Chiquita

Nevada had grown accustomed to not only doing almost everything for her in the duration of her hospital stay, but of making sure she was not over-straining herself when it came to their son, but as soon as the doctor had signed the discharge orders, Mariana had thrown caution to the wind and had done whatever she’d pleased in the coming hours before they’d settle everything with Matías’ doctors.

“Mari,” Nevada huffed.  “Chica, por favor,” he begged, taking a step towards her as she limped towards the couch.

“I’ve been bedridden for two weeks, I’ve missed precious, precious time with our son, and all I want is to take a shower and then sit in the tub with Matías,” she smiled, taking a seat on the couch.

He smirked, sitting besides her, “¿Y yo?”

“Y, ¿tú qué?” she bit her lip, looking up at him with coquettish eyes.

“Am I invited to sit in the tub, too?” Mariana shook her head, leaning back against the couch’s back and adjusting Matías across her front.  “Why not?” she shrugged with an impish smile, running her hand down the small expanse of Matías’ back.  “Chiquita,” Nevada scoffed with a smile.

He looked up at her with his green smolder, relaxing his body in the flirtatious banter they’d set, and when her response didn’t come he leaned in for a kiss, only to find her tipping her chin and his lips landing next to her nose.

“Vada,” she said in a breathy whisper.  “Papi, I want nothing more than to kiss you like I know you want to kiss me, but,” she sighed, looking up at Nevada through her lashes, “I feel disgusting.”

Nevada hummed, giving a slight nod.  “Bueno,” he begun, “you go do that, and papito and I will stay here and… do some work, and when you’re ready for him, me gritas, and I’ll bring him in.”

Mariana nodded, allowing Nevada to take his son from her chest.

Initially, the nurses at the hospital had bundled him incredibly well, but in true Ramirez fashion, he’d become fussy and impatient and it hadn’t been until Nevada had loosened the swaddle that he’d calmed.  Mariana had smiled at him, grateful that even after everything they’d been through, Nevada had found his true fatherly nature.  He’d helped Mariana up to the SUV and had waited until she’d tied Matías in the car seat to order Miguel along.

The drive from Union City to the Heights had been one filled with silence and quiet mumbles from Nevada and Miguel.  She could appreciate that the both were being mindful of her lack of sleep, but most importantly, the slumber of the newborn by her side.

She stared at Nevada and how careful he was with the baby.  He’d leaned back, propped his feet on the coffee table, and allowed for the baby to continue his slumber upon his chest.  As he scrolled through his cellphone, he tipped his chin, placing the tip of his nose to the crown of the baby’s head, and puckered his lips to press a kiss to his soft locks.

She sighed, smiling to Nevada’s profile.  He’d fallen in love with his son and when in his arms, it was like the entire surroundings would disappear and he only lived to protect him.

She stood, glancing once more over her shoulder just to catch the sweetest moment she’d ever seen: Nevada humming a soft lullaby to his son.  She slowly walked towards the en suite, forgetting to grab clean clothes.  For a little over a month, she hadn’t known what a shower felt like, she could feel the excitement coursing through her just as she saw the steam fill the air around her.  Mariana stepped in, toes curling against the ceramic floor.

The feel of the steamy water calmed her and she leaned into the sensation washing over her; taking her mind off of things.  The water poured down her sides, sluicing off her bruised skin, and she sighed, enjoying the feeling of it on her body.  She tipped her head back, allowing the water to coat her grown mane.  It wasn’t until she ran her fingers through her scalp, feeling the stitching of the gash at the back of her head, that she realized the severity of everything that had happened to her in the last month and a half.

She’d lived with the monster that was Ricardo for a couple of years, and for three years she’d been able to avoid the horrible clutches of domestic abuse, but they’d still taken a toll on her mental state.  Now, she had to think about her son.  She would lean into Nevada and his support.  She couldn’t allow herself to sink into the deep abyss that were the clutches of the human mind, she needed to be strong… for her son.

But, she also understood that in order to be strong for her son, she needed to be strong herself.  She sighed, opening her eyes to stare at the bright ceiling of Nevada’s bathroom, bathing her skin, and taking notice of the bruises scattered on her skin.  Every mark had a story and a reason for being on her body.  If it wasn’t caused by hospital equipment, Ricky and his mean streak had caused it.  She made sure to lather herself thoroughly, enjoying the suds and the feeling of being clean and taking time to brush her teeth.

The doctor had advised against washing her hair for the time being until the stitches had come off, but he’d allowed for her to wet it and apply product to the hair as opposed to the scalp.  Once done with her shower, she’d wrapped herself in Nevada’s towel, filling the tub with hot water, essential oils, and oat milk soap for both the baby and her.

She was almost ready to call Nevada when he entered with a crying baby, startling Mariana in her quiet reverie.  Nevada noticed and he grimaced, “Ay, mami…”

Mariana smiled, shaking her head, “No, don’t apologize.”

He sighed.  “Someone’s ready to eat,” he said, bouncing the baby in his arms.  “You almost done?” she nodded, walking towards him and placing a kiss to his lips.

Nevada hummed, smirking at her willingness.  “Here, I’ll check on the water,” he handed the baby to Mariana, placing a kiss to his head as he did so.

“Ya, mi amor,” she soothed in a mellow voice.  “Papi’s almost done with the water.”

Nevada hummed again; shaking his hand above the water he’d been testing, and nodded.  He turned the faucet off, standing with a slight protest of his knees to find Mariana sitting on the toilet’s top lid with Matías waving his little arms and fists in the air, exercising his lungs in a powerful cry as she divested him of his onesie, socks, and diaper.

His skin sprouted in gooseflesh and Mariana giggled, coming to a stand, and expertly handling the crying baby as she divested herself of the towel surrounding her body.  Nevada took a step forward, taking his son in his hands as Mariana stepped in and lowered herself in the tub.  She hissed, hinting at the warmth of the water against her slightly cold skin.

“Too hot?” she shook her head.

She raised her arms, wiping her chest with the towel she’d just removed from her body just so that Matías could latch successfully.  Nevada handed Matías to Mariana, and she cooed at him softly, watching as Matías shook his head to find his mother’s nipple and latch.

“Ya, corazón,” Mariana said with a smile, wetting his soft locks.

Minutes ticked on by before Nevada gathered his bravado. “How—How are you feeling?”

Mariana looked up from her son’s face, sighing softly as she gathered the baby against her chest to burp him.  Matías’ head faced Nevada, and as Mariana patted his back in rapid succession, the baby nuzzled into his mother’s skin, keeping his eyes open.  She ignored the question for the time being, listening to Matías’s soft coos and low-pitched contented sounds.

He burped, causing Nevada to chuckle.  Mariana positioned him once more to suckle, scooping water with her hand to bathe the newborn.

“Chiquita…”

She nodded, turning her head, “Be honest with me.  Do you want the real truth or some watered-down version of it?”

Nevada set his jaw, giving a quick glance to Matías and his movements.  “I would hope you’d give me the real one,” he said evenly.

“I am happy,” she said with a nod, shifting in the water.  “But, I am scared, too.  I’m relieved to be here with you and our son, Nevada, but…” she sighed, feeling her chin tremble, “I almost—”

“No, no,” he quickly interrupted.  “No, we’re not going to think that way, Mari.  You’re here, you’re safe, and you have our son in your hands, mami.  Don’t—Don’t allow that… motherfucker to steal this.”

“Vada—”

“Qué no, ¡coño!  You’ve beat him before, you’re going to again.”

She hissed, glancing down at her son.  She saw Nevada move and she shook her head, “I’m fine, just a little sore,” she tittered.  “Where is he?”

“Chiquita—”

“Nevada,” she warned sternly.  “What did you do?”

He couldn’t help his smirk and he shook his head.  “Nada,” he bit his lip, looking up at Mariana.  He wouldn’t bother her with what he had… or hadn’t done with Ricky.  That was his problem now, and he would handle it as he saw fit.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  She knew to expect pushback and for the time being, she’d allow it, but there needed to come a moment where she’d make sure to know what had happened with Ricky.

She focused on the way Nevada’s finger trailed her soapy skin and the look of utter love in his eyes.  She’d made him a father and if being around him and Sofía was any indication of his devotion as a parent, she was most excited to see him be a father to their son.

At the hospital, she’d enjoyed time with her son, but everything had a time stamp.  Matías could only be with her in her room for two hours before the NICU nurses came in wanting to take him away.  His heart rate had improved exponentially, but they wanted to make sure that it was just a mild complication instead of a life altering one.  The last thing she wanted was to prevent the medical staff from doing what they needed to do in order to ensure her son’s safety.  Yet, she found herself yearning for him the second he was away, and it wasn’t until she threw a fit with Nevada that they finally moved her from the intensive care unit to a room in the maternity ward.

She’d avoided Nevada’s question.  She’d been truthful to some extent, but she hadn’t told him about the nightmares and sleepless nights.  Not because Matías wasn’t sleeping well, but because all she could see whenever she closed her eyes was the vivid memory of the container turned prison in the shipping yards.  Whatever Nevada had done or was doing with Ricky, he deserved, and she hoped he’d suffer the same amount if not more than she had.

“I scheduled an appointment at the dentist tomorrow,” she said quietly, smiling at her newborn son.

Nevada sighed, clearly annoyed at what she’d said.  “Mariana—”

“Nevada, what is your problem?  Are you planning on keeping me cooped up in here?”

“Well… I just might.  Papito cannot be going outside—el sereno me lo va a enfermar.”

Mariana rolled her eyes, “How long is that excuse going to last for?”

“Can’t the appointment wait another week, at least?” he bargained.

“No,” she shook her head.  “I’m going tomorrow to the dentist.”

“Fine,” he surrendered, knowing he wouldn’t win this one.  “Drop him off at the club—”

“Ha!” she shouted, allowing the outburst to turn into laughter as she adjusted her son on her chest.  “That’s funny.  In your fucking dreams.  I already asked Jess to come with me.”

He hummed, ready to fuss at her once more.  “What happened to ‘no quiero que nadie me vea’?” he faked mocked.

She shrugged.  “At my discretion…” she smirked, side-eyeing him.  “I’m swinging by Nina’s, too,” she saw as he got ready to protest and she beat him to the punch.  “Don’t even.  I’m going and that’s that.”

“Take Miguel.”

“No.”

He hung his head, what exactly was he paying for when God decided to put her in his path?

The debate had been that she did not want protection, but the second he’d forced her into it, she’d wanted Miguel.  It’s how she’d end up with Dylan in the first place, but now that he was more than willing to surrender Miguel for her and her safety—their safety, she didn’t want him.

“No me mires así,” she softly offered.  “You’re only offering Miguel because I was right all along and you’re feeling guilty.  Do not pity me.  From anyone else, sure, I’ll take it ‘cause they don’t know better, but I will not tolerate you treating me any different,” she brought her hand out of the water and pressed it to his beard, feeling the weight of his head against her palm.  “I’ll be fine, I promise.  And, if I need help or I’m feeling tired, I will personally call Miguel and guilt him into coming to my rescue,” she finished with a smile.

“Ay, Chiquita…” he sighed, looking into her eyes.  “Fine, but just know I still have eyes everywhere.”

“Mari, look at him!” Jess fawned for the countless time since leaving the dentist’s appointment.

Now, they were walking side by side.  Jess wore the baby and Mariana carried her new accessory turned purse: Matías’ diaper bag.  They walked at a leisure pace down the block of Mariana’s dentist.  In her mouth she still housed some cotton balls that she needed to take out as soon as she got to Nevada’s.

Mariana smiled at the genuine love she saw in Jess’ eyes.  Her son had his head tipped back, his mouth open as he slept.

“Mouth breathers are the worst, Matty,” Jess tittered, bringing her thumb to Matías chin, pushing on his jaw until his mouth was closed and she heard him sigh through his nose.  “Much better,” she placated, glancing at Mariana.

She’d felt Mariana’s eyes on her profile, but when she glanced at her walking companion, her eyes were fixed on every step they took.  She watched Mariana, gauging how to further proceed when Mariana looked up.

“What?” she said, muffled.

“How are you feeling, Mari?  The truth.”

Mariana sighed, shaking her head.  “I’m happy,” Mariana admitted, swallowing around the cotton in her mouth.  “I’m angry.  I’m scared.  I’m relieved…”

“Where’s that piece of shit, anyways?”

Mariana shrugged, “Nevada won’t tell me.”

Jessica hummed, but did not press the issue.  She knew better than to even think about questioning Nevada’s choices.  Mariana was the only one that got away with it, and that was because she was not scared of Nevada.  She didn’t fear the repercussions, but everyone else did.

“You know,” Mariana continued, breaking the tense silence between them, “there were days where I would wake up in the hospital and my first thought was of Ricky.  If he was alive or dead, and if he was alive, what were his injuries?  Was he in the same hospital as I was?  Were the police with him?  What had Nevada done to him after I loss consciousness.  Had he killed Ricky?  Had Miguel?  If Ricky was dead, then what happened to his body?  Had the news covered the story?” she paused, reaching into her mouth to remove the cotton tucked between her cheeks.  She made a tasteless sound, bringing the back of her free hand to her mouth before Jess scolded her.

“Don’t!”

“Why?” Mariana looked at Jess with teary eyes.  “Why do I care about him?”

Jess frowned, sifting through her words in order to properly formulate her response.

There were several people in the world that could render Jess speechless, Mariana being one of them.  She looked away, too much pain in Mariana’s eyes made her uneasy.  She couldn’t lie to her if she looked at her, she couldn’t properly comfort Mariana either if she knew there would be a rebuttal.

“Mari,” Jess sighed, shaking her head and closing her eyes at Mariana’s soft whimper.  She could feel her chin begin to tremble and she cleared her throat, distracting herself from the emotions… from the truth.

“I still love him, don’t I?”

“Mari…”

“Stop… saying my name!” she came to a stop, disentangling her arm from Jess’.

“I—”

“Just… give me my kid,” she grumbled, tugging at the knot that held the fabric in place at Jess’ natural waist.  Jess went to protest, but Mariana already had Matías in her arms, tugging at the fabric with her free hand as she made a quick getaway.

Jessica stood rooted to her spot.  She’d literally said nothing to Mariana, nothing to upset her to such extent.

She understood that Mariana needed time.  Time to heal and come to understand that Ricky was not a threat any longer.  Regardless of what Nevada had or hadn’t done to him.  Mariana was safe now.  Matías was safe.  But, Jess could see that inner turmoil in her eyes.  It’d been the same way when she’d started at the school almost four years back.  Mariana needed time, more than before, because now she was caring for her child, who needed her more than anything.

Jess watched Mariana power walk down the sidewalk, the fabric of the wrap caught in the wind behind her like a superhero’s cape.  She didn’t follow her, she allowed her her space.  Jess just hoped she’d remain safe.

Matías had barely stirred with the jostle of the transfer, and Mariana had ducked into one of those fancy Midtown coffee shops and into their restroom in order to both change Matías’ diaper and redo the wrap around her body.  The whole thing had taken ten minutes, and she hadn’t left without purchasing some herbal tea to soothe her still aching throat and out of whack nerves.

The afternoon wind picked up, making her shiver, so she pulled the edge of the wrap over her son’s head, patting at his back with each of her steps.

It was no secret that she’d been on edge.  Even before leaving the hospital.  She tossed and turned all night, even when laying next to Nevada.  His hold on her strong and his slumber even stronger.  He only ever stirred when he heard Matías coo from his bassinet at Mariana’s side.  The entire Ricky ordeal she’d thought to have compartmentalized well, but it’d been proven wrong.  Even now, she counted her steps, and her ears were perked up for any unwanted sound behind her.  Her instincts had sharpened, and she hated the way she could feel her shoulders on her neck.

Her bottom vibrated, pulling her thoughts to the now.  She glanced at the sleeping face of her son, partially covered by the wrap over his head, and she smiled, glancing down the street to see if she could at least place her surroundings.  She’d walked a little over five blocks from where she’d left Jess rooted to her spot, a sense of guilt now washing over her.  She lashed out for no reason.  She lashed out, for what?

Jessica had been nothing but supportive and she went and got mad at her because she didn’t cosign Mariana’s thoughts and feelings?  Or, was it been deeper than that?

Was Jess’ silence and apprehension a confirmation of her deepest thoughts and feelings or was it something else completely?  She’d opened up to Jess, at her request, let her in to Mariana’s deepest thoughts as of late, and she received nothing but silence from whom she called her best friend.

She felt her bottom vibrate again and she reached around to fish it out of her back pocket.  She’d a few missed calls and texts from Jess, and a dozen more notifications, all from Nevada.  She rolled her head, taking a careful sip of her herbal tea when her phone vibrated furiously in her hand: an incoming call from Nevada.

She answered, “Nevada.”

“Mariana, what the fuck is your problem?”

Mariana smacked her teeth, ending the call promptly.  If Nevada wanted to argue, then he would do so by himself.  She hadn’t the energy to do so at the moment.  Instead, she typed a quick message to Miguel with her location and a warning.  She’d stumbled upon an empty Paley Park, and she sat near the waterwall, entranced and lulled by its soothing sound.

She’d no knowledge how long she sat there, but when Miguel found her, she was in the middle of breastfeeding Matías.

“Señito,” Miguel interrupted softly, causing Mariana to startle.  “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not approaching Mariana further.  Mariana waved him off, moving the baby’s diaper bag so that Miguel could sit in the chair closest to her.  As Miguel sat, he said, “Takes after Nevada, then?  Always eating!”

Mariana shared a chuckle with him.  She sighed, leaning back, “I had to turn off my phone.”

“Señito, el jefe…” Miguel sighed, not knowing how to proceed.  “El jefe didn’t take well your disappearance.  When you weren’t answering, he lost it.”

“I know, Miguel.  I know,” Mariana nodded, turning to acknowledge Nevada’s Tiburón.  “I’m struggling, too, and him treating me like spun glass isn’t helping.”

Miguel glanced down at his lap, bringing his phone up to show Mariana whose name lit up the screen, “Can I?”

Mariana smirked, “I’m not your boss, he is.”

“We all know that’s not true,” Miguel chuckled, answering when Mariana gave him a nod.  Mariana could hear Nevada yelling and cussing at Miguel over his whereabouts and Mariana’s alike.

Mariana extended her arm, feeling Matty unlatch.  She accommodated her bra and lowered her shirt, handing the baby over to Miguel.  Miguel’s mouth worked overtime, opening and closing as Mariana giggled over the man’s fumbling.

“Here, drape him over your shoulder like this,” Mariana coached, accommodating Matty on Miguel’s shoulder for him to burp the baby.  “And, hold his butt—yes!” she continued, having heard Nevada’s silence on the other side of the line.  “Now, burp him.  You’re not hurting him, I promise,” Mariana smiled and watched as Miguel patted the baby’s back.

“Mari,” she heard Nevada calling for her through the phone.  It sounded far away, but loud enough that both her and Miguel glanced at the phone now atop the table between them.  “Chica, Mari!” he protested again.

She picked up the phone, “Nevada.”

“Why’d you hung up on me?  Where are you?”

“I can always hang up again,” she simply reminded.  He was yelling, and he sighed heavily, no doubt tampering his anger before speaking again.  “Now, start over.”

Nevada cleared his throat, rubbing at his brow from behind his desk.  This was all too reminiscent.  Too close to what had happened, not that while back.  He hated not having easy contact with her.  He hated that she’d turned off her phone without a regard for her safety and that of their son.  If it were up to him, she’d never leave the safe confines of his home, but he knew better than to push her.  She’d already been trapped, he wouldn’t do that to her again.  Not to his Chiquita.

“Chiquita,” he restrained himself, knowing that lashing out would get him complete silence.  “Dile a Miguel que te traiga.  And, I don’t want to hear any more protesting from you.  Is that clear?”

Mariana smirked, watching Miguel burp the newborn baby.  Mariana giggled when Matías burped, surprising the burly man.  

“Mari?”

Mariana rolled her eyes, “Ya.”

“Dile a Miguel—”

Mariana groaned, “Miguel, could you take us to Nevada?”  Miguel nodded with a smile, his hand still patting at Matty’s back.  They stood, Mariana making sure she’d everything she needed.  “Could we stop for food, first?”

Nevada smacked his teeth audibly, “Mari!”

The protest quickly died when Mariana pressed the end call button on the screen, following Miguel with a giggle on her lips.  She lived to aggravate Nevada.  His sole existence aggravated the world, so a little taste of his own medicine would do him good, and hopefully he’d learn to trust her instincts.

Mariana could hear muffled shouts as she reached the upstairs area of Nevada’s club.  She slowed her pace, running her hands down her son’s back.

They rode in the back of Nevada’s SUV without a car seat in sight.  Miguel had taken speed limits seriously and dared not travel a mile over them for the sake of him and the lives of the precious cargo he transported.

Mariana took a step back as Miguel passed her by, an arm extended behind him as he approached the Nevada’s office door.  Miguel knocked twice, pushing the door open and peaking his head in.  There was some muffled exchange and Miguel shut the door, grimacing towards Mariana’s general direction.

Mariana shook her head, glancing down at the wide awake expression of her newborn.  “Tu papá is something else, Matías,” she chuckled.  “Diosito, dime que va a salir a mí…”

Nevada strolled out, coolly approaching Mariana.  He smirked, placing an unlit cigarette over his ear.  “Chiquita,” he sighed, taking her in.  He leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers forcefully.  

Mariana hummed at the familiar taste that was Nevada.  He hadn’t been smoking, but he’d been drinking, she could taste his private selection on his lips.  She pulled back, licking her lips to savor Nevada on her lips.  She smiled, feeling the tension of the day roll off her shoulders.  She smiled at him, bringing her thumb to swipe underneath Nevada’s lip, and he puckered his mouth into the pad of her thumb before it was completely away.

“With our luck, he’ll be like the both of us, and really drive me insane,” he said between them, tucking his chin to press his lips against Matías’ soft hairs.

Mariana snickered.  “Pucho in there?”  Nevada nodded.  “Did you bring me here to have me stand or is your… mess not quite clean yet?”

Nevada sighed, clenching his jaw to keep his temper at bay.  He stared at her, smolder against smolder.  “Miguel.”

Mariana glanced past Nevada’s shoulder, watching Miguel move and peak inside the door.  Nevada had busied himself with his son, cooing at him softly.  When Miguel straightened and cleared his throat, Nevada took a step to her side, allowing her to walk in first.  He ogled her as she walked in front of him, smirking at the pretty sway of her hips and the fill of her ass in her jeans.

She was working on divesting herself from the taut fabric around her body, keeping a protective arm around her son’s back.  She greeted Pucho with excitement, easing Matías out of the wrap.  Pucho fawned over the baby and kissed Mariana’s cheek, just below the healing bruise near her cheek.  Nevada moved about his office, propping some cushions at the end of the couch just as he sat.

Nevada whistled, creating a double eye-roll from both Pucho and Mariana.  Mariana approached him, handing him his son.  Nevada smiled, pressing his lips to Matías’ brow.  Nevada turned his head, stealing a kiss from the brown-skinned beauty next to him, feeling the smile spread across her lips.  He hummed noncommittally with a jut of his chin towards the end of the couch where he’d propped some cushions.

Mariana yawned, leaning back against the cushions, and bringing her feet to Nevada’s lap.  In one arm he safely held his son, while his other busied itself with untying and slipping Mariana’s shoes off.

She glanced at Nevada and Matías, both involved in themselves as Miguel and Pucho mumbled something about numbers, lulling her to sleep.

Nina sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as she came to a stand.  “What the hell are they doing to her, Vada?  She’s been in there for fucking ever!” she paced in front of the row of chairs.

Nevada trailed her with his eyes, leaning back, and stretching his leg in front of him.  “Nina, you irritating my soul isn’t helping.  Stop with the fucking questions… and the pacing!” he waved his hand towards her direction when he caught sights of a doctor approaching their general direction.

Nevada stood, pulling Nina behind him as the doctor smiled, “Mariana?  Mariana Santos?”

“Yes, yes! How is she?  How’s the baby?  Can I see her?” Nevada shot in rapid fire, unable to stop when the doctor raised his hands in order to put a stop to his rambling.

“Easy, Mr. Santos,” the doctor appeased, checking the tablet in his hands.  “There’s good news and there’s bad news.  Now, I understand that she was in labor when brought in,” Nevada nodded, running his hands against his jaw at the mention of bad news.  “Giving birth is a marathon and we need mom awake and alert in order for her to push.  We considered taking her to the operating room and perform an emergency C-section, but baby was coming, and coming fast so we had to rely on medication to strengthen the contractions.  That allows the contractions to be strong enough so that the patient doesn’t have to do anything.”

“O—Ok,” Nevada stumbled, looking over his shoulder to his sister for some type of assistance.

“Is the baby safe?  Is she safe?” Nina asked, watching the helpless green in her brother’s eyes grow by the second.

“Yes, both Mariana and the baby are in good health,” the doctor smiled.

“But?” Nevada took a step forward.

“The oxytocin given to strengthen the contractions has left Mariana with an accelerated heart rate and some arrhythmias that are being monitored as we speak.  Your son has a little bit of jaundice—nothing that we're worried about—and she’s protecting her airway as she should, but due to her arrhythmias and the stress her body endured for the amount of time she was in captivity, we’ve placed her in a medical induced coma and we’ll wean off sedation once we know her heart has recuperated.  Other than that, we’ve stitched the gash at the back of her head, and we’re letting her body heal her other contusions and abrasions the natural way.”

“So—Son?” Nevada sighed, feeling his chest inflate at the thought of someone continuing his namesake to the world.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the doctor looked between Jess, Nina, and the appalled man in front of him.  “I—I thought you knew the gender of the baby before—”

“No, no; we wanted to find out whenever they were born,” he chuckled, feeling his elation travel through his body.  “Can—Can I see her?  Please, doctor, I need to see my Chiquita—and my papito.  Where—Where is he?”

The doctor smiled, cocking his head in the direction he’d emerged from, “Your son is currently in the NICU under bili-lights for his jaundice, but I can arrange for him to be brought to Mariana’s room so that the three of you can be together.”

Nevada nodded, falling into step with the doctor as they approached the ICU room where they’d placed Mariana.

Mariana’s doctor had done well by his training, keeping idle conversation as they accessed the main hospital through the emergency department, but Nevada had only heard some of it and answered to ten percent of what he’d heard.  His mind was still crowded with the sounds of her cries as Ricky choked the near life out of her, the muddled sound her skull made against the concrete floor of the storage unit, and the whisper of his name from her lips when she’d finally noticed that he was real and there to not bring harm upon her.

If he needed to go home and return later on to Mariana’s room, he wouldn’t know the way to her.  

He couldn’t stop thinking of the thousands of ways he’d failed her during her pregnancy, during her captivity, and how much he was failing her now.  He knew nothing of being a father to a child, a child he did not want to raise without her.  

The needs of a newborn were different to the ones of a toddler and child.  

What little experience he had with children came from his ability of having cared for Sofía from a young age.  He never kept her when she needed her mother at every turn, but once Sofía had been able to walk, to talk her way into basic needs, had been when he’d trusted himself to do more than just a prolonged visit to his sister’s place.

The severity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, not only did he needed to care for a slightly vegetative Mariana, but now he had to care for a newborn that wouldn’t know his mother until the sedation could be weaned off.

“You’re free to go in and visit for as long as you please, Mr. Santos.  I’ll make sure to speak with NICU nurses to bring by your son sooner rather than later.”

Nevada looked up at the doctor and extended his hand to him, shaking it for good measure.  He’d never been one to engage in such… pleasantries, but there was no other way he could express the gratitude he had for him and his team in the roles played in Mariana’s safety and in the delivery of their son.

He entered the room slowly, hearing the soft air release the breathing machine produced indicative of Mariana’s in and outtake of air.  

He coughed his sob, watching the bruising across her face, vivid against her ashen skin.  Her hair and face had been cleaned of the blood, her wet clothes had most likely been tossed, and her stomach was as flat as he could remember before her pregnancy had taken over.  Her wrists were securely tied to the bed and all the lines feeding her medication, food, and monitoring her heart rate were coming out of her body at her arms, chest, nose, and neck.

Nevada stood at the foot of the bed, taking in the feeble form of his Chiquita.

“Ay, Chiquita,” he mused, approaching the bedside.  He took her hand in his, placing his lips to it multiple times, “You can't give up on me just yet, mami.  Tenemos un varoncito, Mari…”

He pressed his forehead to her knuckles, feeling the tears escape his eyes when he sniffled, raising his eyes to her face.  His knees were already protesting, but in comparison to what he knew she’d endured, slight discomfort showing his age and lack of continuous exercise were the least of his concerns.

It felt like hours of him staring at the beauty of her face even through the stains of Ricky’s work when soft cooing and an apologetic remark caught his ears.  

He sniffled, following the noise with his head when he saw the nurse hauling in an acrylic box containing a small bundle of chunky joy.  He stood, placing one more kiss on Mariana’s hand as an added bonus.

The nurse accommodated the acrylic box next to Mariana’s bed away from the IV pumps and other staff’s general way.  She opened the side door, reaching inside for the baby to wrap him in the bili-blanket to maximize the results of the phototherapy.

“He already breastfed before we started her medications and he had his first bowels, so, little man is doing really great,” she turned, smiling at the stirring child in her arms.  “We let them have skin-on-skin contact for about an hour, hence the reason it took us so long to come fetch you.”

He let go of a long breath of air unaware of its presence when the nurse placed his son in his arms.  He hummed, watching the beautiful contours of his son’s face.  He saw resemblances of Mariana’s features staring back at him: from the color of his skin, to the pout of his lips.  Mesmerized by the beauty of his son, he almost missed the tap on his shoulder from the nurse offering him a comfortable chair so that he could sit and continue admiring the beautiful thing he’d helped bring to life.

“Por poco me matas, papito,” he mused, scoffing airily.

He smiled at his newborn son, running his thumb over the smooth flesh of his cheek.  The baby stirred, scrunching his face, and sneezing consecutively.

“Dios te bendiga,” he smiled, leaning forward to press his lips against his forehead.  He murmured his love for him, nuzzling his nose to the baby’s forehead, whispering a prayer over his son.

Nevada had never pegged himself a religious man, but more of a spiritual one.  He respected the teachings of the Church, the ones instilled in him as a young boy by his mother.  He proudly wore the gold cross gifted to him on the day of his thirteen birthday and whenever he played with lives too closely, forgot the teachings that his mother worked day and night for him to remember, he took time away on his knees, asking for forgiveness, and a little more clarity.

He knew the life he led was not ideal, but it had been fruitful.  

It’d help him provide for his family, not only his sister, but his extended family in the Dominican Republic.  And, now, with his son in his hands, and his Chiquita lying next to him, he knew that now more than ever, the need to work his ass off would quadruple and intensify.

The tip of the iceberg was what she knew—what everyone knew, but Nevada’s operation and connections ran deeper than that.  Two people in his entire operation knew how deep his hooks were in the city, the two people he trusted with his life, and the two people he would trust with their lives from now on.  

He’d made the mistake of not listening to her, of not allowing her to call her shots knowing that in the deepest existence of her body, all bells and whistles were going off when it came to Dylan Perrot, and that because of his mistake, he’d almost lost the love of his life without the chance of admitting his undying love for her.  In consequence, he’d endangered the life of his then unborn child… deliberately!  And for that, he’d never forgive himself.

Ten days it had been since the fateful night of the rescue and almost suicidal mission in Union City.  

Nevada had set up camp in a hotel a couple of blocks from the hospital.  He was there from the minute visitation started to the second it ended.  

The nurses knew when he was coming, they knew the way he wanted things, how he wanted things, and they knew that if he saw something out of line, something that was out of place, the never ending tongue lashings would be the best part of their shifts.

They had a schedule set, one that for the last ten days everyone had abided to.  

As soon as visiting hours started, Nevada would stroll in, without a word to anyone, and plant himself at Mariana’s bedside.  Once the nurse noticed his presence in her room, they’d go in, let him know of the findings and progress, and confirm her nightly bath.  If for any reason, the bath had not been completed, they’d assure him that it was the first thing on their to-do list once medication had been administered.  

Minutes later, they’d roll the baby in and a breastfeeding nurse would help him latch against Mariana.  All of the medication given had been cleared and safe for lactation, and once he was done, Nevada would burp him, and allow for skin-on-skin contact with his mother even if Mariana’s body remained unconscious.

She’d been free of sedation for six days, her body having flushed out all remaining harmful additives to her milk, and though still intubated, her reflexes and neurological responses were great, she just needed to wake up.

During quiet time, and after his feeding, they would take the baby back to the NICU.  He’d been off the bili-lamps and blanket, but remained under observation for slight elevation of heart rate.  Even though, hospital policy was for no visitors during quiet time, the nurses at the ICU where Mariana lain, allowed him to stay.  He was never a bother and he never disrupted their workload.

“Chiquita,” he rasped, her hand in his.  “Chiquita, stop being so fucking stubborn and open your eyes,” he scoffed ruefully, placing his lips to her knuckles.  “Papito needs you, I—” he stopped; feeling the way his heart hanged on by a thread at the thought of losing Mariana.

He squeezed her hand in his, groaning softly to prevent his sob to fill the room.  “I—” he sniffled, shaking his head.

He stood, lowering the bedside rail in order to hover over the still body of hers.  He pressed his lips to her temple, tipping his chin to press his forehead to the side of her head.  If he wanted her to wake up, then he’d coax her back to life.  He would speak the unspoken words that threatened each and every second to come out of his mouth by the mere thought of her existence.  He’d say the words like a prayer, a contract devoid of annulment until he’d gotten what he’d come looking for the past nine days: her eyes.

“I need you, Mari,” he whispered against her face.  “Te amo, Chiquita.  Te amo tanto…”

He sighed, pressing his lips to her brow, lingering at the spot until he felt her quiet stirring.

For her, it was like a large tunnel filled with echo.  She heard the words he’d whisper to her every day, she heard the plight of his voice, and she heard the cry of her child.  Now, she couldn’t discern what was real and what wasn’t, but the ache and discomfort she felt constricting her throat caused her eyes to shot open.

Nevada took a step back, “Mari, Mari—”

A cough broke through her, the vein in the middle of her forehead prominent with stress.  The breathing machine had begun blinking red, making the most harrowing sound that filled the room.  She attempted to raise her hands, but they’d been restrained as a precaution to prevent what could’ve happened had her hands been free of them.

The nurses were quick to enter the room. “What's going on here?” one of them asked with a small smile.

“I—” Nevada stumbled with his words, glancing at Mariana struggling to catch her breath.

Mariana continued coughing, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she struggled to catch her breath.  Nevada stood to the side and watched, listening to how the nurses were begging her to relax and take it easy.

“We’re going to have to give an Ativan bolus,” the nurse said, looking over her shoulder to one of her coworkers.

Nevada sprung into action, “No!  No!  Let me try something.”

The nurses paused, stepping back quickly to allow Nevada to stand besides Mariana.  

Mariana was frantically scanning the room; only able to see the blurry, jumbled mess in front of her.  She couldn’t focus her eyesight on anything concrete.  The nurse’s face was unclear and she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing through her ears.  She was tugging at her restraints when one of her hands was finally freed from them, but it’d been stopped mid air by a pair of hands she thought she recognized.  She moved her head as carefully as possible, attempting to not stir further the discomfort in her throat.

“Mari, mami,” Nevada cooed, stepping closer to the bed to be in her line of sight.  “Chiquita, you—you’re at the hospital. You have a tube down your throat that’s helping you breathe, mami, pero you can’t pull it off.  I—I know, I know you want your hands free, but you have to promise me you’ll calm down, ok?”

The breathing machine lagged in its response, but it stopped its noise, just like the heart monitoring machine stopped its chirping.  The room became quieter; the only sounds now were the low murmuring of the nursing team, and Nevada’s heartbeat in his ears.

Mariana’s vision still hadn’t clear.  Not even after the fluttering blinking from her part.  She squeezed Nevada’s hand as he brought it to his mouth to place a kiss to her fingers.  She opened her hand, spreading her fingers along his jaw, flexing them to scratch at his beard.  He hummed, closing his eyes, and enjoying the feel of her hands against his face.

Her eyes watered because even though she could not see him well enough, she still knew it was he.  She would always know it was he.

A nurse placed her hand on his shoulder and he turned his head, “We’ve paged the doctor to see if we can get that tube out in the next couple of hours.  Keep her calm and with company, ok?”

Nevada nodded, turning to grab in both of his hands one of hers.  “Ay, mi Chiquita,” he breathed out.

A couple of hours indeed had gone by and Nevada decided to keep busy on the other side of the hospital where the NICU took place.  They’d kicked him out, respectfully so, and not being able to sit on his ass quietly for more than a few minutes at a time, he’d busied his time in visiting his son over in the NICU, and allowing Nina to sit with them as well.

Nevada had returned and was now sitting across a very animated Mariana bickering her way with a doctor.

“That’s still not answering the question of my supply, doctor.  Am I going to be able to breastfeed with this medication in my body?”

She sounded a little hoarse, but her… gumption and bravado seemed intact.  “Yes, Miss Santos.  We actually recommend labetalol for postpartum complications.  You wouldn’t be the first nor the last of my patients who’s suffered some mild complication… that isn’t easily fixed,” the doctor said with a smile.

Mariana sighed, leaning back against the elevated headrest, giving a nod and a shy smile.  “When can I eat?  And, I mean, real food.”

The doctor nodded, “Unfortunately, due to the stress the tube puts on your throat, we want to make sure you heal for at least twenty-four hours before you can eat or drink anything.  We are keeping the feeding tube until tomorrow, so we won’t completely starve you.”

“And, my vision?”

The doctor nodded and offered an apologetic smile.  “I understand that it’s been blurry since you woke, but that your left eye is back to normal, now?” Mariana nodded, fidgeting with her flat sheet.  The doctor sighed, tucking his arms in his white coat pockets, “There’s really nothing we can do about that, Miss Santos.  You suffered a concussion to the occipital region of your brain on the left side, which figures why your right eye is still struggling to catch up. You just have to relax and let your body do its job.”

Mariana nodded and had resulted to silence when Nevada piped up, “How long?”

“Anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks.  We really do not know,” he offered simply.

“When can I—” Mariana’s musings had been put to a stop when the NICU nurse walked, rolling a fussy newborn baby in.

Nevada placed his coffee cup on the rolling tray lodged between Mariana’s bed and the chair as he stood, approaching the shrieking baby.  He thanked the nurse just as the doctor excused his self.  He bounced his knees, shushing his son lovingly, and placing a kiss to the baby’s cheek.

“Ready to meet our son?” Nevada asked with a smirk.

“Son?” Mariana said in a low gasp.  “Ian…”

“Matías Alexander Ramirez,” Nevada corrected.  “Meet the most incredible woman you’ll ever meet,” he finished, handing Mariana their son.

Mariana stretched her neck, waiting for Nevada’s impending kiss upon her lips.  As soon as skin-to-skin contact had been made, Matías sighed, opening his beautiful eyes to search his mother’s face.  

Mariana lowered the hospital gown at her shoulders.  “He prefers the right one,” Nevada said with a wink.

“Nevada,” Mariana warned, adjusting the baby to suckle with the nurse’s help and guidance.

Once Matías latched, Mariana sighed, feeling tears spring into her eyes.  She listened to the suckling noises he made, running her free hand through the soft jet strands on the baby’s head.  She saw as her teardrop startled Matías and she chuckled ruefully, wiping away the tear from his face.

“Seven pounds, thirteen ounces, and twenty inches of pure Ramirez,” Nevada gloated, sitting down on the recliner that had become his home throughout Mariana and Matías’ hospital stay.  Mariana smacked her teeth, unable to contain her happiness as she looked at him.  “I told you he likes the right one.”

“You would know,” she bit her lip, turning to face her child once more.  “Vada… ¡mira qué hermoso!”

“Tiene a quién salir,” he finished, tipping his chin in the air causing Mariana to giggle softly.

She was mesmerized by the beauty and easiness of the baby’s face.  What once seemed like a dream, something she’d thought she could have, but after having faced Ricky’s abuse had been torn from her life, seeing the miracle that was her son in her arms had made her particularly emotional.  It could’ve also been the fact that for a month, the uncertainty that clouded her mind every day on whether or not she would see this pregnancy through, or worst, the thought of her never getting the chance to meet her son, had her sitting with airs of elation.

She’d made good on the promise she’d made to her child: Nevada would get them out of there and they would be together once more.

She sighed, all love-filled, and she raised her elbow, allowing for greater reach and to place her lips upon Matías’ relaxed brow.

He was suckling contently, the veiny, thin flesh of his hooded lids protecting the beautiful shine of his eyes.  His tiny fists were tucked under his chin, yet it was the steady beating of his heart that most excited Mariana.  Being able to hold her child in her arms for the first time, to provide him that comfort, had her floating on cloud nine.

She turned towards Nevada with a smile, “What happened to Ian?  I thought we were set on Ian as a name.”

Nevada smirked, basking in her happiness.  “He was named Ian… for about two hours,” he smirked, biting his lip.  “Then, I stared at him, and he didn’t look like a Ian Ramirez, but Matías…” he clicked his tongue.  “Matías Ramirez es un hombre de palabra y autoridad… como su papá,” he finished with a wink.

Mariana shook her head, glancing down at Matías as he elicited a soft coo.  “Why Matías?” she asked, smiling down at her newborn.

“Gift of God,” Nevada looked at Mariana, thoroughly in love with her.  “Just like his mother.”

Mariana bit her lip, giving her newborn once more all the attention she harbored.

Nevada hummed; engulfed in all the love he had for the both of them.  “Chiquita,” he called out for her hearing her hum.  “Mírame,” he asked of her and once she smiled at him he admitted his love for her: “Te amo.”

Mariana’s smile grew on her face, biting her lip furtively, “Te amo, más, papi.”

They heard Dylan groan, shifting on the floor so that he could lay flat against the now bloodied floor of Nevada’s office.  Miguel approached the desk, grabbing from it a glass of water to throw on Dylan’s face.  He gasped, coughing at the sharp breath intake, to then roll over to his other side, giving his back to the three men standing.

Nevada turned on his waist, grabbing from atop the desk his packet of cigarettes, quickly lighting one, and giving it a nice, long drag.  The subtle nod he gave could’ve easily been missed by whomever wasn’t trained to catch it, but for Miguel, a man who’d been working for and with Nevada for as a long as he had, those nuances were almost a third language between them.  Miguel cleared his throat; quickly circling the cowering body on the floor and without notice, Miguel’s foot connected with Dylan’s uninjured ribs.

Miguel ordered through clenched teeth, delivering another stomp to Dylan’s ribs, “Get up!”

Another Tuesday evening under a Ramirez’s roof.  Nevada stood, propped against his desk, taking a deliberate drag out of his cigarette, releasing a cloud of smoke over his head.  Pucho perused his phone, casually shaking his head, as another grunt could be heard bounce off the walls of the drug lord’s command center.

“Miguel,” Nevada called softly, putting a stop to Miguel’s tune-up session.  Miguel sighed, squaring his shoulders as Nevada gave Dylan time to finish his hacking and catch his breath.  “Where is she?”

“Nev—” Dylan attempted to plea, choking on his words as another cough rippled through his body.

“Mmm,” Nevada hummed, blowing out smoke into the air.  “I don’t want to hear anything out of your mouth unless it has something to do with my Chiquita’s location.”

Dylan remained silent, coughing every other breath he attempted to take.  

Nevada scratched his brow, mindful of the burning stick between his fingers.  He tilted his chin inadvertently, turning around on his waist to ash the cigarette.  Almost immediately, the sound of bone connecting with bone could be heard, and as he enveloped himself with the sound of discomfort, he took another long drag out of his cigarette.

Nevada had learned to smoke only to calm himself, using the horrible vice as a coping mechanism of sorts.  He’d only stopped smoking around Mariana out of respect for the life she now harbored inside of her, but at least he had some type of comfort that Mariana would cling onto him and bury her nose near the lapels of his leather jacket just to inhale the inherent scent that was he.

He lowered his head, biting his lip surreptitiously as the memory of her flooded his mind.  He took a deep breath in, bringing to his mouth the butt of the cigarette when he heard Dylan mumble something.  He almost missed it since Miguel’s fist had drowned out the sounds coming out of his mouth, but Nevada heard the almost unapparent words leave his mouth.

He turned around with a whip, immediately putting out the cigarette.  “Miguel—Miguel, ¡ya!”  Nevada bended at the knee, clearing his throat for show, watching as Miguel used his foot to turn Dylan’s face towards Nevada’s general direction.  Nevada wiped some blood off of Dylan’s lip with his thumb, turning it towards his face and inspecting it before wiping it against Dylan’s shirt with a sense of disgust.  “Where is she?”

Dylan searched Nevada’s eyes as best as he could.  Miguel’s fists had done a number on him already, and his eyes were beginning to swell in the matter of the minutes he’d been tuning him up.  He opened his mouth, attempting to catch his breath before his lungs and stomach caught the best of him.  He coughed, sputtering blood against the floor near Nevada’s shoes.

“Union—Union City,” Dylan struggled to breathe.

“I already know that,” Nevada husked, fixing his glare onto Dylan.  “Where is she?”

“Store—Storage unit,” Dylan heaved, swallowing thickly before renewing.  “He—42nd and Hudson,” he finished before coiling his body into fetal position once more and proceeding to cough.

Mariana was sitting on the bed with her back against the cold metal of the storage unit.  Her hands ran absentmindedly against her enlarged abdomen as she hummed softly.  Her eyes were closed, enjoying the quiet time that was only disrupted by the lulling sound of water hitting metal.  She was fighting to force her brain to concentrate on the living life inside her body, not the aching pains coursing through her lower backside.

From a young age, she had the faintest memory of running around in the rain.  She’d remembered her grandmother back on the island, admonishing her for running around during the downpour, but it was then when she had been the happiest.  Being cleansed by the universe, feeling the water hit her skin; washing away all the pains and sorrows from the day, week, or month.  All she longed for at the moment was to be able to walk outside and let the rain engulf her with the memory of something better.

She hummed, feeling a soft smile creep on her lips.  She bit her lip, slowly opening her eyes.  She looked down at her abdomen, watching the movement of her impatient child, reminding her of Nevada and his kisses.  That’s where the attraction for him was so palpable and… extreme.  His kisses, his touch, they all felt like the comforting touch of rain upon her skin.

She wasn’t craving rain… she was craving Nevada.

“Ay, mi amor,” she cooed softly.  “I miss him, too, you know,” she smiled, pressing her fingers to the hard spot above her belly button.

She felt the baby kick and she smiled, shaking her head.  She always got the best responses out of the being inside of her when speaking of Nevada.

The frantic clanging of the lock against the metal door that held her prisoner disrupted her thoughts, and once it swung open, she saw the unhinged look behind Ricky’s eyes.  Deranged made for a better fit to what she saw in him, as if he was grasping at straws… holding on by he skin of his teeth.  He was frantically searching for something… or someone.  Behind the door, behind the boxes crowding Mariana’s already small container box, outside the adjacent container box he searched for something that was not there.

“Ricky,” she heaved, pulling her knees towards her as best as she could.  “Ricky, what are you doing?”

He fixed his bloodshot eyes on her, placing a finger over his mouth.  Mariana furrowed her brow with discomfort, aggravating the deep gash left there, parting her mouth to protest when Ricky took several steps forward, charging towards her.  She mewled, scooting towards the edge of the bed where she was sure Ricky would have a tougher time getting to her if he were just to reach over.

“Dylan; has he come by today?”

Mariana ran her tongue over the bruise and cut on her lip, “Yes.”

“¿Cuándo?”

“You should know.  You’re his boss,” Mariana answered smarmily.

Ricky looked up with a scoff, shouldering off the duffel bag he’d managed to hide from her up until this point.  “A ti como que se te olvida who the fuck’s in charge here.  Don’t think for a second I won’t put a bullet in you,” he threatened, struggling with the zipper.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, coming to a stand and pressing her back to the cold metal wall behind her.

“At what time did he leave?  I need him here.  He should’ve been here already…”

“Ricky,” Mariana’s voice wavered and her eyes watered, “where are you taking me?”

Ricky raised his eyes to Mariana, momentarily distracted from the task at hand, and taking a step towards Mariana’s general direction, making her cower, and instinctively protect her growing stomach.  He gave her a once over, smirking sardonically, as he reached the top edge of the small bed.  He was quick, causing Mariana’s reflexes to lag when his fist closed on her wavy locks.  The hearty tug he gave to Mariana’s hair had her stumbling against her shoulder.

“Stop.  With the.  Questions,” he intoned, closing his fist with every syllable he pronounced.

Mariana mewled, nodding her head in pain.  Ricky yanked her head, chuckling in amusement at Mariana’s pain and discomfort when a sudden noise caught his attention.  He hummed, closing his fist, causing Mariana to hiss loudly, her hand flying to her head to dig at Ricky’s fingers.  He shushed her, releasing her hair with a shove.

At first, all that was audible was the steady fall of rain against metal, imitating the sound of waves crashing upon the shore.  The night seemed quiet yet there was crippling anxiety coursing through his body.  Something didn’t sit right with him.  Something wasn’t adding up.

He dug in his back pocket, sliding the small flip phone out.  Upon further inspection, he noticed the time.  There was no way guards could be patrolling the grounds twenty minutes after the last patrol.  He needed to get moving.

“Grab your shit!” he ordered in a low growl.

“What?” Mariana protested, rubbing at her scalp.

He aimed his gun at her, pulling it out of thin air in Mariana’s delayed response, “¡Avanza!”

Her eyes seemed to bulge out of her skull when she stood in haste, immediately losing balance in her new center of gravity.  She approached him slowly, not wanting any sudden movements to startle him in his squirrely state.  His impatience won in the end and as he charged forward towards the bag of clothes belonging to Mariana, he grabbed at her shoulder, tugging her behind him as he opened the adjoining door to the next container.

He drug her quickly, denying her the chance to bundle up and wear shoes before prematurely springing into action.  As soon as Ricky opened the door to the outside, the figure lighting up a cigarette in the distance, and under the rain stopped Mariana and Ricky equally in their tracks.

“Vada,” she breathed out.

He walked coolly and with purpose on the gravelly path, a cloud of smoke lingering in front of his face, and when it cleared, he saw her, “Chiquita…”

Ricky could hear the easy sigh Mariana released, standing her ground as he pulled on her arm, and when she didn’t move, the powerful slap against her cheek sprung her to action.  Her vision blurred, preventing her to see forward any longer as her feet stumbled against the gravel beneath her feet.  She knew what Ricky attempted to accomplish, and in order to not further risk her life or that of her child’s; she needed to be as calculated as possible.

Nevada heard the echo of the slap against the walls of the containers, causing his throat to constrict against the smoke he’d already exhaled.  He stopped briefly, feeling his men pass him by and immediately taking the other paths made to navigate the extensive lot of containers.  How had Ricky found this place?  In order to have these types of containers, the ones that were storage within storage, you needed business clearance or have a lot of money to spend.  But, from what Dylan had been able to sputter, they’d just gotten lucky that no one had reported any suspicious behavior.

It dawned on Nevada that maybe Ricky hadn’t been paying his dues at the storage unit, but rather weaseled his way in and planted flags in a place he had no business being in.

Nevada continued forward, allowing his men to search for Mariana and corner Ricky.  He’d dropped a bag in order to slap Mariana and as he approached the open bag, he saw the now wet clothes belonging to Ricky and his Chiquita.  He hummed; pushing forward with a furrowed brow to ward off the sluicing water from his forehead towards the direction he’d seen them come from.

To his right, a small pathway ramp that led into a covered tunnel that opened into two containers, one to his left and one to his right.  The one to his left had a door opened, so he crossed the threshold, basking in the slight darkness coming from the open area.  The container in which he was in had a few bottles scattered around that upon further inspection he noticed were of alcohol.  It smelled stale, of kept old paper.  To his far right was another door, and as he walked the distance between the first door and the second one he hoped that the room Mariana had been kept in was as big and spacious as the one he’d just been in.

The shuddering breath he released upon laying eyes on the cot Ricky had been making Mariana sleep in nearly knocked him on his ass.  To Nevada’s standards, that wasn’t a bed.  Not even Sofía, a child, slept in such a small thing.  It faced the door, and surrounding it were stacked to the ceiling boxes and milk crates filled with files and other papers.  He noticed the welded bolt on the wall next to the bed with chain dangling from it and felt his stomach churn.  Whatever he’d eaten prior to then threatened to come up, but he turned, giving his back to the small bed when he noticed the small table with candelabra, a chair, and two buckets.

He could imagine the contents of the buckets and from the indistinguishable scent of urine combined with whatever scent paper produced, he knew Mariana had been living in hell.  There was barely any light coming in as opposed to the few candles lit and he felt comfortable standing in the room, only because he wore his leather jacket and jeans.  He’d seen Mariana’s attire, and if Ricky had been keeping her like he was, her nights were more than lonely.

He swallowed the tight knot forming on the back of his throat at the thought of Mariana enduring the penalties of his mistakes.  If he’d only listened, if he’d only been more aware—

“Fucking move!” he heard in the distance.

“Ricky, please… it hurts!”

He acted quickly, pressing his back against the wall near the door, preventing Ricky from seeing him.

“You’re so fucking stupid!” he admonished, hearing his voice closer to the door.

As soon as he’d seen Mariana stumble into the room and collapse on the bed, his rage meter had risen.  He swung his fist, miraculously connecting it with Ricky’s temple, sending the man flying against the opposite wall.

Mariana shrieked, hearing the thud of Ricky’s gun hit the floor.

“¿Qué fue, Ricky?” Nevada scoffed, towering over the cowering man on the floor.

Ricky hadn’t expected Nevada to stay back and inspect the quarters in which he’d been keeping Mariana for almost a month.  He thought he’d ditched the man when he’d disappeared through the multiple walkways of the lot.  There’d been a reason behind him choosing this particular location as opposed to your common house or abandoned building.  He’d taken his time in learning how the walkways connected with other sides of the lot and how to circle around back to where he needed to be without exactly taking the same route as before.

He’d thought he’d outsmarted Nevada Ramirez for just a second, but he hadn’t foreseen Nevada staying back to survey what his Chiquita had to endure while he wracked his brain and poked and provoked others in the never-ending search of her.

Something had told him to walk the path Mariana had to endure and in doing so, he’d been rewarded with her return.  Nevada could not had possibly known that Ricky would come back, especially return to the confinements where he kept Mariana with not even the bare minimum necessities… but he’d gotten lucky.  The universe had looked out for him once again.

Ricky was still reeling from the punch Nevada had given him.  His vision had blurred and he was fighting the roaring rush of blood through his ears.  “You think you’re gonna come to my city,” Nevada intoned, delivering a solid kick to Ricky’s ribs.  “Terrorize my Chiquita,” he sniffled, delivering another kick to Ricky’s sides.  “And, on top of that, think for a second that I’ll let you get off breathing?” he snorted, shaking his head, watching as Ricky cowered in the corner.

Ricky coughed, rolling on the floor with a smile on his face.  “I mean,” he coughed, “you have to admit I almost had you, Nevada.”

Nevada hummed unamused, delivering the tip of his steel toe boot to Ricky’s stomach.  He regarded him with disgust, tempted to put a bullet between his brows, but the low pule Mariana elicited redirected his attention to her.

“Chiquita,” he said softly, relieved beyond repair that for the most part, she was in one piece.  He released a breathy chuckle, framing her face with his hands.  “Mami, what has he done to you?” he asked, running his eyes over her bruised and battered face.

She opened her eyes, the ruptured blood vessel in one of her eyes catching his eye.  Ricky must’ve hit her, and hit her hard for her to have a ruptured blood vessel and for it to be as prominent as her was.

“Chiquita,” he mused softly, running his thumb over the bruise on her cheekbone.

Mariana winced faintly, recoiling from the tenderness of Nevada’s touch, yet remembering the great pleasure those hands had brought her, and for the first time in a month, she allowed herself to relax in the humane touch a man—her man­—provided her.

“Vada,” Mariana sighed.

“I’m here, mama.  I’m here for you… and for my Gordita,” he smiled, biting his lip for good measure.

Mariana tittered softly, nuzzling into Nevada’s palm.  By the time she noticed Ricky, he’d already delivered the blow to Nevada’s head.  She screamed, clutching at her stomach as Nevada stumbled backwards, holding the back of his head.  Ricky wasted no time in delivering a punch to his gut, knocking Nevada’s air out of his body.  Nevada doubled over, attempting to regain consciousness from not only the head blow, but also the punch to his stomach that had him gasping for air.

Ricky, in a desperate attempt to debilitate Nevada, swung his fist, hoping to connect with Nevada’s face, but missed by a sliver when Nevada stumbled backwards thanks to the gun he’d knocked out of Ricky’s grasp.

Mariana had launched herself forward, landing by their feet in a matter of seconds, yet still being careful of her stomach and not knocking it in a way that would comprise her pregnancy and the life of her child.  Ricky was made aware of Mariana’s intentions and shoved Nevada, causing him to knock against the three-legged table, making it disassemble under his weight.

Ricky was able to impale Mariana, making her fumble with the gun.  His hands closed in on her throat, and as he squeezed the life out of her, she clawed at his arms.  

The gurgling sounds were loud, drowning Ricky’s heavy breathing, and when her life didn’t slip as fast as he needed it to, he resorted in knocking her head against the pavement.  Once… twice… thrice, until her skull cracked and the scratching at his forearms stopped.

“No,” Nevada said softly, slowly gaining consciousness.  “No!”

Nevada gained his footing, launching forward towards Ricky’s body.  He managed to knock him off of Mariana’s unconscious body, delivering punch after punch to his face.

It was like he’d drew blank and his surroundings had melted.  Mariana was no longer with him so needn’t shield her from the horrors of his true self.  It wasn’t until Miguel and Chino pulled him off Ricky’s lifeless body that he stopped.

He struggled against them, finally breaking free, and immediately making his way to his Chiquita.  He picked her up, clutching her loose head in his hands.  The blood out of the gash on her head melted and stained the pavement beneath them.  He could see the blurry sight of her beautiful face, his hand running down her cheek.

“Is she—Is she breathing?” Miguel asked in a heavy whisper.

Nevada furrowed his brow, not having bothered to check for a pulse, immediately thinking the worst.  He found her carotid, pressing his fingers there and feeling the faint, but steady thump of her heart.

“She’s…” he stood, carrying her in his arms.

“Jefe—Jefe,” Miguel shouted behind him.  “What do we do?”

Nevada shook his head, carrying in his arms the woman he loved, “Make sure he doesn’t die.  I want to do that firsthand.”

Both Ricky and Dylan had been extremely nervous in the upcoming days.  They’d been whispering and talking times and shifts from Nevada’s guys more and more, and Mariana knew that her days in the container storage were numbered.  Dylan had taken her out for some sun after noticing her diminished behavior and almost pale complexion compared to the beautiful and natural tan Mariana’s skin always held.

It was a big lot with multiple containers stacked one on top of the other.  She’d noticed that security was kept to a minimum and only an officer patrolled the grounds every hour or so.  This had been the perfect place to keep someone hostage without raising questions, without being suspicious, and without running the risk of anybody finding out what exactly they were up to until it was too late.

After Ricky had left, pissed beyond measure, Dylan had taken her out for a stroll and as she enjoyed the sun against her bruised skin, she rubbed her stomach.

“He’s planning to run,” he said without preamble.  “He’s planning to make his move in the next couple of days.”

Mariana faltered for a second, glancing at the man over her shoulder.  “And, you’re telling me this why?” she smirked, returning to her pacing, being mindful of her footing against the gravel walkway.

“He’s not leaving without you, Mariana.  He’ll rather keep running for life than surrender you to anyone,” Dylan sounded sorrowful, almost apologetic.  “He’s… not right in his head.”

“Yet, you chose to surrender me to him.  Do you really want to talk about not being right in the head?”

He sighed, “I’m… listen, my mother is sick and she was struggling to keep up.  I did this to help her.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dylan,” she said with a smile on her face, feeling the heat of the sun warm her cheeks.

Dylan remained quiet, pondering on whether or not he should continue with the conversation.  She was right; he didn’t have to explain his self to her, yet he felt the need to… justify his actions.

He hadn’t always been this way.  At one point, he would’ve frowned at this new person he’d become.  And, as he watched Mariana, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly her chances would be if he’d let her go.  If he’d just… looked away long enough for her to get lost in the maze that was the lot… Every other container looked the same as the other, and any turn could take you out of the lot.  She could be lucky and run into one of the officers patrolling the area, or she could be very unlucky and run into Ricky who in turn would never let her see the light of day once more.

“Come on,” he urged quietly.  “Let’s go before he comes back.”

Mariana sighed, taking one last look at the sky.  The clouds were gaining up on the sun and she could smell the rain in the air.  Tonight, she’d made sure to bundle up…

“And, you’re sure this is the number that contacted you, Nevada?” Pucho confirmed, getting his phone out of his jacket pocket.  “I have a guy that can have this ready for us in a couple of hours.”

“Que sí, Pucho, ¿cuántas veces más me vas a preguntar?” Nevada responded irately.

“This is a Jersey number…”

“Union City, 95 across,” he responded, his eyes casted away towards where Sofía was giggling with her tablet.

“Or, Lincoln Tunnel,” Pucho added.

Nevada shook his head, “No, no.  He wouldn’t have risked any of the SUVs to be seen.  Jimmy would’ve loved to throw that shit back on my face.”

“And, you’re trusting Mucci, now?” Pucho replied with a mild snicker, not giving Nevada the opportunity to answer as he turned around to speak with his contact.

It’d taken him virtually nothing to figure out that the number that Ricky had used to contact him came from New Jersey.  What, with multiple internet search engines at the palm of one’s hands, it had been relatively easy to find that one out.  So, he guessed he should be grateful for the unhinged moron that had slipped up and now had provided him with the so-called ‘upper hand’ in this unwanted game.

After making sure Sofía was taken care of, he’d left her with Pucho and Robert at his apartment, the only two men in the select few of the inner circle that he did not suspect.  He’d gone out for a quote, unquote walk, yet he’d taken the emergency car that was always parked in his underground garage.  No one knew about the emergency car, only him and Pucho knew.  It was for emergencies only, and in it were stashed roughly half a million dollars in cash, some weapons, non perishable food for a couple of days, and a few clothing items for any weather condition.

The emergency car raised no suspicion when in the street.  He could peruse around any neighborhood, spy on any enemy firsthand without raising suspicion, and without them thinking for a second that it belonged to Nevada Ramirez, King of the Heights.  It was common enough that no one, not even the cops, would give it a once over, and protected enough that looking through either windows or windshields would not give him away.

Twenty-two minutes down to the second it took him to get to Union City from his home in the Heights.  Quick enough that Mariana—if awake—wouldn’t be suspicious of it, yet far away enough from the madness that was currently happening in the city.  He drove through multiple streets, passing multiple things on the way.  He did not know what to expect, yet he drove in hopes for something, anything at all that would bring him closer to his Chiquita.

When he returned to the Heights, he called a meeting with his top ranking men, letting them know that the search for Mariana would be called off until further notice.  He commended them for their dedication and ordered vacation time for everyone working on searching for her, starting with the lowest ranking member until everyone had gotten at least a couple of days off to rest and recuperate.

Pucho had just looked at Nevada; attempting to figure him out, but if he knew something about the green-eyed man was that whatever was going on through that mind of his, he wouldn’t let anybody know until he was sure it was going to work.  That was something he could always pride himself with: thoroughness.  Though, when impulsive, his thoroughness went through the window, but now that he had had the opportunity to think it through, to feel the chemicals work within, he could finally face it head on.

He’d spoken to some of his midlevel guys, the ones that handled product instead of… everything else, and he’d kept tabs on those he knew, knew of Mariana’s whereabouts.

Nevada heard Pucho finish his phone call.  He swiveled his chair, watching the man approach him slowly and with a smirk.  “I know what you did,” was all he said.

Nevada raised his brow, admonishing Sofía for her errant screaming and shrieking.  “What did I do?” he asked softly.

“Ay, por favor, Nevada.  No te hagas el loco.  You had the Porter boys monitoring Miguel all last week, for what?”

“Pucho—”

“Care to let me know what the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

Nevada sighed, coming to a stand to close his office door.  He turned, “Ricky… insinuated that one of our guys, one of your boys is running game on me.”

“And?” Pucho exclaimed with arms wide open.  “So, what?  Now we go and believe everything we hear from, from… un pendejo de mierda que tiene a tu mujer held hostage doing God knows what the hell to her.”

“No,” Nevada responded simply.  “Just like I had the Porter boys check Miguel, I had others vet the rest of them.  I cannot have distrust right underneath my nose, Pucho.  If I cannot trust my men to have my back—if I can’t trust them with my Chiquita—my pregnant Chiquita—I cannot trust them at all.”

Pucho shook his head, pondering for a second what Nevada had just said.  He needn’t deny the smartness behind Nevada’s ways.  He was right, as he often was.  How could he do the business that he did if he couldn’t trust the men he’d surrounded himself with?  It’s not that he suspected Miguel of foul play, it’s that he needed to make sure no one felt they were being treated as a favorite just because they were always in Nevada’s good graces.

Who knows, maybe Nevada had someone tailing him as well, but he would’ve noticed it, just like he noticed the Porter boys hanging around sometimes seen but never heard around Miguel.

Trust, but verify: Nevada’s life motto.

He always took everything with a grain of salt.  Every bit of information, every whisper, every threat, every statement; nothing went past him.  No matter who’d said it, if he felt just a twinge of curiosity, he’d pursue it, and whether or not it turned out to be true or false, it would be their head.

Consequences came if you dared lie to a Ramirez, and you never knew when your fate would be met until it did.  Nevada called it ‘the lying game’, and he would always win at that.

“And, you really think Miguel had something to do with the disappearance of la Chiquita?”

Nevada sighed, approaching his chair behind his desk once more, “I don’t know what to think anymore, but one thing I know for sure, if it wasn’t him, his loyalty will show it.”

Pucho scoffed, scrubbing his hands over his face, “So, what’s the move now?  Bring them in, see who turns on each other?”

Nevada pursed his lips, nodding subtly.  “That’s exactly the move,” he said with a growl.  “I want Sofía out of here the minute they walk in.”

“Fine,” Pucho nodded.  “Who’s all coming?”

“Miguel.  Chino y Rubén.  Oscar.  Jensen.  Leo.  And, Dylan,” Nevada finished with a sigh.

“I don’t like him,” Sofía said nonchalantly from the couch, taking her eyes off her tablet to award it to her uncle across from her.

Nevada smirked.  “No, of course you don’t, because Mari didn’t like him either,” he said with a smile.

“Well,” the girl pondered, adjusting her legs to sit on the couch instead of lying belly down.  She gnawed at her lip, looking up at her uncle through her lashes.

Nevada glanced at Pucho, furrowing his brow before turning to the girl once more.  “Princesa…” he sighed, “if you have something to say, say it.  Tío no se va a molestar.”

Sofía rolled her eyes, “That’s what you tell Mami and then, you yell at her.”

Pucho snickered, hiding his amusement behind a cough and his fist, ignoring the viridian stare boring a hole against his temple.  “Sofi,” Nevada rasped.  “Sofía Isabella, well, what?”

The girl picked at the hem of her skirt, “Well, he’s a liar… and, he’s always yelling at Mari, too.”

“Ven acá,” he waved a hand towards Sofía.  The girl stood, approaching her uncle and settling between his legs.

Something had caught his ear.  It wasn’t the whole yelling thing that had caught his ear, he knew that Mariana could go toe to toe with anyone when it came to arguing.  What had caught his ear was the lying part.  Sofía, from a very young age had been imparted with the education that liars never got far in life, especially when the truth came knocking on their door.  So, no matter what, even if she got in trouble, she always told the truth.

“What do you mean, he’s a liar?  What has he lied about?”

“Jefe, what’s going on?” Miguel asked settling next to guys in front of Nevada’s desk.

Nevada smirked, kissing Sofía’s cheek.  “El día que mi Chiquita went missing only a select few knew where she was.  Out of the select few, you seven were unaccounted for.  Now, remember something, if I’m asking, I already know, so you think about your lie well, and execute it even better,” he said, fixing his glare on each and every one of the men in front of him.

Miguel was the first one to talk, “Jefe, I was in the Harlem storage.  I met with Pucho to discuss deliveries and schedule the dock time for new product shipment.”

Nevada hummed, “Chino… Rubén…”

“We were upstairs, outside Nina’s door,” Rubén answered.

“We even saw la Señito get in the elevator,” added Chino.

Pucho stepped in, “Y, ¿ustedes?”

“Miguel sent us to Inwood,” Oscar answered.

“The way the guys are running some of the operation up there is not up to the Ramirez standard,” Jensen interrupted casually.

“I can send you the business plan, Nevada,” Leo gestured.  “Oscar and Jensen were with me.  I wouldn’t lie to you, especially when it comes to your woman, chico.”

What Sofía had told Nevada had weighed heavy on him.  If what she said held true, the faith of Dylan Perrot would come to an end quicker than he anticipated.

If there was something he had learned in the years of being in the business he was, it was that if you held out on your offer long enough, either the seller or the buyer would eventually fold and either concede or completely back out and make a fool of themselves, and that’s exactly what he would do at the moment.

He could see the steady stances of each and every one of the men he’d already received an answer from, the answers he already knew were true.

From the reports he’d received in the last couple of days, Dylan had been the only one that had been hard to trail and keep tabs on.  No matter how good the man or men he’d sent to watch Dylan, they always came back missing chunks of time in his day, multiple times, and multiple days in a row.  It was always at the same times and for the same amount of time.  

Now it made sense.

He was the traitor, and if he’d created the space for Sofía to be able to come forward instead of insisting in his pre-historic way of doing things, where children were to be seen and not heard, this could’ve been over weeks ago.  But, he couldn’t fault his niece either.  She hadn’t really developed that… malice to pair the situation she had witnessed with the disappearance of her teacher, but he did.  Nevada had the all the malice in the world and then some.

Dylan had known that his ‘gig’ was up the minute he’d received the call from Pucho to present his self to Nevada’s office.  Of course, had the call come from Miguel, or one of the other guys, his suspicion levels would’ve been at ease, but as soon as the call had come from Nevada’s right hand man, he knew that his final day on this Earth had come.

He’d remained quiet for the most part, attempting to hide his nervousness in joking with the guys.  He’d asked the rest of them the reason for the meeting and more than one had said that meetings with Nevada meant one of two things: he needed something from you and you were about to be compensated for it or you were in big, big trouble.  You never knew with Nevada, it could be the former just as much as it could be the latter.

Nevada had watched the men in complete and utter silence.  They’d stood still, only fidgeting the necessary amount, except for him.

Dylan had been jumpy, avoiding his stare at every turn and at every chance.  His brow had broken into a subtle sweat, and in classical guilty fashion, he’d kept shifting in his spot, awaiting his faith.  Nevada had been meticulous in the placement of the guys; he’d wanted Dylan right at his line of vision, where he could watch him squirm firsthand.  He’d heard the subtle vibration coming from his pocket, and it hadn’t been once or twice, it’d been four times already, and with every vibration he could feel the level of his gumption heighten.

“Dylan,” he said sharply, causing the man to startle in his place.  “Muchachos, clear the room, except you, Miguel.”

Nevada watched as his most trusted men left his office, leaving Dylan even more nervous than before.

“Mi Princesa tells me that you’ve been lying to me,” he begun.  “You want to tell me the truth about the day you picked up my Chiquita from my sister’s place?”

“I—I—” he stuttered.  “I don’t want to be rude, boss, but are you really putting your trust on a six year old?”

“At least I’m not a liar!” Sofía pouted, causing Nevada to chuckle.

Nevada placed a kiss to her cheek and urged her to leave his lap.  He stood, offering his hand to the girl, and walking her to the door.  Nevada opened the door, whistling loudly and calling for Chino just as loudly.  Once Chino appeared near the staircase, he shook Sofía’s hand, urging the girl to leave with her caretaker.  Nevada blew her a kiss and shut the door behind him.

He stood in front of Dylan, “Where is she?”

Dylan stumbled, opening and closing his mouth without a sign of words leaving his it.  Nevada’s nostrils flared, his hand flexing at his side when without preamble, it connected with Dylan’s jaw.

“Where is she?” he asked softly once more, not giving Dylan the chance to stand straight.

Neither Pucho nor Miguel dared intervene.  Miguel didn’t because he was slightly confused as to what was happening and Pucho didn’t because he knew Nevada needed to figure this on his own.

He’d been the one to hire Dylan.  He’d been the one to give him free reigns when it came to Mariana and her safety.  He’d been the one to authorize every move of his Chiquita to be monitored by the same man that now held her hostage and knew of her current whereabouts and situation.

Mariana had told him how she felt about the meathead following her around, knowing her every move, and he’d brushed it off as Mariana being Mariana: difficult and spoiled.  How many times had she told him to give her Miguel, to let her have any of the other guys from the inner circle, and time and again he’d denied her request.  Pucho, the one who never meddled, the one who’s always watching, but never complaining, had told him to listen to her, to protect her, and he’d shut him down the minute he’d ‘questioned’ his decision on keeping Dylan aboard.

Nevada needed to be the one to feel bone connect to bone.  He couldn’t have Miguel do this for him—or any of the other guys, for that matter.  Once he’d felt initial contact with his jawbone, it’d been as a pipe had burst from within.  He’d connected his fist continuously to that of Dylan’s pretty face and if weren’t for Miguel pushing him back from his body, he would’ve continued the assault.

Nevada spat on Dylan’s unconscious, bloodied body, finishing it with a kick to his ribs for good measure, “WHERE IS SHE!”

Pucho’s words had been for deaf ears, because until Nevada had Mariana in his hands again, the recklessness would continue.

Nevada feared no one, and his temperament and mental well-being were hanging on by a thread.  He had all the guys working overtime and had the girls coming in with false allegations with the promise of a big reward.

“No one,” Mucci heaved, attempting to lock his remaining good and open eye on Nevada’s face.  “No one here knows where she is,” he swallowed, smirking, and Miguel, who’d been standing by knew that his fate was about to get much worst by whatever he was about to say.  “And, even if we did… she looks like a good lay,” he chuckled, the sound quickly converting to a pained cry once Nevada connected his fist with the bloodied flesh that was Jimmy’s face.

Blow after blow; grunt after grunt was all that reverberated back from the walls of the warehouse.  No one said anything.  No one dared interrupt until they knew it was time.

Nevada stepped back, winded, and slightly dizzy.  The distinct copper-like smell from the blood on the backs of his hands was clouding his nose.  He’d beaten Jimmy Mucci to a pulp, and now he’d toss him somewhere where the Greeks and the Irish could see him, and the Russians up in the Bronx could hear about it, too.

He’d already weeded out the Irish.  They hated the Italians, and if they’d done this just to get Nevada to step into their little pissing competition, their fate would be far worst than the one Jimmy Mucci had just met.

Nevada flexed his fingers, wincing slightly once he felt the bones in his hands rearranging.  “Drop him off where everyone can see.  Let this be a fucking warning.  I want my Chiquita, and I want her now,” he growled, his eyes an unnerving color.

Miguel nodded, signaling the other men to do as Nevada had bidden, and quietly he followed him out.

If anyone knew what Nevada was going through, was Miguel.  He’d been his driver and immediate hand for as long as he could remember.  And, even though he hadn’t voiced it as of yet, Miguel did feel somewhat responsible for Mariana’s current fate.  If he hadn’t been pre-occupied with something else, he would’ve been the one picking Mariana up, instead of sending Dylan to run an errand that placed him nearest to her.  If Miguel had known that she was coming home, he’d had volunteered to pick her up instead.

Nevada had slammed the door shut, quickly examining his knuckles and twisting his face in slight disgust.  He hadn’t seen his hands bruised like they were since before Mariana and him had begun dating.  He never succumbed to the violence unless completely and utterly necessary.  He had guys willing to dirty their hands in lieu of a steady paycheck.  Nevada got his problems solved and they stayed out of jail by doing what they needed to do in order to get the message across.

Two times, already, Nevada had dirtied his hands for the woman he loved, and he’d do so again without hesitation if it meant her safety and that of their unborn child.

Mariana winced, feeling the baby press at her ribs.  It was always during this time of the evening where the baby was the rowdiest, but as soon as she shifted, there he was, inching closer to her body in order to bring his hand to her belly to ease the pain across her ribs.  It was like he knew or he was synched with the life growing inside of her.  He’d whisper softly to the baby, talk them down and out of her ribs until she could breathe easily again.

She’d resorted to sleeping in a slant so that when the baby would ease itself towards her ribs, she could easily slide into a sitting position.  Nevada had surprised her with a change of headboard, one that was comfortable against her back.  It gave the room a feminine touch and it let anyone know that her presence in his life was more permanent than not.

Now, all she had for support were two flat pillows.  She sighed, feeling the prickling sensation forming across her nose.  A telling sign that her resolve was not as strong as she’d thought.  She cleared her throat, swinging her feet off the mattress and onto the cold floor of the storage room she’d been kept now for thirteen days.  She placed her elbows on her knees, leaning forward as much as her belly allowed her to go, attempting to coax the growing life inside of her down.

“Mi amor,” she whispered quietly.  “Mi amor, por favor,” she said, running her fingers through her scalp.  “I know you miss your dad, but baby please, let me rest.”

She could feel the pressure increase on her ribs and she heaved her sigh, coming to a careful stand.  Her captors had bargained with her, if she didn’t attempt to run or scream or attack them in any type of way, the chain around her ankle would come off.  It’d only taken a couple of days before she’d begged them to take it off as the pins and needles sensation of her foot was growing to be painful and annoying at the lack of circulation of her swollen feet and ankles.

She placed her hands to her belly, massaging the hardened area just like Nevada did.

“Papi will find us,” she said softly.  “Papi won’t rest until we’re back where we belong.”

She hummed and smiled at the fluttering coming from within.  Whatever activity her child was doing inside of her, had brought more than comfort to her.

The first couple of days locked in darkness had been beyond stressful.  Everything she consumed was brought back up within minutes of consumption and her once over active child had turned silent.  She’d cried and prayed, begged the baby and the heavens above for a sign of movement to no avail.  And, now, though she highly disliked the discomfort, she would choose it instead of the agony of not feeling them move within her.

Lost in her back and forth pacing, she didn’t notice the door open, let alone the body that had entered the space.  When she turned around, she tensed.

“Ricky,” her voice wavered.

He smirked.  “Si llego a saber que el culo te iba a crecer, I would’ve gotten you pregnant sooner,” he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back.

“And, you think I would’ve honestly kept a pregnancy being with you?” she retorted back, softly, but filled with contempt.  “There wasn’t a day where you didn’t beat me… belittle me to such a point—”

“Ay, you deserved every single one of your beatings, Mariana.  You and that fucking mouth of yours!”

She flinched at the sudden influx of his voice.  “If I recall, you loved fucking my mouth, and you never complained when you did,” she responded with a snarl.

Ricky chuckled, taking a step towards the three-legged table.  In his hands a bag of supplies that he emptied atop the surface of the table.  “Here,” he said, sorting the items scattered on the table.  “I got you some underwear and vitamins.  I asked the lady at the pharmacy, she said these are the ones you need.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“This,” Mariana gestured with her hands around her.  “Why do you have me here?  What do you plan on doing, Ricky?”

Ricardo sighed.  “Your fucking thug lets you give him this much lip?  ‘Cause from what I’ve heard, motherfucker is crazy.  You’d think he’d fuck you quiet, or at least into submission,” he turned, searching for the bucket.

“You’ve no right to talk about Nevada that way,” she said between clenched teeth.  “He’s ten times the man you could ever think of being.”

Ricky snickered, “Mariana, don’t test me.”

“Or, what?  You’re gonna beat me up?  Kill me?  I’ll fucking take my chances!  You’re nothing but a coward, Ricky!”

Mariana knew her words had been too much.  She’d known as soon as he’d turned around and reached her in a couple of steps.  He grabbed her hair in his hand, yanking her head back with force, and dug his fist into her belly.  She felt the flutters of movement coming from her child and the whimper of fear won over the wince of pain.

“No,” she mewled, clawing at his forearm to stop.  “Ricky, stop!”

In his eyes she could see his enjoyment when it came to inflicting pain on another being.  Many a time she’d looked into his piercing stare wondering where it had all gone wrong, who had hurt him, and if that would be her future forever.  This was a power move.  He thrived on being on top, and when anyone threatened his made believe throne, he was like a fierce hyena protecting the trash he called his home.

He dug his fist deeper into the center of her belly and Mariana spat at his face, gaining in return his hand around her neck.  She gasped, not foreseeing the hand he’d played.

“Do it,” she said between breaths.  “Fucking do it,” she smiled, feeling the pressure of his hand against her windpipe.  Ricky furrowed his brow, confused at her willingness, and he eased on the pressure behind his grip.  “Coward,” she rasped.

“Bitch!” he shouted, tossing her onto the bed.  Mariana’s hands came to wrap protectively around her midsection as she watched him pace the length of the small room, yanking at his hair.  “After everything I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get!  You—You… why are you this way?” his voice was a plea of sorts and Mariana fought to catch her breath.  “Why don’t you love me!”

Mariana looked at the broken boy at the foot of the bed, red at the face with bulging eyes and veins.  She felt… sorry for him, but he still didn’t have her sympathy.  Ricky wasn’t right in his head, and it would take more than a breakdown for her to forgive him.

“You—You’re wrong in the head, Ricky,” Mariana coughed, feeling her throat scratch with pain.  “You need—need to let me go and—”

“No!” he shouted, launching himself forward, and landing a punch to Mariana’s pretty face.

She immediately felt her bowels churn and her brain rattle in her skull.  It’d been a long time since he’d touched her like that, and growing used to someone not beating you rather quickly, she saw stars clouding her vision when another blow landed across her jaw.  Her body fell back against the mattress, her hair covered her eyes, as she felt the darkness rapidly enveloping her.

“You’ll always be mine,” she heard faintly before she finally slipped into the safe confines of blackness.

Nevada sat on his couch, a frown on his face, an ache in his heart, and a diminishing handle of whiskey in his hands.  Eighteen days without her, the greatest pain in his ass, the object of his every day distraction… the mother of his unborn child: the love of his life.  Eighteen miserable days and eighteen agonizing nights where everything felt blurred.  Blurred because he didn’t know when one thing started and another thing ended.

Had he eaten?  Had he kept up with his hygiene?  Was his business thriving?  He couldn’t know.

For eighteen days he’d known that had it not been for his big ass mouth, she could’ve been here.  If he’d just… shut up and listened to what she was saying, if he’d just seen the situation from her point of view instead of always trying to have the last word, this entire mess could’ve been avoided.

He sniffled loudly, distracting his brain from his eyes, bringing the handle to his mouth for a prolonged sip.  He didn’t even wince at the sharp sting the whiskey had on his throat, he didn’t deserve the luxury of feelings knowing that his Chiquita was out there, fighting for her life, fighting to stay alive for their kid, just to have the opportunity to be able to return home almost unscathed.

“Tío,” he heard Sofía’s soft voice approaching the couch.

He’d dismissed his men for the continued search of her.  Whatever it took, he’d have her back.

He scrambled around, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of his niece.  He checked his wristwatch, noticing the time, “Sofi—Sofi, it’s late, mama.  Go back to bed.”

Sofía climbed the couch, crawling towards her uncle, and once she reached his side, she knelt next to him.  “Are you sad because of Mari?”

Nevada hung his head, hiding the shame of his tears from his niece.  He sniffled once more, exchanging the handle from his right hand to his left, bringing his face to his inner elbow to wipe away his face, and wrapping his arm around Sofía’s small frame.  How was he to explain what was happening to his soon-to-be seven year old niece.

His chin trembled as he faced the confused stare of the young girl in front of him.  “Princesa,” she blinked, tilting her head in curiosity, and he cleared his throat.  “I am sad because of Mari, but,” he added quickly, “I’m so happy that you’re here with me.”

“Well, Mami said I had to take care of you!” she said in a fit of laughter, dodging Nevada’s fingers against her side.

“She did?” Sofía nodded, brushing her hair out of her face.  “What else did she say?”

Sofía’s smile faded and she lowered her head, “You said those are bad words…”

Nevada hummed.  “Bueno, si las dices bajito, they’re not as bad,” he winked at the girl, attempting to coax out of her whatever words his sister had used in her presence.

“Mami said that this could’ve all been avoided had she not been a puta.”

Nevada chuckled softly, “Well, I can’t argue with your Mami on that one.”

Sofía looked… perplexed, not really understanding what her uncle had meant by his statement.  Nevada shook his head and she took the opportunity to settle against his side, curling her legs close to his ribs.

Nevada brought the handle to his lips once again, looking out to the city, and letting his self feel the love that radiated out of the little body that was Sofía Isabella Ramirez.

As the handle depleted so did his eyelids and when he next woke, Sofía lain fully across his lap, bundled underneath his jaw as her gams wrapped around his back.  He groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s edge, fighting the spinning room.

He brought his wrist towards his face, squinting to better focus the hands of the watch face.  They’d been there all evening and now he could see the sun attempting to creep through the bundle of clouds in the horizon.  Nevada dropped a kiss to his niece’s messy head of hair, toeing off his shoes to lay the length of his couch when his thigh vibrated.  He groaned, maneuvering around Sofía’s body.  He slid out his phone, once more squinting at the blurry, jumpy letters across his screen.

The message would’ve been ignored had he recognized the number, or at least been part of an area code that belonged to any of the five boroughs that comprised the New York City area, but it didn’t.  Nevada prided himself a great businessman and as any businessman, it was his job to know and study the market he was in.  Any true and native Newyorker could tell you 212-, 718-, and 917- were the true New York City area codes, but the one displayed on his screen was 551-.  Whoever this was, either had the wrong number, or was looking to start some trouble.  

He had reason to ignore the message—he had more than one reason to ignore the message, the primary being: there was no business to attend to at this time of day knowing he’d set fire to too many bridges over the course of the last eighteen days.  He’d been watching those slowly burn from afar and as he sat and watch the fires grow, he’d given thought to the ones he did want to salvage, but not right now and certainly not at this time.

As he contemplated whether or not to open the message from the unknown number, another one came in.  He furrowed his brow, resting his cheek against Sofía’s head.  He couldn’t read what the messages said; he had to unlock his phone before being able to do that, but two messages almost back to back from the same unknown number.  Who else could it be?

He hesitated, pressing his thumb against the screen to unlock his phone.

Text Message: [551-908-5344] 06:21 a.m.

           I have something you want…

Text Message: [551-908-5344] 06:23 a.m.

           Wanna see?

His stomach clenched and his reaction almost made him drop Sofía onto the couch like a lifeless object he had no care for.  Instead, he stood, gathering every raging force to carry Sofía to his bed.  The girl would find more comfort knowing that at some point, her uncle had moved her to his room as opposed to hers, and even if a lie, she’d still think she’d had the opportunity of sleeping in his bed.  As he exited his room, shutting the door behind him, he pressed the phone number, bringing his phone up to his ear.

It rung several times and when his patience was beginning to thin, he heard the cynical voice on the other side of the receiver, “Huh, I thought you weren’t intrigued enough…”

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?”

The person on the other side snickered, “I already have what I want, Nevada.  I was just letting you know that she is mine.”

Nevada clenched his jaw, feeling his lips go numb with anger.  “Yours?” he snickered.  “Tú lo que eres es un palomo.”

“Un palomo que tiene lo que quiere,” he retorted.  “You should hear how she begs me—”

“Rick—Ricky, please,” Nevada heard Mariana’s faint, exhausted voice.  “Plea—Please,” she sounded winded, tired, and her voice sounded like it needed a touch of water.

Ricky hummed as he chuckled.  “What the fuck are you doing to her?” Nevada growled.

Ricky huffed, “Nothing, nothing, just… tuning her up.  Since, since, you know, you’ve let all my good work go to waste!”

“Mira, pedazo de cabrón, you put your hands—” the sudden, yet audible smack that rang loud in his ear almost made him lose his balance.

Mariana grunted, groaning softly.  Ricky sniffled, “I’m the one that has the upper hand here, Nevada.  All right?”

Nevada clenched his jaw, attempting to reel his anger in order to try and get more information out of him.  Ricky had already slipped up and allowed for pride to get the best of him when he messaged Nevada without blocking his number.  Now, even though cocky, Nevada wouldn’t allow his self to believe that Ricky hadn’t taken some precautions when getting a cellphone, burners did sell out of every bodega he knew.

Now, he just needed to exercise his infamous gift of gab and keep him on the line long enough for him to figure out where exactly was he keeping his precious Chiquita.

“Look at you being a fast learner,” he mocked.

“What is it that you want?” Nevada said through clenched teeth.  “Money?  Name your fucking price, but you can’t have her.”

He heard Mariana hiss, as if Ricky had yanked her by her hair, “Here!”

“Vada—Vada.”

“Chiquita,” he responded quickly.  “Mami, are you ok?  Are—Are you eating?”

“Vada—Vada,” she swallowed, and it was almost as if he could her smile.  “Yes, and keeping myself hydrated, too.”

“Mari—”

“Hush!” she swallowed once again.  “I’m counting on you to—”

“You’re counting on him to what, Mari?  To come rescue you?  No!  We are leaving here together!” Ricky yelled and Nevada could hear a faint echo as he yelled.  “I didn’t call to make this a fucking family reunion.”

“Why exactly did you call, huh?” Nevada’s patience had been running on low and listening to Ricky slap around the mother of his child had completely ran that probe out.  “If you didn’t call to ask for money, what did you call for?  Because, to flaunt her off, that’s not very… manly of you, Ricky.”

Nevada could hear the ragged breathing coming through the ear piece and he hoped he hadn’t pushed Ricky too far to the point he’d do something stupid like put his hands on Mariana once again.

“I mean, ¿tú no eres el más machito?”

“I called—I called, because I wanted you to know that I won—”

“Did you really win, Ricky?  You’re the one that’s going to end up raising my kid, not the other way around,” he smirked.  “Yo te debería dar las gracias—”

“No!  No!  I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”

Nevada huffed his laughter, “Is it not?”

Ricky pondered his next move.  When he’d heard that Nevada was not to be messed with he understood who exactly he was going up against, and truth be told, he’d never would’ve accomplished this had he not found Dylan at that bar talking to the pretty bartender that had happened to mentioned his name.

He hadn’t been stupid enough to show his face near Manhattan any longer, Dylan had told him as much.  The search for Mariana was very much ongoing and active, and now having been off the handle, he’d done something that would now put a complete and active target on his back.  Now, Nevada knew that this hadn’t been done by any of the other powerful families in the city, but by him.  And, if he hadn’t have met Dylan, getting to Mariana would’ve been impossible.

He needed an out, an easy escape to be able to leave the city with Mariana.  If they needed to run for the rest of their lives, then run they shall, because Mariana would never leave his side again.

“I want money and I want your men out of my way,” he demanded, sniffling.

“You want money and for my men to back off,” Nevada repeated.  “So, you want my money, my Chiquita, and for my men to… cover for you?” Nevada laughed heartily.  “You better hope my Chiquita has dealt with you before I find you, because your faith will not be the same with me.”

“Nevada,” Ricky begun, feeling the cold air of fear sticking to his neck, “your own men don’t do as you say, what makes you think I will?”

“What—” Nevada glanced at his phone.

What had Ricky meant that his own men didn’t do as he said?  Had this been an inside job?

“Motherfucker,” he sighed, all signs of sleep and rest out the window by this point.

Nevada had thought out many a scenario, had made up countless possibilities in his head as to whom would dare do this, but none of them had involved someone from under his command.  It made perfect sense!  Who else could have access to her whereabouts, his whereabouts, and all in all the perfect excuse to monitor both him and her than someone on his payroll?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt his anger increase within him.  This could’ve been resolved sooner, had he gotten his head out of his ass for a second and actually put to use the mass between his ears to capacity.

No one really knew she wasn’t spending the night at Nevada’s, only the guys from the inner circle knew.  Only a select few from the select few knew where Nina lived, and if in fact Dylan had gone to pick her up to not find her there, then there was only so many people he knew could be behind this.

He nodded as he paced, piecing together his every move like an avid chess player planning and predicting his opponents move beforehand.  

This would not end well for whoever had dared cross Nevada Ramirez.  This in fact would end up with more blood on his hands and another death in his conscience, but for her, he’d burn Hell just to get her back.

He knew he’d fucked up once he’d shouted to her face that he hadn’t asked to be put in the position they were in and he knew they needed to speak about it, but how would that be possible if Mariana wouldn’t even face him now?

“Nina,” she sighed, rubbing her swollen belly.  “Your brother… he’s not in this like I need him to be—”

“That’s a bullshit lie, and you know that,” Nina scoffed, glancing at Mariana from the corner of her eye as she took a sip of her red wine.

Mariana shook her head.  “I love him, but he…”

“He what, Mari?” Nina grinned.  “He’s crazy in love with you!  Do you think if he weren’t he would be blasting my fucking phone morning, noon, and night with invasive questions and shit?” she scoffed at Mariana’s reticence.  “Listen, he loves you.  Don’t go questioning that.”

Mariana’s eyes watered, knowing deeply that Nina’s words were true.  She knew Nevada loved her, yet she needed the reaffirmation more than she needed the confirmation of his feelings towards her.  How much longer could she go hate-loving him before the damage caused by it would be greater than expected?

“He wants to be a dad more than he lets know, Mari.  I respect Nevada, but underneath that hard exterior is still the boy that would sneak into our mother’s lap with a quote, unquote headache,” Nina smiled, scooting closer to Mariana’s body.

The strangled sound that emanated from Mariana’s throat brought a smile to Nina’s face.  It was a mixture of a scoff and a cry, but for the most part it was happy and love-filled.  Mariana glanced at her stomach, watching the steady fall and rise of it with her breathing.  Baby must’ve been taking a nap in there at the moment, because all movement had ceased the minute she’d settled on the couch.

“Call him, please.  Get him off my back, porque me estoy volviendo loca,” Nina shook her head in feigned exasperation, smiling when Mariana giggled.  “I’m serious.”

Mariana nodded.  “I will, I promise.  He can shake in his boots a little while longer,” she smirked, letting her tears dry on her lash line.

“He can shake all he wants while you’re on the way over there.”

“What?” Mariana’s head snapped towards the general direction of Nina.  “What do you mean?”

Nina shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to place her glass of wine on the coffee table.  “I might’ve called your fine ass meathead to come take you home,” she said, wincing as she closed her eyes.

“You did what?”

“It’s not like you were going to!  You’re just like Vada, ugh.”

Mariana stared at the profile of the woman besides her, resembling her brother in more ways than one yet still two complete different human beings.  There were times Mariana questioned whether or not they truly were siblings and if they were, if one of them had a different father than the other one, but then came in the stubbornness, the annoyingness of their impulsivity, and she knew then, there was nothing there to question.

She sighed, coming to a stand, and mumbling something about her being just like Nevada.  Nina only giggled, leaning back against her sofa to finally pay attention to what was happening on the wall-mounted television.

Mariana gathered her belongings, a small rolling bag, a backpack, and her purse.  As she opened the door Chino and Rubén straightened.

“You don’t need to stop laughing just because I’m here,” she mentioned with a smile.

“Señito—”

“Mariana,” she corrected with a smirk.  “How many times am I going to remind you, Rubén?”

The man looked almost bashful as he smiled at the ground.  “Where are you going?” he cleared his throat, furrowing his brows.

“Well,” Mariana sighed, “I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome and it’s time for me to return to Nevada’s now,” Chino and Rubén glanced at each other.  “I know you’ve turned Nevada away, so, thank you.”

Chino grinned, “Con mucho gusto, Mari.  You’re the only one that says ‘no’ to Nevada and gets away with it.”

“And, since you say ‘no’, we can say it, too, because you said it,” he winked at her with an impish smirk.

“¡Ustedes son terrible!” she laughed, biting her lip softly.  “Well, I better go before the fucking meathead comes up here,” she finished with a roll of her eyes.

The guys nodded at her and watched her patiently wait for the elevator and then disappear inside the metal carriage.  Downstairs, Dylan had been waiting restlessly against the SUV.  He’d paced back and forth, wringing his hands impatiently.

When Nina had called him to let him know that Mariana was to be coming home to Nevada, he’d perked up at the opportunity.  For the course of two weeks, she’d been unreachable, having ditched him for the better company of Nina and Sofía’s detail.  But, that had been over an hour prior and he’d been standing at the curb for roughly twenty minutes waiting for Mariana to make it downstairs.  Every time the main door of the building would open, his heart would hammer harder in his chest, and he hated the dread coursing through his chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” he heard her smooth voice, stopping his pacing automatically.

“Not—Nothing,” he said, clearing his voice at the sudden loss of bravado he’d heard come from his tone.  “You’re basically getting me in more trouble… again.”

Mariana rolled her eyes, leaving the roller bag in the middle of the sidewalk as she approached the backseat door.  She shouldered off her backpack and slid in effortlessly, only sighing as she tried to catch her breath in the process.

She felt the SUV shake as Dylan threw the back door of the SUV shut, and then when he swiftly entered the vehicle at the driver’s side.  “Why the hell would I get you in trouble now?  We haven’t seen each other in a little over two weeks,” she huffed, really feeling the strain of her growing belly on her lungs.

“What?  Oh.  Well.  Miguel asked me to do something for him before dropping you off at Nevada’s, so…” he glanced nervously between the road in front of him and his rearview mirror, hoping Mariana didn’t catch his bluff.

He drove nervously, every so often glancing at his rearview to make sure she wasn’t suspicious of her surroundings.

She watched as the city changed around her.  By now, she knew by heart her way to Nevada’s and though a first, everything seemed to be on track, in a sudden right hand turn, it changed.

“Where are we going?” she piped up, shifting on the back seat.

“I told you, Miguel asked me to do something.”

She huffed, pregnancy brain.  “And, why can’t you drop me off and then do whatever the hell it is you need to do for Miguel?” she struggled to catch her breath.  As her pregnancy developed, so did the need for air.

“Because, you’re not the boss of me, Nevada is.  And, this needs to get done. Now.”

She rolled her eyes, stifling a yawn behind her hand.  “Whatever.  Wake me up when we get to the apartment,” she lifted her arms behind her head, gathering her hair in her fist to sweep it over her shoulder as she leaned back and succumbed to slumber.

Dylan visibly relaxed, letting his shoulders fall on his neck.  He’d already agreed to do this and he’d already been paid for it as well, there was no way in hell he could turn back now.  Yet, on the other hand, he found himself feeling incredibly… guilty.  Not to say that Mariana had grew on him, but she had, and now that he’d time to think about it, spend some time away from her, and now have her back within reach, he’d realized that everything that was bound to happen was completely wrong.

“¡Maldita sea la madre, coño!  Fucking answer!” Nevada screeched, smacking his hand against the table harshly.

“Jefe—”

“Why the fuck are none of them answering their fucking phone?  ¿Pa’ que tienen un bendito celular, si no lo van a contestar?”

Miguel glanced at Pucho on the table across from Nevada.  “I’ll call Chino instead.  You know how they get when they’re together,” Miguel said as he fished his cellphone from his font pocket.

Nevada only offered a subtle nod, turning when he lowered his stare to the glass of scotch in front of him.

The two weeks without her presence had taken a toll on his mental wellbeing.  At the beginning, he had peace of mind knowing that she was just down the hall in Sofía’s room, but when the opportunity had presented itself, and she’d been able to completely distance herself from him, she’d taken it and she hadn’t looked back.  His more rational side had told him that it’d been for Sofía’s comfort, but beyond that lain the doubts, and he knew that she was just putting distance between them.

All he wanted to do now was kiss her, beg for her forgiveness, and further prove to her just how much of him belonged to her.  He’d missed her fussing about the temperature in the apartment, her constant tossing and turning in the bed thanks to her insomnia, but what he’d missed the most was the feel of her growing belly on his back.  The baby… his baby… their baby kicking and punching her stretched skin, allowing him to feel it and enjoy the wonderful feeling as well.

“¡Jefe!  ¡Jefe!” bellowed Miguel, snapping Nevada’s attention away from the torture of her memory.  Nevada glared at the burly man, a look of pure desperation on his face, “She—She’s gone.”

Nevada stood abruptly, knocking the table with his thighs as he did so.  “Fuck do you mean, ‘she’s gone’.  Gone where?” he deepened his furrow, attempting to wrap around his head the information being given to him.

“She—She… Nina said she sent her back at around four in the afternoon.  She—She… that was three hours ago,” Miguel stuttered, wrapping his head around what Nina had told him, too.

Nevada glared at Pucho as he stood, rounding the table, “Take me to Nina’s.  Now.”

Mariana woke up suddenly, a bout of nausea overtaking her entire body.  How long had she been asleep?  Her surroundings were dimly lit, causing her eyes to slowly adjust to the lack of lighting of the apparent room she was in.  It was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city beyond her.  She spotted a bucket to her far right, and as she climbed off the bed, she felt the weight of the shackle surrounding her ankle.

She whimpered, not having enough time to think as she retched.  She repeated the sound two more times before reaching the bucket, quickly angling over it to empty the contents of her stomach into the bucket.  The quick gathering of her tears blurred her vision as she finally took in her surroundings.

There was a mattress supported by a foundation of its size, the bucket she now held between her feet, a table with a flickering candle as its decoration, and stacks upon stacks of boxes.  The bed had a rumpled duvet, giving sign that she’d lain on it for a while, and right next to the bed, bolted to the wall was a few feet long chain, allowing her movement around the small cleared area of what she came to deduce was a warehouse room.

The foul scent of the lunch she’d ingested earlier in the day finally reached her nostrils and she retched once more, her vomit reaching her mouth far quicker than before.  She coughed, wiping remnants of her saliva and vomit against her forearm before she stood straight, swallowing thickly the remaining acidic taste of her discharge.

She stood on weak legs, hearing the distinct noise of the chain against the floor, sighing heavily as she found her center of gravity.  She approached the makeshift door, pressing her ear against it.  She could hear an indistinct voice, but she couldn’t quite place it yet, and as she backed away from the door, her chain dragged harshly against the concrete floor.

“Shit,” she said breathily, suddenly hearing approaching footsteps.

Her heart sprung into a gallop, her body slowly shivering when the door swept open: Dylan.

“Dylan!  You—You have to help me.”

Dylan stepped into the room, in his hands a tray with a glass of water and what looked like painkillers.  He said nothing as he placed the tray on the mattress, grabbing the bottle of painkillers, and shaking free two pills.

“What—What’s going on?” Mariana mewled, her voice breaking with the sudden knowledge that he was not there to save her, but to keep her.

Dylan sighed, “I think you know what’s going on here.  You may be a lot of fucking things, annoying for one, but stupid,” he looked at her over his shoulder, shaking his head, “stupid is something you’re not.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall, began making a course down Mariana’s cheeks and she took a step forward.  “Who put you up to this?  You—You swore your loyalty to Nevada!”

“Well… Ricky pays better.”

The sound of his name out of his lips knocked all air out of her body, and the force that had driven forward was the same one that made her stop and sway.  The dull headache in the back of her head suddenly made its way forward, making her temples hurt, and preventing clear thoughts to form.

Dylan turned abruptly at the sound of her ragged panting.  “Hey!  Hey!  Easy!  Don’t fucking kill yourself with a panic attack,” he grabbed her shoulders, steadying her swaying body.  “Deep breath in, and long one out,” he coached, mimicking his words so that she could follow along.

It took several tries, but once Mariana got a hold of her bearings, it was like her hands had a life of their own and she was able to fully deafen the pitched ring in her ears with a loud smack.  Dylan looked perplexed, surprised at the sudden contact of her hand against her cheek and he flexed his jaw instinctively.

“I deserved that,” he scoffed, smirking in the process.

“You’re nothing but a coward, Dylan Perrot!” she finished, spitting on his face.

He groaned, backing away from her.  “Drink the water and the pills.  I looked it up, you’re safe to take them… in your condition, I mean,” he finished softly, walking towards the door.  “I know this doesn’t mean anything, but I really am sorry for this.  You don’t deserve this.  And, for what is worth, Ricky is fucking crazy.”

Mariana scoffed, lifting her tear-stained face towards Dylan’s direction, “Fuck you.”

Dylan nodded dejectedly and shut the door, causing Mariana to double over.  She clutched her stomach as she tried to suppress her sobs, not wanting to give Dylan the satisfaction of hearing her cry.  She sniffled, straightening and wiping her cheeks.  She looked at the tray atop the mattress with the water and the pills, debating whether or not she should be stubborn and do as she pleased, but then the quick flutter that came from within reminded her to do better.  She needed to survive this in order to see her child be born.

She sighed, swallowing the pills and behind them, little gulps of water.  She would save it, not knowing if Dylan or Ricky would return to provide her with more.  She approached the small table and placed the glass there, the chain dragging behind her as she walked.  She carefully sat on the bed, rubbing her stomach, as she leaned her head against the ridged wall of the room.

“Vada,” she whispered to the silence, closing her eyes as more tears streamed down her cheeks.

“At what time did she leave here, Nina?  Fuck!” Nevada shouted, landing his fist on the wall, making his sister wince.

“It was three hours ago, Vada.  I—I didn’t know this would happen,” she said with a trembling chin.

“You said she left with Dylan?” Pucho intervened as Nevada simmered in a corner.

Nina sighed, running her fingers through her hair.  She nodded, “I called Dylan and told him to be downstairs waiting for her—that she was going back to Nevada’s.”

Pucho glanced at Nevada, catching the drug lord’s hazy viridian gaze.  “Papi, Dylan is the only one that can tell us where she is.  I’ll call him,” Pucho fished his phone out of his jacket’s inside pocket and stepped to the hallway.

Nina mewled, running her hands down her face.  Every eerie thought one could possibly have, had gone through her mind.  Of course she didn’t want to think the worst, but it was something she couldn’t help.  What was stopping her from thinking that had she not pushed her into leaving and going back to Nevada’s, she’d still be safe, and most importantly, there.  She’d still be there.

A sob broke through her, not agile enough to catch it, but agile enough to cover her mouth to prevent it from disturbing Sofía down the hall.  Nevada heard his sister break her already crumbling exterior yet he did nothing to console the wracking body a few feet from him.  He blamed her for it.  He blamed himself for it, too.  But, she better than anyone knew his despise for surprises.

A better surprise would’ve been receiving a call asking to come pick her up.  He would’ve been at Nina’s in the blink of an eye, because for his Chiquita, he’d drop anything and everything if so she asked of him.  Nevada knew he needed to do something to console the broken spirit of Nina yet before he had an opportunity to do so, Pucho walked into the apartment.

“He’s on his way over here.”

Nevada nodded, pushing his self off the wall and exiting the apartment.  He needed a moment to think.  He needed clarity and he needed to find a way to let go of all the emotions that clung to him.  He would be of no use to Mariana if he kept losing his temper at every turn.

He was fast down the stairs and even faster to search for a dingy back way alley covered in darkness where he could scream and shout and let go of his anger.

As he set his brisk pace, he lighted a cigarette, smirking as his thoughts were plagued by the memory of his Chiquita.  He’d opted for not smoking around her anymore, yet when he did and would return to the apartment, she would cling to his upper body, inhaling the leathery scent of his jacket dressed in the remnants of his smoke.

His smirk soon faded, replaced by a deep frown, and threat of tears.  He rounded a corner, ducking into the back way alley of one of the apartment buildings.  He took a long drag from his cigarette, forcing his lungs to focus on housing the smoke he’d inhaled, instead of giving his brain the power of doing what it pleased.  With the release of smoke came the release of a tear and he scoffed in disgust, cursing the heavens for his feelings.

“You can’t have her,” he mewled, grounding his jaw tight, fighting the tremble of his jaw.  “She’s mine, and you can’t have her,” he repeated once more, to no one in particular.  He growled, kicking a nearby trash can, “YOU CAN’T HAVE HER!”

His voice echoed and bounced off the brick walls that surrounded him, reverberating and launched back at him.  His fist was closed tight; his short nails digging into the skin of his palm as he drove his fist into the brick wall, repeatedly.  With every scratch of his knuckles and deep setting pain, he found the strength needed to continue.  He’d rather that pain than the one that could be at the thought of having lost her and their child.

Once he felt the first crack of his knuckles, he yelped, propping his cigarette between his lips as he nursed his broken hand with the other.  He took a deep breath in and with it, another drag of his cigarette.

His front pocket vibrated hard against his skin, fishing it out, he answered, not saying a word rather more listening to his confidante on the other side, “He’s here.”

He was quick to end the call, hiding his phone in his front pocket once more.  He took a final drag, tossing the cigarette to the ground, and stepping on it to put out the fiery tip.  He flexed the fingers of his right hand with minor discomfort, wincing softly at the pain that shot up his forearm.  He released the smoke in his lungs slowly, enjoying the momentary dazed feeling cigarettes had on the nervous system.

He’d find her.  He’d find her and would make every son of a bitch out there pay for thinking they could mess with what was his.

If he had to engrain into their flesh, that his Chiquita and kid were untouchable, he would do so, with great satisfaction and he wouldn’t spare remorse in watching his enemies squirm beneath the sharp of his blade.

He’d have her back.  But, until then… there would be hell to pay.