her life path paved by the choices of others.
She’s a victim in this. A survivor of a night that killed one and left the young woman with a scar she’ll forever carry.
I see so much of myself in her.
And while my father didn’t directly pull triggers or slice throats, he did lead many toward their demise.
