Page 75 of Cartel Devil

“I’m all right, Dad.”

“Are you both—” He glances—glowers—at Joaquin. “Are all three of you all right?”

My mom hasn’t texted anyone since she got here. She hasn’t talked to anyone besides Joaquin and me. Either my dad noticed the fetal monitor the second he walked past the curtain—which is entirely possible—or they really did know already.

“All three of us are all right. Joaquin made sure of that. If he hadn’t been there⁠—”

The way Joaquin tightens his hold on my hand, it practically crushes the bones. He’s quick to ease the pressure, but I know he hates remembering whoever did this wanted the opposite outcome. My dad leans back and gives Joaquin the most penetrating stare—the one I’m certain he uses during interrogations—the one I’ve heard about but never seen before—before he extends his right arm. Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to take it. It’s obvious they’re measuring something other than hand size. Neither wants to break the hold.

My monitor starts beeping as my heart rate spikes. The moment it does, they release each other and lean in at the same time. They wind up bumping heads as they both aim to kiss one of my cheeks. My dad growls, and I’m the one who responds with a matching one. Joaquin chuckles as he leans back.

“It’s okay, chica. Like you said, this is the best place to dispose of a body. Your dad won’t leave a mess when he kills me.”

“Joaco! Not funny.”

“But you’re smiling.”

I am. I blow out a long exhale. Joaquin kisses my temple before straightening. Dad watches us before it’s his turn to sigh. Pure resignation. He’s clearly displeased that I’m with Joaquin, but he isn’t arguing against it. Being in a hospital wouldn’t keep him from letting me know if he disapproved. He’d just do it in Italian or Sicilian. After nearly forty years of marriage, my mom speaks both. Dad understands enough Irish to not die when he’s around his in-laws, as infrequently as that is.

“Thank you for protecting my principessa.”

Dad is the only one who’s allowed to call me princess. If anyone calls me a Mafia princess, they find out right snappy there’s nothing gentile about my reaction. I’ve broken fingers and noses for the insult. It’s never said with the respect due someone who serves the people of their kingdom. Someone who’s sacrificed for those people to have food, shelter, and security.

They see the mansion I grew up in not the virtual prison it was with armed guards patrolling the grounds. The exotic trips I took as a kid were more often than not a disguise for my dad’s illegal business meetings. The expensive cars that cost more than they could imagine because of the after-market safety devices. The designer clothes because it’s a constant keeping up with the Joneses among the syndicates, and you never know who you might run into.

“Tre and our child will always be my first priority. Nothing is more important than their safety and happiness.”

“Tre?”

“Yes, Dad. That’s what Joaco calls me. Just like no one else calls Mom Leenie.”

My dad and I stare at each other for a protracted moment before he nods. He steps back from the bed and wraps his arm around my mom, guiding her to sit on the chair she still hasn’t used.

“Mom said Uncle Tommaso and Aunt Stella are coming. Uncle Santi and Aunt Tori too.”

“They’re in the waiting room. When you’re up for seeing more people, they’ll come back.”

“Actually, Ms. Vizzini, your room is ready.” A nurse tentatively steps past the curtain.

“Thank you.”

Finally.

There’s a shit ton that still needs discussing, but none of us will bring it up in the ER with only curtains for privacy. The nurse moves around, unplugging things. When she flips the pedal that unlocks the bed, Joaquin grabs my IV and monitor pole. He’s careful to stay even with me, so nothing tugs at the needle in my forearm. His imposing size makes several people move out of the way rather than making him fall a step behind. My mom holds my hand while my dad has his arm wrapped around her waist. I’m certain we make an odd sight.

It feels like forever before we make it to my private room. While the nurse and Joaquin help me move to the room’s bed, my parents make quick calls to my family. Dad calls Uncle Tommaso to tell him they can all come up. Mom calls Tristano. He’ll let Rocco, Dante, and Edmondo, along with the other senior capos, know I’m in one piece. If things are about to get uncomfortable when Uncle Tommaso and Uncle Santi come face to face with Joaquin, they’d probably get violent if my brother and cousins showed up. There’s some bad blood between them and the Diazes.

I feel like I’m barely settled before someone knocks on my door. I dart my gaze to Joaquin who looks at the door before dropping his gaze to me. He holds out his right hand, and I gladly take it. I brace myself for whatever’s to come, but I doubt I’ll truly be ready.

Uncle Tommaso and Uncle Santino—Santi—walk in, each with their arm around their wife’s shoulders. Aunt Stella and Aunt Tori rush forward, each engulfing me in a hug before shooting Joaquin glowers that would make a lesser man wither. He takes it in stride. He lets go of my hand long enough to switch hands. He extends his right one once I’m gripping his left.

“La madrina, Mrs. Carosi.”

Joaquin dips his head to my aunts, and I wonder how much he knows about them. He knows to address Aunt Stella as “godmother,” and he defers to my other aunt with just as much respect. When he shifts his attention to my uncles, his manner shifts. It’s not arrogant enough to be considered smug, but there’s no deference. He’s twenty years younger than them, but he’s so confident in his family’s standing that he’ll bow to neither of them.

“Don Tommaso, Santino.”

“I should kill you.”