Page 52 of Hot-Blooded Killer

“Hola, Papi!” Marco shouts, his chubby little legs pumping furiously as he runs into my father’s house. “Donde esta, Papi?”

“Don’t yell, Marco,” I tell him. “And remember, we’re speaking English right now.”

“Yes, Mami,” Marco says, lowering his voice momentarily before he takes off running through the house again, calling for his grandfather at the top of his lungs.

I laugh and shake my head as he races up the staircase.

My father steps out of his upstairs meeting room, catching Marco under the arms and swinging him around before settling his grandson on his hip. They lean over the railing on the landing and wave to me.

Then Papi sets Marco on his feet and pats his diapered bottom. “Mariana has fresharepasin the kitchen, I believe,” he tells Marco. “You should go get some.”

Marco bounds back down the stairs and takes off toward the kitchen. My father follows him more slowly down the staircase.

“What are you doing up there?” I ask.

He gives a wave of his hand. “Preparing for a meeting with El Toro.”

I work to keep my face expressionless, but he knows how I feel about his boss, Mauricio Velazquez, the leader of the Los Kappas cartel.

He was Uncle Mauricio when I was growing up, but since I’ve been old enough to know exactly what El Toro does—and what my father does for him—I’ve rarely bothered to hide my opinion of the other man from my father.

Under other circumstances, my father could’ve been a kind, gentle man.

He still is most of the time, especially with me and Marco.

But I know that he kills people for El Toro. So the best I can do is keep my opinion of Mauricio to myself.

Papi slings an arm around my shoulder. “They’ll be here any minute. If you want to avoid seeing El Toro, you should probably join Mariana and Marco in the kitchen.”

“Gracias.” I flash a smile at him. He drops a kiss on the top of my head, and I make my way into the kitchen to wait out the arrival of the cartel leader and his lieutenants.

In the kitchen, I join my father’s housekeeper as she prepares empanadas for dinner.

Since my own mother died a decade ago, Mariana has stepped into that role as much as a servant could, so I’m glad to have the time to spend with her, catching up on the local gossip.

I wait until I hear all the men arrive and head up to the conference room Papi has ready for them, and then I go to Marco’s room to put him down for his nap.

I stare down at my beautiful angel as his eyes begin to drift closed, glad that he and Papi have such a wonderful relationship now.

I wasn’t always sure that would be the case—especially right before he was born, when I refused to tell my father where to find Marco’s father.

The truth is, I hadn’t known.

I still don’t.

I’d been in Bogotá at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia studying English when I met and fell in love with an amazing American man.

Freddie Goodman.

Truth be told, Freddie was the reason I now insisted on teaching Marco English. Someday, I hope that Marco will have the opportunity to meet his father.

Assuming Freddie is even still alive.

I run my finger down Marco’s cheek. He looks so much like his father.

Quietly, I tiptoe out of the room, making my way to my own bedroom, the one Papi keeps for me here, even though Marco and I have our own apartment.

I’ve just stretched out on my bed for my own siesta when I hear Marco’s door creak open. I expect him to come into my room and crawl into bed with me as he often does, but instead, I hear the sound of his feet slapping against the stairs as he runs up them again.

---