The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(146)

“Why, what’d they do now?” Marcos mumbled in Spanish as he came in through the back door, bare-chested and barefoot, looking as rough as the rest of them.

Chuito gestured to the hallway, and Marcos walked around the corner. He stood there, frowning until a door closed. He glanced back to Chuito and pointed down the hallway with a look of confusion.

“Apparently it doesn’t count,” Chuito explained. “One-night stands are like shaking hands to the Italians.”

“Well, it was just once.” Marcos shrugged off the shock. “And they were both totally f*cked-up last night. It happens.”

“You’re not pissed off he f*cked your tiá?”

“Man, if I got pissed off at every muchacho my tiá f*cked, I’d have to hate half of Miami.”

“Marc—”

“Let me wake up,” Marcos said as he made himself a cup of coffee. “Then maybe I’ll get pissed off with you. I’m hungover.”

“Make me a cup too,” Chuito said as he sat on one of the stools in the kitchen.

Marcos pulled back. “What am I?”

“You’re the motherf*cker who’s gonna make me a cup of coffee.”

That apparently worked for Marcos as he gave Chuito an unamused look but pulled down another cup from the cabinet. “At least one of us benefited from getting f*cked by the Italians. Hopefully it rocked her world.”

“He said he was gonna buy her a Ferrari.”

“Wow.” Marcos gave Chuito an impressed smile. “Go, Tiá.”

“Really, Marc?” Chuito put his face in his hands, because he didn’t understand his mother and Marc’s relationship any more than he understood anything else about his mother. “What happened to Fernan? I thought she loved him.”

“She dumped him. Dios mio, the phone was ringing for three weeks.” Marcos groaned. “He even called me. Like I have some sort of control over what she does. You know, Chu, you’d be a much happier person if you just let your mother do what she’s going to do. Let her enjoy life without worrying about hearing it from you.”

“Why can’t she settle down?” Chuito mumbled to himself and then gestured to Marcos. “Even you settled down.”

“Men are, without exception, all pendejos. If my tiá is making a habit of using them and tossing them away when she’s done, I’m good with that. At least she used the Italians for once instead of the other way around. I’m glad she f*cked him. Score one for the Boricuas.”

Chuito just took the coffee his cousin offered him and drank it despite the burn. The two of them sat there in silence, trying to wake up. The house looked like a bomb went off in it, and they discussed cleaning it.

They drank a second cup of coffee instead.

It was past ten, and everyone else was still sleeping.

One of the bedroom doors finally opened, and Chuito looked down the hallway, expecting Alaine or Nova. He got his mother instead, looking pressed and perfect as usual in an expensive kimono silk robe.

Her eyes weren’t bloodshot like the rest of them, as if she was completely immune to the hardships of life.

“Buenos días,” Marcos said with a grin.

“Buenos días.” She stood on her toes and kissed Marcos’s cheek. Then she made work of straightening his hair. “Dios mio, chico, Katie will leave you if she sees you looking like that.”

“My wife is very happy this morning.” Marcos wagged his eyebrows at her. “Sorta like you. Have a good night?”

“Mmm,” she agreed with a hum and then turned to Chuito, but he dodged her before she could kiss him. “What?”

“I know where your mouth’s been,” Chuito said with a glare.

“Oh, please.” She looked genuinely insulted. “I don’t do that the first time. I didn’t even do it for Fernan, and he had three months to earn it.”

Chuito just rolled his eyes in response, and his mother grabbed him and kissed his cheek before he could pull away.

“Don’t be kissing him anytime soon, though,” she added as she walked away.

Marcos laughed and then added, “Why do they kiss each other? That’s so weird to me. It’s not just brothers. It’s associates. They’re in my shop all the time. They all do it. They kiss the other guys in their crew. Can you imagine walking up and kissing Luis’s cheek when he came over? I mean, our people hug. We’re not gringos. We’re affectionate, but the Italians—” He held up a hand to Chuito’s mother. “You see what a handshake is to them.”

“It’s a European thing,” his mother offered as she started to pick up the kitchen.

“They’re not European, though,” Marcos argued. “They’re from New York. They’ve been in this country a long time. I’m telling you, I watch them; it’s part of being in the mafia. They have to kiss each other. In public. Have you kissed them, Chu?”

Chuito held up his hand, because Tino kissed him all the f*cking time. Nova did it too. He was sort of immune to it.

“Their people are European. It carries over. It’s not a big deal.” She put a stack of dishes in the sink. “I like Italians.”

Marcos laughed again. “We noticed.”

“They dress so nice. They smell nice,” she went on as she gave Marcos another smile. “They do all sorts of nice things.”