Page 38 of Rubies and Revenge

“I think we should shut down.”

“Absolutely not.” I throw the brush at the tile, and it clatters across the floor without breaking. I wish it was my phone. Or Marcus Accardi’s skull.

“They’re slinging slurs, Tamayo.” She breathes heavy as if she’s running around the club, trying to put out fires she didn’t start. “Customers are walking away, and they’re for fucking sure telling others to stay away.”

“We can’t shut down.” I pick up the brush.

“Then what the fuck are you gonna do about this?” she snaps.

My voice lowers in warning. “Angela.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she scolds, like she’s my fucking mother, not three years my junior and reporting to me. “The paint over those tags is barely fucking dry, and now this? The Den is supposed to be a place for our people to be themselves, to feelsafe. It’s theirs as much as it is yours.”

“I know that.” I spit the words through grinding teeth.

“So take it the fuck back,” she says.

A pause as long as the distance between me in my compound and Angela in Den of Inequity stretches out in silence. I knowshe’s worried. I know she’s right. I didn’t open the Den just to sell drugs or launder money, though those are added benefits. I established it for the exact reason she said—safety in queerness. Whether they’re part of the Tamayo Family or not, any queer is welcome in the Den.

No one should be punished for who they are.

I close my eyes and breathe in deep. “Okay. Get everyone inside quickly—no cover tonight. I’ll send a team to remove the delinquents and keep a rotation out there to escort patrons when they exit. If news is spreading, I’m not worried about capacity, but if it becomes a problem, call me.”

She doesn’t speak for a long moment. “That’s barely enough.”

I glance to the suit hanging on the door, waiting for me to step into it and out the door to Casa Nostra, where the most powerful people in the city gather each night. “I’m working on more.”

“Fine. But I will shut our doors to protect our people and the Den if I see fit.”

I release a heavy breath. “Fine.”

“Fine.” She hangs up.

“God damn it.” I immediately dial the capo in Sallay and instruct her to take her most trusted to the Den to remove the Accardi pests. They won’t be Accardi soldiers, though. Not even Gallo soldiers. None of the attacks have been directly linked to either family, most of the assailants are desperate people who were likely paid inadequate sums to harass the Tamayo Family into submission.

As if some run-of-the-mill harassment is enough to scare me, us. I’ve spent my life functioning in a shitstorm to the point that clear, sunny days are abnormal. And my family is made up of people like me. People who deal with inconvenience bordering on violence every goddamn day. Church protestors spent months picketing outside the Den of Inequity when it opened. Slurs have been painted, stamped, and carved acrossTamayo Family businesses since their inceptions. It will take a whole lot more than this to intimidate us.

But the frequency is beginning to piss me the fuck off.

I rub across my fade, the texture soothing me. The Tamayo Family crow tattoo on my back carries a noose in its beak, the ink and its obligation heavy on my shoulders. As soon as I’m ready, Darius and I will leave for Casa Nostra. Which is hopefully where the “more” I promised Angie—and myself and my family—will finally come into play.

I apply pomade to my hair, towel tied around my hips, bathroom choked in steam from my shower, as my brain flips through strategy for tonight. Part of me wishes Zarina were coming, too. This is her world more than mine, much as I loathe to admit it. She knows the players, understands the game in a way I don’t yet.

But I can’t afford the distraction that is her, and Darius had a point on Sunday. Zarina will know too much by the time our deal is up. Anything I can do to limit that knowledge is in the best interest of myself and my family. I swipe mascara over my lashes and dab a bit of concealer under my eyes to hide the puffiness from a lack of sleep. I pull on my briefs then my gray suit and button it up until it feels like I’m dressed in chainmail.

I stride out of my bathroom, slip on my Doc oxfords, and stuff my gun into my waistband before taking the stairs two at a time.

Darius stands at the garage door. “Angie called.”

Of course she did. “It’s taken care of.”

“For now,” he says, like I need a reminder.

I sigh. “For now.”

We push into the garage, the lights already on. “Ready for tonight?” he asks.

“Ready as I can be.”

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