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We all pause our conversation as the waiter approaches our table to drop off the drink order that the men placed before I arrived.

“Fernet con coca.” I take a sip of my drink. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have.” Andres is the one to respond. “I’ve delved into your family businesses, and I think it’s very feasible to merge our businesses together, dramatically increasing our distribution area.”

“Andres informed me that you were in charge of your father’s books,” Alejandro says to me, “because you have an understanding of the position, I think it would be best to bring you on as CFO at Marcano.”

“You don’t think hiring the daughter of a cartel boss is going to blow the cover that you’ve built with your enterprise?”

“The last photo I could find of you, you couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old,” Andres interjects. “My contact at the DEA informed me that they don’t even have a file on you. That, coupled with the fact that there must be several thousand Sofia Guerrera’s in Argentina, we’re both quite certain we’ll be in the clear.”

“My father ran his business in the open.” I pause to take a sip of my drink. “While I won’t blindly bend to whatever you ask of me, I will concede on this secret identity shit because it’s not something I know anything about.”

We spend roughly an hour going over the varied details of my new position and are about to wrap up our meeting when Alejandro questions, “Anything else we need to go over?”

“Just one thing.” My tone is sincere. “I need you to know that while I graciously accepted your help in keeping my father’s empire running, I am not a helpless woman.”

“We never—” I raise my hand to silence Andres.

“I know the financials of my father’s business inside and out. I’m not a woman afraid of being in power. I fucking love the control. He taught me at a very early age how to handle myself, and I am no stranger to having a gun in my hand. I’m no stranger to using it when necessary either.”

They both continue to listen in silence. “But my father never painted me as his successor to his men, and I learned very quickly that his men think they need a man to lead them. This arrangement is merely giving them that illusion. I have no qualms about doing whatever is necessary to keep control of my family’s legacy. Understood?”

“Understood.” Alejandro gives a solemn nod. “I’ve told you what Andres and I went through to retake control of what was taken from my father. We want to help you grow your legacy, not take it from you.”

“Good.” I stand from the table. “Then I will see you on Monday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find an entertainment cock.”

Andres nearly spits his drink at my words as I walk from the table.

four

GABRIEL

As strange as my interview with Mr. Marcano was, it paled in comparison to the outlandishly bizarre events that followed.

Following his instructions, I called mi madre to inquire about the things he felt she hadn’t told me. She refused to discuss anything regarding it over the phone and kept shushing me when I tried to press the issue.

Two minutes ago, forcing me to roll out of bed for the morning, she was ringing the buzzer to be let into my building.

Grabbing a pair of dirty sweatpants from the floor, I throw them on to greet her when she reaches my apartment. I pull open the door before she has a chance to knock, and she immediately pulls me in for a hug as she exclaims, “I missed you mijo!”

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what in the world are you doing here?”

“You wanted to know about your father.” She makes the statement as though that should completely clear up my confusion.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“The things you were asking aren’t safe to be discussed on the phone, mijo.” She pushes past me into my apartment. Her eyes judgmentally scour every surface that is undoubtedly not up to her cleanliness standards. “You need to find an esposa. Someone to clean up after you.”

“I don’t want a wife. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want her to clean up after me.” I grab a few handfuls of dirty clothes from the back of the couch and toss them to the floor in my significantly dirtier bedroom before pulling the door shut. “And don’t change the subject.”

“Si, your father…” Her voice trails off.

He was rarely around when I was young, as he traveled frequently for work. He passed when I was still a child, and even when I pushed, she never really wanted to talk about him or how he died. I only vaguely know that it was a work-related accident.

“We sheltered you when you were a child.” She pulls up a seat at the tiny, second-hand table that is used more for storing my mail than for eating. “Much of this is going to come as a shock to you.”

“The suspense is killing me,” I mock, knowing that my parents are two of the most mild-mannered people I have ever met.

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