Galindo Estate
Emily sent a message through a grapevine of maids to Rosalie in the guest suite: breakfast was to be ready at seven. She wanted to finally talk to her, one-on-one, as Miguel had dismissed the night before. Rosalie wasn't in the guest suite. She was up, and ready, and pacing around on the driveway. She called Angel for what felt like the hundredth time, and the hundredth time was the charm; she jolted at finally hearing his voice.
"You've got to stop calling me," he seethed into the phone.
"Angel! I really need to talk to you," she rattled out, "it's really important."
"Nah. You don't. Potter filled me in last night."
"What-" she barely huffed out; her cheeks immediately burned hot.
"We're done."
He hung up the phone. She turned away from the house, from any prying eyes, and she tried her damnedest not to cry. He knew. He knew Potter's twisted version of a tale she wasn't too well-lit in to begin with. She shakily texted Ezekiel: thanks for the heads up, and composed herself quickly at the sound of the front door opening. One of the maids greeted her with a nice smile and asked if she was okay, she was worried finding the empty bed.
"Yes. Crisis averted, Natalia. My daughter couldn't find her stuffed tiger, it's her favourite," Rosalie chuckled and came inside.
"Oh, that would have surely been the end of the world," Natalia replied, and gestured to come on through to the kitchen, but Emily was now nowhere to be found. The maid looked a little flustered, and said, "forgive me. She was here moments ago."
"Rosalie!" Emily called from outside and beckoned her over.
"Another crisis averted," Rosalie joked and headed outside.
"We need to eat out here. They haven't finished sweeping the entire house for bugs," Emily explained.
"Yeah, that's no small task," Rosalie said, glancing back at the enormous mansion, "I have to get going pretty soon, I promised Grace we'd walk to school together."
"Ah, well then, please, have a seat, and let's dig in."
"It all looks great," Rosalie said, blandly, and reached over for the coffee pot.
"Thank you," Emily said, although the impressive spread was all but certainly none of her own doing. She exchanged a few more pleasantries with Rosalie and misread her short, shallow, exhausted answers as guilt, or anxiety at the fact she was buttering toast inside the Lion's Den. Emily segued sharply into the real reason she'd staged this feast, "I wanted to start out by saying...I'm sorry for last night. That was a long, unwelcome excursion for all involved."
"You don't need to apologize to me," Rosalie assured her, genuinely.
"Is there anything you would like to apologize for?"
Rosalie crunched down on her toast and squinted back at her. Emily's stern face did not relent.
"Well, this is a fun game," Rosalie said, sarcastically, under her breath.
"Miguel told me last night that he was considering bringing you on board, to deal with these new developments," Emily explained, "I wholeheartedly supported his idea, in part because you are my friend and in part because...you need to make this right, Rosalie."
"Yeah, you're going to have to...make sense. I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, pinching her brow; the lack of sleep, the twist and turn of events, and then last night's tequila-filled trip down memory lane were all giving her a really nice headache to go along with the heartache.
"Help my husband navigate through these new waters, or I will tell Miguel about the deal you made with the DEA."
"Oh, I see, you brought me out here to blackmail me."
"I also know that the deal is over. They said they don't want Miguel anymore. So, essentially, everything you and EZ have been doing. It was all for nothing."
"This is really fun," Rosalie chuckled, darkly, "my morning, thus far, it has really been up there, amongst my fucking favourite mornings to date. But I'll play along, yeah, why the fuck not?"
"I'm giving you an opportunity here, Rosalie," Emily snapped back, "you sold out my husband, the man who has saved your ass on how many occasions? Has done nothing but support you and your children? You slept under our roof last night. You drink our coffee this morning. I'm not the bad guy here! I'm the one throwing you a life line."
"And what exactly do you think Miguel will do to me, Emily?" Rosalie asked her, tersely, "you think he'll kill me? Orphan my children?"
Emily remained silent.
"You give him the signal and he splatters my brains out, right over that ridiculous mountain of melon balls? Like why the fuck is there so many? Are we supposed to conquer that whole thing, just the two of us?! Am I taking a couple of pounds of melon home in my purse?! No. That's not going to happen because you are playing a game you're not built for. You're built for smiling and waving and posing next to golden shovels, and wasting fruit. So, tell him, Emily. Do it. Tell him every damn word."
"You don't mean that," Emily said, as Rosalie got up from the table.
"I'm running on maybe one hour of sleep, but I know for damn sure, I mean every single word. That deal you're threatening me with, it got Ezekiel out of prison. You know, the guy you still run to every single time you so much as get the sniffles. Miguel signed off on it. He took small hits, enough to keep the Feds on the hook, I tailored whatever story he wanted them to hear. The next time you want to question my loyalties, I might tell Miguel all about your snuggly chats with EZ in the caravan, or the fake late night meat shopping. That is how you blackmail someone, Emily: make sure you know what the fuck you're talking about before you commit to trashing your friendship."
Galindo Estate - Den
Rosalie was on her way out, but she was stopped by Nestor; her presence was requested in the Den. After airing her grumbles on being needed elsewhere, and a quick staring match, he promised to blow through all the red lights and stop signs driving her home if she'd just hurry up and get the quick chat over with. She commended his negotiation tactics, but opted for being returned home safely, if a little late, rather than meeting her maker today.
"Ah, Rosalie," Miguel said, and beckoned her inside the room, "fortuitous timing. I was just beginning to explain to Devante our next steps. This US attorney, the DOJ...well, you know the process, but to help with the rebels they'll need access to our operation, and once they're inside, we're done. They know how to cut off our revenue sources, supplies...they can sabotage relationships, expose us as cooperators. We'll be forced to bend to any demand they make."
"But so much of our revenue is legitimate now," Devante countered, and looked the new arrival up and down quickly. His demeanor shifted and stiffened in response to her arrival.
"And I'm not going to sacrifice all of that hard work," Miguel agreed, and explained, "look, I want to create a...shadow structure. Kind of a layer on top of our business. Some of it real, most of it smoke and paper."
"We'll give them access to just enough so they feel like they're in control," Rosalie added.
Devante stared back at her, and then Miguel, and said, "I do not understand."
He did not understand this plan, but most pressingly, he did not understand why this woman was privy to said plan, nay, why she was in this room at all. She should have been chittering the morning away with Emily, and Dita, and the baby.
"I'm going to work with Los Olvidados," Miguel stated, plainly.
Devante put down his coffee cup and asked, incredulously, "you want to double cross the US Government? We're not Escobar. We don't own a country."
"Adelita has left no room for me to jump. Her deal makes the most sense," Miguel explained.
"If our friend at diocese comes through, we can end her reign," Devante insisted.
"I don't see her making that mistake."
"And the movement will continue without her, fueled by a martyr," Rosalie added.
"This US attorney, he will see all this," Devante insisted.
"No, he won't, but those arrogant fucks think they know everything," Miguel told him, impassioned by the prospect, "with the rebels, I'll have access to resources they don't even know exist, and while they're moving around bogus chess pieces, we'll be playing the game on a whole different board."
"Everything we do will be off the grid," Rosalie said.
Devante's eyes narrowed again; we, she says. We.
"That's our play. That's how we stay one step ahead," Miguel determined.
"No. That's how we destroy ourselves," Devante said, definitively, "you hate the Feds. So do I. They fucked over this family, but now you're making a decision clouded by that hate, listening to those who share in it, who compound it. I mean no offense by this, Mrs. Teller, truly. It's...it's a mistake, Miguel. I know how they operate. I learned a hard lesson with your father, but I can protect you. I know how unsettling all this is, but please, son, give yourself time to think clearly. Your legacy, your family...there's so much at stake."
"My advice, Devante's...it might help...but you have to trust your instincts, Miguel," Rosalie said, "the rest...it's just opinions and noise. You'll know what's right. You always do."
"Thank you for your lovely words, Mrs. Teller. You give us food for thought," Devante said, with a tight smile.
"My pleasure," Rosalie said, slowly, and rose, "excuse me, gentlemen."
"We'll speak soon," Miguel said, and kissed her on the cheek.
San Buho Tribal Casino
The Mayans entered the private meeting room, a decent-sized comfortable space with plush leather couches, and it's own bar off to one side; Miguel, Devante and Rosalie rose to greet their guests.
"Senores," Miguel greeted them, and shook hands with their President first.
"Miguel," Bishop nodded, and took the seat Miguel offered to him.
Devante hugged El Padrino, and explained to him in hushed Spanish that Mrs. Teller had become a trusted voice to Miguel, they had reconciled considerably. He suspected they were sleeping together again, but he could not be certain.
"Rosalie," Rosalie extended her hand to Alvarez, and they kissed cheeks cordially.
"I remember," Alvarez said to her, quietly, and lightly patted his shoulder, to the bullet wound her and her father had tended to years ago.
She was genuinely surprised he remembered, given how high he was flying at the time. She scoffed and asked, "how are those reflexes?"
"Just as bad," he laughed, and turned to greet Miguel with a hearty embrace. The two men sat, signifying it was time to settle and get down to business.
Alvarez invited Rosalie to sit beside him, a move which either prickled or confused the men in the room, to varying degrees; she obliged. There was an unspoken decorum, and hierarchy to everything, even to something as simple as which seat you occupied. Bishop, Taza and Hank all sat down together. Angel stood behind Bishop, with Coco and Gilly. Creeper and Riz behind them. Nestor sat at the bar, outside the discussions.
"Prospect, bikes," Bishop ordered, and Ezekiel headed for the door.
Miguel declared, "I'm okay if Ezekiel stays. It might be useful to have someone remember the details of what we say."
Devante was last to take his seat. He moved to sit beside Miguel, as he would surely expect to, but Miguel raised his hand and gestured to another, "please. In front of me. Now, as you know, two nights ago, the US Attorney's Office and other US and Mexican agencies invaded my home, citing some vague Homeland Security law. They took my wife, my child, and myself into custody, and for the next 24 hours they intimidated and threatened my family...then coerced me into the same type of deal they made my father sign nearly ten years ago."
"Miguel," Devante said, sharply, and leant forward but Miguel dismissed him, just as sharp.
Miguel turned to Nestor, who nodded, and headed outside. Miguel explained to the men, "what you don't know, but more importantly what the US and Mexican authorities don't know, is that the night prior to that, while detained at the Calexico border station, someone else offered me a deal."
Adelita walked into the room with Nestor. Rosalie couldn't help herself; she looked over at Angel for the first time, at the confused look he shared with Coco and Gilly.
"This is Luisa. You know her as Adelita," Miguel introduced her.
Bish, Hank and Devante all stood, indignant.
"What the fuck is this?" Bishop demanded.
"No, please, gentlemen. I'll explain everything," Miguel assured them.
Adelita made her way through the room and took the vacant seat beside Miguel.
"Miguel...what are you doing? This wasn't-" Devante insisted, heatedly, in Spanish.
"Stop talking," Miguel dismissed him, and invited Adelita to speak.
"Los Olvidados wants only one thing. To heal its people. There's only one way to cut through the layers of greed, bureaucracy, and ignorance that have kept us broken for decades," Adelita explained, "we need the edge of the most dangerous blade."
"My organisation is no longer at odds with Los Olvidados," Miguel explained, "the power of our new partnership will not only allow us to outthink, outmaneuver and exploit our invasive government agencies. It also provides a network that increases production, distribution, and profits. And for the Mayans Motorcycle Club, it takes you from the loading dock...to the boardroom. You become our trustee to keep all parties honest. Now, my associate has put together some broad strokes as to what this all might look like."
Rosalie rose and passed out documents to the Alvarez, to the highest-ranked Mayans, and finally, to Adelita. She explained, "it's in Spanish. I thought that might be easier for you." Adelita nodded back at her and perused the document.
Rosalie doubled back to the meeting room, feigning that she had left her cellphone behind, and dismissed Nestor's offer to help her look; she'd be back in a second. She slipped back inside for a private word with the prospect. He was clearing away the drinking glasses, the empty bottles toasted to a prosperous new dawn for all parties.
Ezekiel looked over his shoulder and asked her, half-heartedly, "you need me to shred something else? I'm getting really good at it."
Rosalie folded her arms and said, simply, "Emily knows."
Ezekiel stopped what he was doing and asked her, accusingly "why does Emily know?"
"Potter told her in an attempt to flip her."
"We got picked up last night. After we got released from the cells, after Potter told Angel everything, he kicked the shit out of me in the middle of nowhere, and drove off. My phone was in the car. I had to walk miles home. That's why I couldn't give you a heads up," Ezekiel explained.
"You lost your phone? Really? That's what you're going with?" Rosalie said, loosening her stance, and sighed, defeatedly, "a heads up wouldn't have changed anything."
Ezekiel told her, in earnest, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I couldn't feel any more like a bag of shit."
"I'm not mad at you, EZ."
"I'm mad at me. I know I did what I had to do at the time. I needed to take my shot. But I see so clear now, I need Angel more," he confessed.
"Angel will come around," she assured him, and took her cellphone out of her blazer pocket to cement her little ruse, "you're his brother. He loves you."
"He loves you," he hit back.
"No," she said, sadly, and headed for the door, "he doesn't trust me."
Ezekiel asked her, with a defeated tone, as she reached for the door handle, "why are you suddenly all cozy with Miguel again?"
She turned around and admitted, openly, "I doctored the intel you gave K.J. to whatever Miguel wanted it to be."
"Well, fuck," he scoffed and took in the room a second while he digested that, "you're a great fit for this play, then. That's a lot of different faces you wear."
"You're really going to stand there and call me out for not being 100% truthful?" Rosalie asked him, flatly.
"We told you about Adelita."
"Eventually."
"I don't get it. You came crying to Angel when Miguel murdered that nun. You know what he is."
"That wasn't his instruction."
"You think Miguel Galindo tickles information out of people? You think because he sets you up in a fancy apartment, he's a solid dude? He's a good man?"
"He who is without sin, EZ. What I'm doing...it isn't for Miguel, and it isn't for you."