Page 122 of Cartel King

“Here you go—Elodie.”

He hesitates, unsure how he should address me. After all of this, especially since they probably guessed what the couples were doing upstairs, did he think he should call me Ms. McCann?

He looks to Enrique who looks at me and shrugs. I don’t know what’s going on between them. I shift my gaze to everyone else at the table, and the other men in Pablo’s generation are looking at me just as questioningly.

“Pablo?”

“I was just wondering if—should I call you—um?—”

“You can call me Elle if you’d like.”

That puts him at ease a little more, but I sense there’s something else. I look around and settle my gaze on Alejandro. I don’t know if it’s because of our initial encounter or there’s something about him in particular, but I seem to have a soft spot for him. Maybe it’s because I know he’s always been an only child. Until a few years ago, Pablo had a younger brother.

I wasn’t always an only child, but I became one when I was in my early twenties. The car accident that killed my brother was a hit the Volkovs put on him. I suppose I have more in common with Pablo, but I felt like an only child long before my brother died because once he started his training in middle school, he was never around. Maybe because I’ve felt that way for so long there’s a kinship. I innately understand what the others don’t because, as far as I know, Margherita isn’t an only child. I can’t imagine being in her position, though, having lost a son, even if Juan deserved it. Not that I would ever say those words aloud.

“We—um?—”

Even Alejandro seems at a loss for words. It’s Joaquin—I’ve already deduced he’s the shyest in the group—who finally explains.

“Even at our age, we still call everyonetíaortío. We wondered if we may call youtía.”

“Of course you can. Thank you.”

That brings a lump to my throat because, even if their parents don’t accept me, they do. That’s a step in the right direction. Perhaps it’ll be enough to bring their parents around if their children can welcome and trust me.

I’ll take whatever bones anyone’s willing to toss at me right now. After all that’s happened tonight, the fact that none of them are chasing me out of the house is a success I’ll gladly accept. I take the seat Pablo offered me next to his mother, and Enrique helps ease it under the table for me. He hesitates before walking to the head of the table and taking his place there. It would almost seem cliche if he didn’t look like he belonged there so much. It’s the same as it was when he sat behind his desk the other day.

The conversation remains fairly light as the men eat. I pick at the food that appeared in front of me. Fortunately, it was a far more reasonable size portion than what any of the men had. Constantine joins us and lays beneath my chair. How he fits places like that is beyond me, but he barely makes a sound only snoring once in a while. He’s merely happy to be with me again.

When the men finish eating, I expect them to head back to Enrique’s office. Instead, the younger men move to the living room and turn on the TV. It’s my generation that heads to Enrique’s office. It surprises me that Luciana, Margherita, Catalina, and I are all involved in this conversation.

I remain quiet this time, slipping into one of the two armchairs rather than waiting for Enrique to bring a chair around beside him. However, that doesn’t work when he avoids his desk and comes to sit on one of the three love seats in the office.

I vacate the chair I’m in, and Luciana takes it. I move to sit with Enrique, and he takes my hand. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and I wonder what he’s preparing to tell me.

“Do you know who did this?”

“We suspect who’s behind it, but until we speak to him, we can’t be sure.”

“Is it Tommaso?”

“No, though he might be involved.”

“Tim?”

“No, I considered it, but I don’t think it’s him.”

“You would have told me right away if it were the bratva or the mob. You’re hesitating, so that tells me Mafia. That leaves Salvatore. Is he responsible for this?”

“We believe so, but we’re not entirely sure how because it involved the Trenton mob as well.”

“So, it involved the O’Rourkes, too?”

“No, Gareth O’Brien worked independently from the O’Rourkes even if he used one of their buildings to hold Catalina.”

“Could it have been them working entirely on their own?”

The three men snort in unison.

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