Page 140 of Cartel King

“Not if I tell them it won’t.”

“You know that’s not how it works. They’ll resent me and question you.”

“Ellie, I’ve beenel jefefor thirty-four years. I’ve lasted longer than nearly anyone else anywhere in this hemisphere. I’ve been questioned, doubted, and resented the entire time. I’ve also put the Cartel ahead of me in everything. Every decision I make is with everyone else’s wellbeing in mind. I considered them before I pursued you. I’ve thought about the organization and my family throughout this. I’m not pussy whipped. You don’t lead me around by my balls. My love isn’t blind. I know I’m a better man and a better leader with you by my side.”

I’m hard again. No surprise with Ellie on my mind and her body next to mine. I draw her over me, and she takes me into her slick cunt. I cup her ass as she rests her head on my chest. This is how we’ve always been meant to be.

One.

No end.

No beginning.

“I love you, Ellie. Whatever comes up, we’ll figure it out together. But the future—ours personally and the organization’s—is us united as one.”

“I love you, Enrique. I’ll stand beside you when I can. But I’ll also stand behind you to support you whenever you need me.”

“Plan your wedding, little one. I’m marrying you in a month.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

It’s only mid-morning, but we doze off. Syndicate life is back to homeostasis, but Ellie and I are just beginning our life together. There’s no direction but forward. I’ve been a king on his throne alone. Now I have the perfect queen to rule alongside me.

Epilogue

Ellie

There have been seven momentous days in my life. The day I married Tim. The day I killed someone for the first time. The three days I gave birth. The day my divorce went through. And today—the day I married Enrique.

Three I could’ve lived without. Four are days I will treasure above all else.

Today is the only day without fear or trepidation. Today is the only day with absolute certainty and peace of mind.

The past month has been a haze of activity. I had a manuscript to finish, which I fell behind on. It released last week, and I’m still riding the high from that. Wedding planning was—interesting.

We’re in NYC. Every company I contacted from the reception venue to the florist to the baker—everyone—practically laughed in my face when I said my wedding was in four weeks. Until…

The name Enrique Diaz means even more than I realized in this city. He’s somewhere between a man and a myth. Whether he’s known for his legitimate wealth or the rumors about his ties to the underworld, everyone I spoke to became far more helpful once I shared my fiancé’s name. Amazing how that worked.

“Have I told you how happy I am,cariño?” It’s what he calls me in public now.

“I think you did, but I can’t remember.”

He kisses behind my ear as we take our place in the receiving line.

“Blissful, little one. Happier than I knew was possible.”

“I feel the same,mio caro.” It’s what I can call him in public.

We greet our guests. I’m friendly with most people, but I understand this is as much about business as is everything in our lives. Enrique and I are the producers, directors, and stars of this Off-Broadway show. I have a role to play now asla patrona. It’s the same as Stella and Sylvia Mancinelli play asla madrinaof theirCosa Nostrabranches. They’re the Godmother, and I’m the Lady Boss. Whatever our title, it means the same thing.

I stand beside Enrique, an ice queen to outsiders when I must be, and the arms of compassion and mercy when it’s needed within our community. Right now, I’m somewhere in between.

I greet our guests, and when the Kutsenkos and O’Rourkes arrive, I pray none of them recognize me. It surprises me when I recognize Jesus’s daughter accompanying the last O’Rourke through the line. Enrique keeps them chatting as Salvatore and Sylvia enter the ballroom. Salvatore and I have met a couple times, but we mostly know each other by reputation. After my conversation with him last month, I’m uncertain how he’ll react to seeing me again, even if he knew he would.

I watch the other Mancinellis enter, and my gaze lingers over a woman with the Mancinellis’ underboss. I shift my attention from her to Jesus’s daughter. I hide my confusion, knowing I’ll ask Enrique later. The conversation soon answers some of my questions, but I’m only left more bewildered.

The women are ready to draw blood when they confront each other. I don’t need a fight at our reception. Certainly not one between two women. The men may all have at least a knife, but they aren’t carrying their guns. If they get in a fight, they’ll throw some fists, and someone’s bound to be stabbed. But they’ll stop when they remember where they are.

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