She’s My Queen

22. Say you’re sorry

22

SAY YOU’RE SORRY

SEVERIO

C orrado and I spend the morning on the phone switching between several different secured lines so as not to have our entire conversation in once place. As we comb through the assets and the ledger, it becomes clear Gio’s gotten himself involved with traffickers more than I originally suspected.

If he sold the hotel along with the restaurant Cristina works at to any of the traffickers, the island itself will become a turf war hotspot. As it stands now, they’ll soon find out I took everything, and since they’ll report to the head of their South American organization, who is in an Order of his own, this could escalate into a major conflict. Their Order and ours don’t do business with each other, and we stay out of each other’s way.

Gio knew this. He broke the rules. Created the potential for a dangerous conflict. I intended for every business on the island to become entirely legitimate. We needed a prominent front like this one, especially the hotel. I’d like to bring in a few cruise ships with casinos too.

But running legitimate business requires playing by the rules, which means I must produce deeds. Clean paper trails. The moment we forge something that we claimed was legitimate, we disrupt the bureaucracy, taint the business, and endanger our wealth. Since our currency is wealth and power, the Order branches remain separated.

I’m adamant about keeping the businesses I chose as fronts for our laundering operations legitimate. Sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s not. Gio knew this. It’s one of the points of disagreement between him and me. Gio’s plans for the Serpentine Order could’ve made them all richer, that’s true. But my way would make us both safe and rich.

A trade-off most powerful people understand.

Cristina’s dad’s detailed bookkeeping showed me that he and Gio muddied nearly every legitimate business they established. It was careless and stupid, and if he wasn’t dead already, I’d have to end him now, if only to stop him from recklessly endangering us all.

It’s almost noon when I hang up with my brother.

I searched the office while on the phone with him, and I wasn’t able to locate the deed to the hotel. Without it, the businesses in the resort are as useless to me as they were to Gio. I’m thinking now that he broke apart the entire resort after selling the hotel. And I have no idea to whom he sold it. There’s no trace of the sale anywhere.

Regardless, we have our best people on it, so if there’s something to be had, they’ll find it.

The antique wall clock chimes at noon, followed by the church bells. I stand from the office chair and stretch before walking to the window and parting the blinds.

I observe the heavy traffic, families moving to and from the beach, a dad with two kids loading groceries in the car he parked in front of my house. A few minutes later, he pulls out, leaving the parking space empty. I wonder how long before another person slides in, thinking they can get away with parking in a spot clearly labeled as private.

I don’t have a car, and even if I did, I have better things to do than argue with random birds over parking spaces.

My leg starts to hurt, and I rub the back of my thigh where the wound is, feeling the dent in the skin. From my pocket, I grab a few over-the-counter pain meds and pop two with a glass of water.

Two people pedaling a tandem bicycle park in front of the house. Cristina is in the front; Drago’s in the back. He’s wearing a pair of plastic sunglasses and a gray sun hat and is holding three paper bags full of groceries. Green kale leaves stick out from one of the bags and block half his face.

I step outside, hands on my hips.

In front of the bicycle, Cristina sits with her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. She swings her leg off the bicycle, flashing me her panties. They’re baby blue. I grind my teeth at the sight of them. It could’ve been anyone she’s flashing.

That damn dress.

“Aww, let me help you with that.” She grabs a bag from Drago. He’s still sitting on the bike, keeping it in place.

Cristina enters the gate, walks down the path, and climbs the steps, and when I see she’s marching along and not acknowledging me, I reach behind myself and open the door for her.

“Welcome,” I say.

She mumbles something I can’t make out.

“What was that?” I turn to go after her, but she kicks the door with the back of her heel and slams it in my face.

Drago climbs the steps and stands beside me, two paper bags in his hands. “Get the door, would you?”

I swing it open.

As he walks in, Cristina walks back out.

“Hey,” I say. “Where to?”

She’s by the bicycle, grabbing more groceries from the front basket. These she starts carrying toward the west wing, where she’s been staying. I take them and jerk my head. “In the house. Now.”

She flips hair over her shoulder, a clear sign she’s upset with me, but enters the kitchen in the main house.

The she’s not my girlfriend thing did it. Or was it calling her a fuck toy?

In the kitchen, Cristina and Drago work together to put away the groceries. Drago takes them out, and she puts them away. Once done, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a brown bag with a pink unicorn logo. He sticks his hand inside and pulls out a piece of twisted sour blue candy.

I recognize it immediately and extend my hand.

He puts it in my palm.

“How was the market?” I ask.

Drago shrugs. “Flooded with tourists.”

I open my mouth to bite into my candy when Cristina snatches it right out from under my nose.

“I’m making you lunch,” she says.

“I’m legit worried now.”

“You should be.” She rises on her toes to put things away, and that dress keeps riding up her legs. If it shows the curve of that fine ass, I’m going to make it so red, she won’t sit on it all day.

Drago disappears through the back.

“What’s your problem?” I ask her.

Cristina ignores me.

“I know you heard me,” I say.

“I did.” She closes the cupboard with more force than necessary. Not slamming it, but close enough.

“Then answer me.”

She pulls out a large plastic cutting board and dumps fresh fish into the sink. I peek into the sink to see what kind of fish she selected. The kind I like deep fried.

“Cristina,” I warn. “Why are you giving me attitude?”

She pulls on latex gloves, takes out a meat axe, grabs one fish, and chops off its head, all the while staring right at me.

“Pay attention so you don’t chop off your fingers.”

She does it again.

“I swear to God, if you continue with this petulant behavior, I’ll put you in the corner on time-out.”

She pauses.

“I mean it. Quit.”

“Say you’re sorry.” Her eyes water.

Ah fuck. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m apologizing for, but, knowing me, I’m sure it’s a lot of things.

Cristina nods and works quietly. After a few minutes, a smile tells me her mood has lifted and she starts to whistle as she preps the lunch. She’s so focused on what she’s doing that I think she forgot I’m still in the kitchen.

Cristina is beautiful, made more beautiful when she’s happy. My arrival hasn’t made her happy, my intrusion on her life even less so. She’s lost her father, almost married my uncle, who then got assassinated. Worst of all, she’s stuck with me, and her mother isn’t here to comfort her.

I wouldn’t wish a relationship with me on my worst enemy. Unfortunately, I’m staying with her, and it bothers me that she hates it.

Once the meal starts cooking, she sets a timer and leaves the kitchen.