“But when she became pregnant, everything changed. She insisted on having the baby in California so you would be a US citizen, and that meant moving back to Los Angeles with me and living here most of the time while Amador managed the Mexico side of the business.” He sighed and shook his head. “He and I claimed it didn’t matter to us who the father really was, but Lola’s decision to move was the beginning of the end for the three of us. She tried to split her time between us after that, but it got harder and harder with each trip.”
Celeste is staring at him, and after a second, she gathers herself, shakes her head, and swallows her drink in several quick gulps. “The three of you were . . . together?”
“For more than a decade. She felt guilty about leaving me to go to him for extended periods, so she allowed me some . . . freedom. I took advantage of her trust. But it doesn’t pay to wonder whether she might have lived had I turned down her offer of an open marriage.” He turns back to us, his gaze resting on me for a second. “It is my oldest regret.”
I drop my gaze to my glass and take a sip, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Then I shoot a look at Celeste. She’s still in Maddox’s borrowed clothes, her hair mussed and tangled around her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, and my heartbeat thuds harder at the memory of how she looked when we made love. I want to take her hand, but she clutches them both around her glass, her knuckles white.
In a shaky voice, she asks, “Did she kill herself because you fought with Amador over me? Amador doesn’t believe it was suicide, you know.”
The sense that I shouldn’t be here at all takes over, but it’s too late to leave. I’m in the middle of confession central now. I keep my eyes on my drink. I’ve heard stories about her mother but only thirdhand through my brother, who heard them from Toni, who has been Celeste’s closest friend practically since birth. The gist is that Lola Flores took a trip to Mexico when Celeste was eight years old and never came home. When Arturo finally tracked her down, she was in a house she owned in La Paz, dead of a drug overdose.
“What he believes doesn’t make a difference. She is still dead. You are still not his daughter, mija.” Weariness has set into his tone. He doesn’t speak for several seconds, and I feel his eyes on me and look up. “You and your brother saved my daughter’s life. No reward would be too great. Is there anything you wish from me to repay you for what you have done?”
“Aside from resurrecting Gustavo so I can kill him myself?” I ask. Arturo gives me a grim smile, and I instantly know we share common ground. I glance at Celeste and exhale, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder. It’s way past time for more drugs. “If you were serious about what you ordered me to do when I came in—to stay by her side—then I need no other reward.”
I’m looking at her as I say it, and tears spring to her eyes. She reaches out to me, and I take her hand and squeeze. I wish like hell Manny didn’t have to die for me to have her, but I am determined to honor his memory by not fucking this up.
“You two should go rest and get cleaned up for supper. Elena is making a feast for us tonight.” We rise and are halfway to the door when he calls to me. “And Leo, if you need clothes, have Elena pull something from my closet until you can buy your own things. As my lieutenant, you will need to dress the part.”
I pause at that statement and turn back, meeting his gaze. The understanding of what he’s just given me sinks in. He didn’t even ask whether I wanted the job, yet somehow I’m sure I never had a choice.
I give him a nod and follow Celeste out the door and down the hall to her bedroom, wondering the entire way whether I ever had a choice about any of this, or whether fate has somehow snuck up on me and played some cruel, yet bittersweet prank.
22
Maddox
I am back at work the next day as if it’s business as usual and I don’t have several crates of illicit firearms stashed in the back of my garage. With Gustavo dead, J.J. has no contact left to help unload them. He insists he’s working on tracking down a lead to get in touch with Amador, but I’m more and more certain it’s too little too late after he ran with both the cash and the guns, no matter what kind of shit show the deal turned into.
Eventually, he gives up on that endeavor, and I wake up late one night a couple weeks later to find him hauling the crates into the back of a moving truck. New crates are stacked in their place a week later. As it turns out, he managed to track down a buyer, but the deal was never intended to be a one-time event. His military connection wants regular sales to happen, or J.J.’s head is on the block. He insists it’s fine, he’s got it handled, and at least it isn’t Amador this time, it’s some other cartel from some other part of Mexico. He doesn’t want a repeat
