The Viper (Untamed Hearts #1)(71)

Chuito cursed when Marcos pushed down the side of his underwear, finding it running over his hip, straight up and down toward his thigh, in one of the few places that would be hidden when he wore fighter shorts.

Omertà

“It’s new.”

“Yes, it is,” Chuito agreed and then shoved Marcos back. “So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t f*ck it up. It’s still healing.”

“Who gave you the Beretta?” Marcos whispered in horror. “I know you flew here. Who gave it to you when you got off the plane?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried about it!” Marcos yelled at him. “You sold yourself to them!”

“I didn’t sell myself,” Chuito argued. “I made a business arrangement.”

“With the mafia?” Marcos could hardly wrap his mind around that. “And you call me crazy? They’re the mafia! They’re not us, Chu. They are nothing like us. The Italians f*ck up politicians and shit. It’s not pride. It’s money and power to them. They will bury anyone. No one is safe from them.”

“That’s right,” Chuito said as he leaned down and grabbed his jeans. “Guess who else no one is safe from? You think getting in bed with the mafia is going to change anything about me?” He started pulling his jeans on and then lifted his head and glared at Marcos. “He pulled a gun on you. He was going to smoke you!”

“I’m not dead!”

“Lucky for him.” Chuito’s dark eyes glowed with fury. “Now I just get to f*ck with him until I get tired of it.”

“What’s your chica gonna think when she sees that ink?” Marcos gestured to his side.

“You think Alaine knows what this ink means?” Chuito laughed. “Are you kidding, Marc? She’s not Katie, okay? I could never bring her here. She is a girl who’s supposed to marry someone like Edward. I wasn’t ever supposed to get someone like that.”

Marcos reached out. “Chu—”

Chuito knocked his hand away. “I was the one who let them die! It was me who joined Los Corredores. It was me who dragged you into it! They were after me! You know they were after me! You were too busy looking for the next chica at seventeen! You were never a threat to anyone! I was! No one is watching out for me because they’re my sins! I cannot keep hiding in Garnet pretending that they weren’t! I cannot keep letting you pay for my shit, Marc!”

Marcos choked, because he couldn’t honestly argue that. He couldn’t even insult Chuito by trying. Marcos wasn’t a bad gangster, but he wasn’t a particularly good one either. He didn’t have anything required to be good at it. He wasn’t as smart as Chuito. He wasn’t as cunning. He didn’t thrive off respect or money or revenge. The only thing Marcos had ever really cared about was finding the next bed to crawl into.

Now there was only one bed he wanted, but the rules still applied. Just because the many had been narrowed down to one didn’t mean he didn’t still want to be wrapped up in Katie all the time.

There was a knock at the door, and Marcos looked out the bathroom.

“Co?o.” Chuito buttoned his jeans and pushed past him.

Marcos grabbed the Beretta and followed him. He unclicked the safety when Chuito opened the door like he was still in Garnet.

“No, it’s fine,” Chuito said in English as he reached out and clasped the hand of a man Marcos couldn’t see in the darkness. “Just fighting with my cousin.”

“You Puerto Ricans. Always fighting. That’s all you know how to do.”

Chuito’s shoulders stiffened because he always had so much f*cking Boricua pride. It was the reason he’d joined Los Corredores in the first place.

“Aren’t you here because I needed you here?” Chuito barked, his voice hard. “Doesn’t that essentially mean you’re working for me?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t insult my people. I don’t like it. It pisses me off.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Chuito shut the door and turned back to Marcos with a shake of his head. “Fucking Italians. I have no idea how I ended up with one as a best friend.”

“Good thing you’re not in bed with them,” Marcos deadpanned as he lowered the gun. He might have worried about their earlier argument being overheard, but they had been using Spanish. “Why are they outside my house?”

“Nova asked them to watch it for me. They’re watching my mother’s too.”

“Nova?”

“Tino’s brother.”

“Angel on steroids?”

Chuito nodded. “Yeah.”

“Great.” His eyebrow started bleeding again, and he wiped at it and stared at his bloody fingers. He had a massive headache, and he really just needed to lie down and crash for at least twenty-four hours. It had been a long week. “I’m going to bed.”

“Let me fix your eyebrow first.”

“Whatever.”

Marcos walked to his bedroom and set the Beretta on his dresser. Then he fell into the bed and just lay there looking up at the halos around the light in the ceiling fan.

When Chuito came in, he had the bags from the drugstore with him. He dumped them out on the bed. “This place is a shithole, Marc. You have no furniture except for this bed on the ground. Why do you live like this?”