I don’t see any point in beating around the bush, so I just come right out with it. “Julian Santos needs to die.”
Arturo is mid-pour from the crystal decanter of single malt he keeps on a sidebar. He doesn’t even look at me, but keeps pouring a little longer until two glasses are half-full. He hands me one and takes a deep breath, his expression pinched. He doesn’t speak; instead he rounds his desk and sits in a supple leather chair with a slight groan.
I get impatient and step to the edge of the desk, setting my glass down with a clank. “I know you fucking agree with me. I think you’ve wanted to do this for a long time; at least that’s what my brother suggested. Why the fuck isn’t that bastard in the goddamn ground already? Or fucking rotting out in the desert somewhere? Is it because of some useless promise you made to our mother? Jesus Christ, you saw her. He did that to her! What the fuck are you waiting for?”
I point at a wall, not even sure whether I’m aiming in the direction of the hospital. Arturo’s gaze follows my finger and his face goes pale. He stares in that direction for several seconds, and I finally can’t help but look myself. I realize I pointed straight at the portrait of his dead wife, a brunette beauty in a red evening gown. I don’t know much about Lola Flores other than that her death was the catalyst for everything.
I sit and grab my glass, taking a long swallow of the liquor. I only feel a little guilty about not savoring the stuff, but he can afford more. Arturo looks like he’s still trying to find the words, as if somehow Lola has the answers. I decide to goad him a little more.
“You know, he didn’t start beating us until after Elle was born. That’s not to say he wasn’t still an abusive asshole, but it was never physical until then. My brothers and I were big for our age. We could take his punches, but Mom always, always took them for us if she was around. He never once laid a finger on Elle, though—at least not that I know of. I think he always knew she wasn’t his. I think he knew if he touched her, you’d rain down hell on him.”
I take another sip, and a bitter laugh slips out after I swallow. “But you didn’t see her today, did you? You’ve never seen the burden she bears for our family. Mom might be our shield, but Elle is our fucking soul. If she breaks, we are all fucking broken. She’s always been a strong kid, smart as a fucking whip, but today . . . today I saw her close to breaking, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s on you, because—”
“Enough!” Arturo bellows loud enough to make me jump. I glare at him and he shakes his head, glaring right back. “You’ve made your point. I’ve spent too long abiding by Marcella’s wishes. I respected your mother—I even loved her once. I still care deeply for her. So I believed I owed it to her to keep my distance even though every time I saw her, she seemed more and more fragile—a shell of the strong, beautiful woman she was when we were young. I will do this, but not for you. For Marcella and for Elle.”
I sit back with a self-righteous smirk. “Right now’s a good goddamn time. He’s too wasted to put up a fight.”
He shakes his head. “Now is not the time. He’ll be back on assignment soon. He could easily make arrangements to stay, but if he’s the same man I remember, he’ll run from his duties here like he always has.”
“Mad would know. He said something about the old man only sticking around through New Year’s. But yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him to use the Marines as an excuse.” A bilious wave of hate rises up and I down the rest of my whiskey to quell it.
Arturo nods. “Leave it to me. It will take time but it will be done. The right way.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the right way is his head on a pike. You have no idea how close I came to doing it myself earlier.”
He stands again and takes my empty glass, refilling it before handing it back and returning to his seat. “It’s fortunate you didn’t, if you care about your family. There would have been significant blowback on them, regardless of any evidence of his abuse. And as his widow, your mother will benefit more if he dies while in service.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I think everything through, Mason. I only waited because I knew your father had never laid a finger on Elle. But you’re right. I just hope I didn’t wait too long. Now, you should go prepare for your trip. I don’t want to risk the intel making it into Amador’s hands. He could easily destroy both our families, if he learns what Zavala has on us. I may have let down my guard with Lola, but I refuse to put my daughters’ lives at risk. I’m sure you understand.”
As strange as it feels to find common ground with a man like Flores, it gives me hope that I have less of my father in me than I thought. I shouldn’t look up to the man who sits across that heavy wooden desk, but he’s the first role model in my life I truly respect, and some small part of me regrets not getting to know him a lot earlier in life.
I finish my drink and stand, setting the empty tumbler on his desk. “I promise I won’t let you down, sir,” I say as if he’s my CO and I’m taking his orders, not Wyatt Booth’s, or whoever funnels the DEA’s instructions through him. Flores is the one whose opinion
