Chuckling, I toss my keys up and catch them. “Don’t be Papi, Dom.”
I preferred Mami’s cup towels and flip-flops at the back of my head compared to my father. Mami concluded her punishment with tender motivation. He beat my ass and gave a stern look before returning to the hood of the next car that needed tinkering with.
In the kitchen, I slide out of my blazer and open the refrigerator contemplating my parents.
They had passion. Which was something I never knew I needed, until . . .
Papi may as well have followed Mami to heaven. He refuses to visit from Cuba, though I’ve made it possible.
Too late, Dom. You made it possible too late.
I pull out Cuban bread, ham, Swiss cheese, and a jar of pickles from the subzero refrigerator. I zip around the kitchen, grabbing a bowl, a whisk, and ingredients for my special mustard.
Upon entering the room, Yasiel slams his hands onto the marble slab counter. “Sandwiches? So, you do love me!”
I whisk my special sauce. “You’re not off the hook, Yasielito. I’m a big man. Sandwiches don’t fill me up. Grab the leftover sweet potatoes out of the fridge, chill some glasses, sí.”
He nods, chewing his lip.
“What’s with the look?” I place the stainless-steel whisk at the side of the bowl.
“I dunno.” Yasiel rubs the tiny bristles of hair along his chin. “When I came inside . . . eh, it’s nothing.”
“Be confident, complete your statement,” I order. He’s too old to hesitate.
Yasiel lifts a brow. “Okay. Is Dario walking? Because you’re like a tío to me, Dominic. I thought you’d tell me, even though we haven’t talked much since those Colombian pendejos came—”
“Walking?” I tilt my head in confusion. “Would be nice.”
“Okay, bueno. I mean, not bueno. I knew you’d tell me if your brother started walking. But I could’ve sworn I saw his feet at the top of the stairs when I ran inside to take a leak.”
I hike into the hallway, which leads toward the driveway and the back staircase.
“Dario?” I call out, beyond elated.
Two steps at a time, I jog up the staircase next to a wheelchair ramp. Down the long corridor is my side of the house. The less stuffy side with the double door leads to my room. I stop at the first door up the stairwell and open it.
“What the fuck?” With no sight of him, I track across the expansive room where two humongous flat screens are on the wall. One screen is on the main page of a popular video game. The other TV displays an illegal online poker game. In the custom gaming chair, a still lit cigarette is in the ashtray of the armrest.
When I pulled that stunt of paying Aria’s doorman for entrance into her apartment, I’d smoked my first cigarette in over a year. It occurs to me that Dario had the jacket on about a month before I did. I wonder if it was his. He spends his days aimlessly roaming through the house, which sometimes includes my room.
I hadn’t touched a cancer stick in ages. I quickly stub out the hand-rolled stick. “Dario, where are you? How many times do I have to say you’ll burn down . . .”
My voice trails off at the sight of my older twin lying on the floor. His legs twist at an awkward angle. His feet are lifeless as he army crawls to his chair.
“Your house?” He sneers. “You have insurance.”
I grit my teeth, going toward him to offer a hand. He slaps it down, reeking of alcohol.
“Lemme help you!” I growl.
“Fuck your help,” Dario spits.
Reaching down, I pick up a bottle of rum, which he must’ve been crawling to. “I’ll finish this for you, hermano. Clearly, you don’t need it.”
“Heh. I bought it with your credit card, so . . .”
It’s like I’m arguing with myself in the mirror, and I don’t like who I’ve become. Shoving a hand in my hair, I laugh a little. “My fault for letting you use my card.”
“Aye, wouldn’t you rather me spend your money on making a disabled fuck like me happy? Or you prefer spending your money on putas?” Dario flips over onto his elbows and ass, lifting up. He grunts, pulling himself into a seated position against the wall. “Oh, wait, you’re settling down now, right? Got you a little puta you care about?”
“She’s not.”
Dario’s dark green eyes twinkle. “Hmmm, I read you well, Dom. Your puta had you believing she was innocent? What a shame, you told her about Mami. But where is she? Shouldn’t her place have been your first destination since returning to Miami?”
Chapter Thirty-One
El Santo
When Dominic’s little friend came waltzing into the house, I flew up the stairs. I drenched alcohol over my chest to make like I’d gotten drunk. Then I’d positioned myself helplessly on the ground, in anticipation of the niño pobre snitching. My hard gaze dances across my enemy’s. “You told her about Mami.” I smile lazily. The hatred I have for Dominic is written all over my skin.
Favoring my upper body, I slide back. My legs are motionless like my ángeles as I make them limp. They slide along with my upper body against the wall. “You opened up to the puta. Let her in. Now, she’s probably letting someone else inside of her. Probably got fucked for breakfast or lunch today.” Fucked hard by me.
“Dario, you’re drunk.” Dominic points the bottle at me. “You’re my blood, idiota, and Mami’s looking down on us.”
I blink a few times. “Eh? I can’t say the puta was being fucked. I thought that was your favorite pastime, Dom? Ramming your dick in another cunt, sí? You like it; they love it.” Our LeAnna loved it.
“I have company.”
“Ha! Because this is your house. What should I do? Fork out my entire disability check to you?”
“Did I ever ask for a dollar when you moved in?”
“No. You wanted my balls nipped. To take care of me. My disability, your atonement, sí!”
“What the fuck do I have to atone for, huh?”
“You know!”
Dominic forks his fingers into his hair. He’s flustered, not broken. None of my antics break him, not yet. “Mírame, Dario, mírame!”
I glare harder at him.
“Don’t make me have your ass committed for being delusional! Mami would be livid.” He stops speaking again, the muscles beneath his jaw working in overtime. “All I’m saying is I have company. Yasielito. You remember him? Use the type of language appropriate for the niño while he’s here. Por favor.” After a few beats, he whips open the door.
“Lock my shit up on your way out.”
Shaking his head, he turns the lock on the knob then starts to slam the door but stops himself. All the guilt in the world constricts his shoulders. When we were young, we fought like rabid dogs. He won. The pendejo always won. Yet, he stops himself now. Since Mami’s death, Dominic is all about familia.
A few seconds later, I stand to my full height, a smug smile on my face. My car crash left me with an L2 injury. From my abdomen up, I’ve always had nerve control. Hips down, I was once worthless for a time. Carlotta would’ve been the first to know, but she lost the right when I saw her flirting with Dominic. Carlotta’s deception was the last straw. She resembled Alejandra in every way conceivable—looks, career drive, and falling for my hermano gemelo!