Page 141 of Cartel King

Two women?

I guarantee they have knives. I also guarantee if they fight, it won’t end until one of them is dead. It doesn’t matter where they are, who’s here, or what they’re wearing. The men might fight till first blood. These women will fight till last blood.

I listen to the conversation as it nears a standoff. I’m confused about how they don’t know each other. I glance up at Enrique, and I know in an instant he orchestrated this. Somehow, he ensured the O’Rourkes went through the receiving line directly ahead of the Mancinellis. He made sure Jesus’s daughter and her O’Rourke date were at the end of the family pack. He knew they’d run into the Mancinelli underboss and his wife. This unpleasant confrontation will get back to Jesus, and it’ll complicate his life tremendously. Enrique banked on that.

Enrique’s arm tightens around me as we watch the women negotiate moving their conversation somewhere more private, and the men in their lives exchange anxious glances before agreeing to step out of the reception. I won’t say anything to Enrique until later, but I don’t appreciate him usingourreception forhismachinations.

“Chiquita, it was inevitable they’d meet. No, I didn’t orchestrate them coming through the receiving line so close together. No, I didn’t expect them to challenge each other practically to a duel right here. But I knew it might cause a scene, and I know Jesus is up to his eyeballs in shit right now.”

“You risked all that to inconvenience Jesus on our wedding day. The man isn’t even here.”

“But his son and daughter were along with his niece. He may never repair the damage that just happened to his relationship with his children. He should’ve thought about that before keeping those secrets. While he’s distracted with that, he won’t pay attention to you.”

“Enrique—”

“Ellie, I didn’t plot this. I didn’t use our reception as a guise to lure those women into an argument. That’s how life unfolded. I made the best of it.”

“You could have warned me, so I didn’t stand there, looking lost in front of strangers.”

“Your composure was impeccable.”

I stare at him for a moment. I get a lot of this life is aboutcarpe diem. If you don’t seize the day, you not only miss opportunities, sometimes you wind up dead. I don’t begrudge him that.

“Just keep me informed, please.”

His hand trails down my hip from my waist, over my ass to my hand. He’s discreet as he cops a feel then laces his fingers with mine. He brings the back of my hand to his lips.

“I’ll do better. I’ll need reminders.”

“Thank you.”

I turn toward him, and people tap their knives against their glasses. I’m happy to kiss the man of my dreams.

Enrique encircles me in his arms, and the moment our lips meet, the rest of the world melts away. We’re not indecent, but we don’t care who watches. Our foreheads press as we break the kiss. The evening passes with food, toasts, and dancing. We cut the cake, and neither of us considers smashing it in the other’s face.

That just isn’t us.

But we might have licked frosting from each other’s fingers when we fed each other. I toss my bouquet, and a young woman I don’t know catches the flowers. From the corner of my eye, I notice Javier observing her. She’s connected to the bratva, but I don’t know how. It’s not by blood. I can’t tell if they have a past, but something tells me fate made her catch the bouquet.

Enrique wishes our guests goodnight, encouraging them to enjoy without us. I’m certain the three other families will since it’s an open bar. They’ll drink just to run up Enrique’s bill. All the men are as massive as the Diazes, so they can easily manage three drinks to every other person’s one. The Russian women have been drinking vodka since they were five, and I’ve heard the O’Rourke women used to get a tipple of whiskey in their sippy cups.

It was a relief to see the O’Rourkes welcome Kathleen, even if they weren’t warm to Frank. She’s still one of them at heart. Her cousin, Donovan, once led the family, but we’re all better off for him being dead. She blends in with Donovan’s sisters like she’s the fourth one. She sounded more like the younger generation’s aunt than an alienated cousin-once-removed.

“Are you ready, little one?”

Enrique helps me onto the super yacht moored at North Cove here in Manhattan. We’re taking our time sailing down to the Caribbean where we’ll spend three weeks on a private island he just gifted me. I wasn’t sure what he handed me when I looked at a land deed, then aerial photos.

“So ready,papí.”

He opens the door to our cabin, and I realize he meant for more than just our honeymoon. To the left is a Saint Andrew’s Cross, and to the right is a spanking bench. At the foot of the bed is a swing I point to.

“That. I want to try that first, Daddy.”

He’s already sliding the zipper down my modestly cut but ornately embroidered ivory gown. He pushes it down to find I’m only wearing a garter belt and thigh highs.

“You’re leaving those on. You’re sexy as fuck, little one.”

I help him out of his tux. He’s gorgeous as sin, and every single woman—and several of the married ones plus a few guys—noticed.

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