Page 17 of Tide of Treason
Staten Island’s waterfronthad been renovated to a modern, almost luxury complex of townhomes surrounded by security gates and armed guards. Most of it was built to hold Cartel soldiers who’d been stationed there, but we also had access to a gym and lounge area. That was where Abel and I were now. Lifting weights and bitching about the things stressing us out.
“She’s pregnant,” he suddenly announced, wiping his cheek on his wrist.
The barbell stalled an inch off my chest. Water I’d meant for my mouth overflowed the bottle, sluicing across my knuckles and dripping to the rubber mat. I set the weight on its rack, wiped my palm down my shorts, and propped a hipagainst the counter.
“You don’t look thrilled.”
“I’m happy.”
“You don’t look happy.” I raised a brow. “You sure it’s yours?”
Silence.
“That was a joke,” I clarified. Abel knew I didn’t doubt him. But he still stared at me like I’d just stepped on his dogs. Grinning, I rubbed my chest. “Congratulations, you lucky son of a bitch.”
He finally cracked a smile.
He spoke. I listened. About the baby, about Marisol, about all the shit that came with impending fatherhood. He looked tired and happy and stressed to all hell. I tried not to think about the way my heart squeezed. Abel talked about the baby room, the names they picked out: Levi for a boy and Lieve for a girl. I asked what he thought it would be, and he said every time he placed his ear over Marisol’s stomach, it sounded like a girl.
He also wanted a boy, though, so either way was fine with him.
“This means no more night raids. I made the captain a promise. I’m doing my duty, which is fine. All that free time will go to protecting them. It just means . . .”
“It’ll slow you down,” I finished.
“Yeah,” he said softly, clearing his throat. “A little.”
The gym was empty, save for a few rookies standing in the corner and doing the exact same thing we were—bitching.I capped my water bottle, swigged a mouthful, and let it sink in how far we’d come from our days in the rat infested alleys, sleeping with knives under our pillows, always half a second from death.
Back then, he’d only ever had me. The same way I only ever had him.
Now he had the pretty, pregnant wife, the nice house, and the high rank. He’d got himself the life he’d always wanted. Good on him. I was never in it for the long haul anyway. Every time I tried to imagine a life outside the grind, the image fuzzed at the edges like a bad signal on a TV set. Static and snow. The only thing that stayed clear was the weight of a gun in my hand. Doesn’t matter. I knew Abel well enough to understand he wasn’t in any hurry to give up on our brotherhood.
I rolled the chilled bottle across my temple and stared at the floor. “I’d say we get a few drinks to celebrate, but I have my own problems.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
“Can I help?”
I laughed, shaking my head.
“You’re engaged to the wrong one,” he said plainly.
“No. I’m engaged to thesafeone. That’s the point.”
Abel and Itook a walk after that conversation.
The compound was almost paradise in such a desolate place. Waves smashed into rocks, gulls crooned like a bunch of horny teenagers. Those sounds, however, were quickly replaced with screams and shouts instead.
We came to a stop at the port behind the compound.
The ship was just like any other large cargo: a metal hull, rudders and propellers on the side, two masts with rigging, and cargo holds in the middle. The men in charge of handling the shipment were all members of the Cartel, though they wore nondescript jackets with the logos removed to prevent detection or scrutiny. They’d be wearing Kevlar and carrying guns on the inside, but the average onlooker would consider them an ordinary dockworker.
A few had the nerve to look sick over what they were carrying. Most were stone-faced as they carried them off shore. Enzo Sforza wasn’t exactly the most patient don in the world, especially when it came to his crates packed with coke and trafficked souls, so failure wasn’t on the table.
On the outside I was calm.
