Page 4 of Cartel King

“She’s still tired, but she’s not as pale.Tres J’sand Alejandro stay with her at night when Pablo can’t. She’s well taken care of. Our sisters are there so much during the day, I think your wife wants you home just for some quiet.”

Tres J’s—Joaquin, Jorge, and Javier—and Alejandro spend the night when our work keeps her son away. She insists she doesn’t need a man in the house to sleep well at night. With the shit that’s gone down among the top syndicates the last few years—especially after the shit my family’s played a part in—no one wants any of the women alone at night, especially not my sister-in-law when she’s not at full strength.

“They are exhausting.”

Alejandro snorts and rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. He knows neither Luis nor I would allow him to utter a disparaging word about his mother or aunts.

“Do you need to see me as soon as you get back? Or can you take a few days with Margherita?”

“Come by in the morning, and I’ll brief you on what’s most important. I’ll fill Pablo in on the rest when he’s here. You can sort it out with him.”

“Does Alejandro need to pack?”

“Not yet. Maybe next week.”

I look at my nephew. If we didn’t have a private jet, the poor guy would be in the multi-million-miler club with any airline. He claims he doesn’t mind traveling so much, but I know he’s growing tired of the constant travel.If going down there more often were safe forTres J’s, they’d split up the duties. But growing up there means they have a history that makes it better for those they left behind not to see them. Pablo has too many duties here in NYC for him to risk flying down there more than a couple times a year. So, the burden lands on Alejandro. It’s a good thing he has the broadest shoulders in the family.

I’m about to wrap up the call when Luis continues. I clench my jaw since the first word tells me everything.Hermano mayoris big brother.Manois just easier. He’s been saying it since he learned to talk, and I know what each tone means.

“Mano, you won’t like what you hear.”

Chapter Two

Ellie

The man is hotter than any I’ve ever met. I’ve never had a type, but dark-haired guys outnumbered blonds in the past. However, I spent twenty-seven years married to a guy who started out blond. The asshole’s mostly white now. Those men in the dusty part of my memory were nothing like Enrique.

He just ran past my driveway, and he’s a sight to behold. Holy mother. The man’s built like a god. I don’t know if it’s natural and working out keeps him that way, or if his fitness routine makes him that way. He’s run past my house every day for a week. There’s a park at the top of my street that marks the end of my neighborhood. From the speed he runs, he must take at least one loop around it before turning around. It doesn’t take him forty-five minutes to come back because he’s a snail.

Even from my garage where I’m working out, I can see the muscles in his thighs and calves bunch and release with each step. His shoulders are thick and broad. It took all my effort not to stare at the divide between his pecs that was noticeable through his t-shirt the other day.

I’m not one who loves tats, but his arms have detailed works of art. The one starting low on his neck makes me want to investigate what’s under his shirt. I don’t know if he saw me watching him yesterday, but he was a house up from mine when he pulled up his tank top to wipe his face. The man’s abs—fucking-a. They arechiseled.

Today’s workout included Pilates instead of weights, so I was on my reformer. If he glanced over here, he probably thinks I’m nuts. My feet were in the straps above me, and I did shit that likely looked like I was trying out for Cirque du Soleil to anyone who doesn’t know Pilates. From a distance, I probably looked like they wouldn’t even take me as an understudy.

I might have turned my rowing machine around before I started working out this morning. I might be facing the direction he’ll come from on the way back. And I might be praying today’s the day he runs past without a shirt on.

As much as I find myself daydreaming about him, once I start my erg workout, I’m focused. I wish I was on the water, but the closest place is still a bit of a drive from here. If I’m not swimming, then any kind of rowing is my happy place. I focus on nothing but my breathing and my rhythm. It clears my mind. It’s also passing the time before I recognize the speck at the top of the hill.

I catch myself before I wipe my forehead on my shirt, but as I look down, I realize I’m pretty much in a puddle of sweat, anyway. There’s not much dry on my shirt to use. I grab the towel I laid on the weight bench, dry myself off as much as I can, and snag my keys from where I left them. I get to my mailbox just as he becomes recognizable beyond the red shorts he’s wearing today.

“Hi.”

I turn toward him as I pull the envelopes out. I’m still breathing hard, and he looks fresh as a daisy. He didn’t pant that word, but I fear I’ll barely choke my response. My heart’s racing, and it’s only partly leftover from the workout.

“Hey. How’re you?” I think I sound normal.

“Hot.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

“Looks like you had a good workout, too.”

He grins at me, and I want to melt into the ground. He thinks I’m a sweaty mess. I shouldn’t have come out here like this. I feel like an idiot.

“I did. The weather’s perfect.”

“I noticed your erg the other day. You’re a rower, aren’t you?”

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