Page 35 of Falling for the Enemy

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“Did you make him suffer?”

Carmen’s hands shake around the glass of iced tea she holds, the question she’s just asked bringing with it memories I know she wishes not to revisit as Grandmama stands at the sink, washing the dishes we dirtied after she fried an entire chicken and forced us to eat enough to debilitate us both.

Lost in her own head, the loca old woman dances in place to music that only she can hear. The occasional shimmy of her hips and wiggle of her hunched shoulders is key in making Carmen smile despite the heaviness that has descended.

“Melendez didn’t die easily,” I answer honestly, uncaring of our one-woman audience. Everyone in Carmen’s life, including her son-in-law, a local homicide detective who is fully aware of the protection detail I always have on her, knows who I am. There’s no use in trying to hide it. “Neither did the scarred man.”

My fist clenches beneath the table, the mention of Pockmarked Pedro, the cartel lieutenant who ordered our mother shot the night Carmen and I were taken, beckoning my demons to rise.

Like Melendez, he died in agony, his intestines hanging from his body as I tore his throat open with a serrated blade, severing his carotid artery and nearly beheading him while he remained conscious.

But it still wasn’t enough.

For what he and Melendez did to my family, especially Carmen, they deserved endings a dozen times worse.

I regret only being able to kill them once.

Carmen nods, drops of dew from the glass sliding over her trembling fingers. It draws my attention to her hands and arms, the latter of which are covered in track mark scars, permanent reminders of the pain she was forced to endure.

That again, I should’ve been able to save her from.

“So what, he died, and you just took his spot?”

It’s a question I’d known was coming, but one I don’t know how to answer. As a boy, I wanted to be a policeman like Papá, but after being forced to become a cartel soldier, things changed.

No, I changed.

As a grown man, I’ve taken more lives than I can ever count. The blood that stains my hands from years spent as a trafficker and hired gun is vast. But I am not a lone cartel soldier, a conditioned boy turned vicious lieutenant, anymore.

I am now Jefe, a merciless Colombian kingpin whose demons have full reign. No longer possessing a sliver of redemption or salvation, I am a man many fear and that none purposely cross.

None except for one.

For the strings he tried to attach to me in a failed attempt to make me dance like a puppet, Stefano will die just as Melendez and Pedro did. Angelo, too.

Drowning in pain.

“I’m not a good man, Carmen,” I finally respond, repeating the exact words I’d said moments before walking her down the aisle. “I haven’t been in a long time, and I never will be again. My heart is too fucked-up, what remains of my soul too dark. But you will never fully see that part of me. For you, I will be as good as I can.”

Chin wobbling, the tears she’s fighting to stop from falling close to doing just that. “Outside of these walls, I don’t care if you’re a good man or not.” She reaches across the table, taking my hands in hers, her thumbs caressing my scarred knuckles. “Because to me, you will always be my sweet but hardheaded Hermanito, who I love with every piece of my healed heart.”

The boulder in my neck returns.

“Just make me a second promise.”

I clear my throat. “Anything you wish.”

She smiles, the upturn of her lips working to erase the sadness marring her beautiful face. “Promise me again that you’ll always come back to me.”

“On my life, I promise.” I lace her fingers with mine, the warmth of her palm against mine conjuring memories of when we were kids and would always fall asleep holding hands. “Nothing will keep me away from you. Not ever again.”

I mean every word.

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After spending the past few hours with Carmen and Grandmama both, the last thing I want to do is leave. But after receiving a text from Christian informing me he’s uncovered valuable information regarding La Famiglia, I must go.

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