Caged: Reclamation

Chapter 11

The music grew into a heavy bass rap that Téa felt in her chest. She wore her most recent purchase, a Dolce & Gabbana red print dress with the thinnest straps at her shoulders, a $3,000 extravagance that clung to her body. She swung her hips and licked her lips and smiled at Gloria next to her as they made their way through the crowd at R.J.'s club. Gloria wore a revealing blue silk blouse with a pair of well-fitting black slacks and sharp-heeled sandals. Summer-wear for the two. A slightly rattled Tony and Rolon followed behind, watchful, vigilant.

Downright paranoid.

R.J. waited by his office for them with his arms crossed, fuming, after he sent a text that threatened Téa with a massive tantrum if she didn't get her beloved ass to his club.

NOW, girl.

The fruit basket prank by a smart-ass gangster from Los Muertos infuriated him. Not much of a prank. She admitted… it got her attention. So much that after a day of distracted effort at work, she sent Rolon to fetch vodka for her and Gloria. They did shots at Téa's desk like college girls before heading out.

She locked arms with Gloria, pulling her in tight, sisterly, a picture of best friends. They swayed in time to the music and Téa laughed aloud, a foreign sound, alien. A joyful noise she did not recognize. As if she unexpectedly came across her own elementary school shot on her grandmother's wall. Hair done up goofily by her brother because her mother was gone, front teeth she had to grow into still, a thrift store dress with lace at the collar.

Who is that child on the wall, hopeful and bright and determined?

It's you… before you were you.

"It's been forever since I've been here!" She shouted.

"How long, chica!"

Téa didn't want to say so she just shook her head and sang out, "Since forever!"

Since before I shot Todd Manning in my kitchen, the love of my life, mí alma, mí vida. Since before he looked at me with innocent shock and raised his hands to stop the bullets, saying Delgado, no, no. Since before I lost him.

Her smile faded and the drunk forced memories right to the forefront and she stopped walking because they took her breath away.

Abruptly, instead of indulging, she pulled Gloria into her arms and breathed her in, smelling her favorite perfume, air conditioning, an interwoven tang from a long day in the office. Long brown hair hit her lips at the embrace and Téa said loudly, trying to be heard above the music, "What was he like for you? Did he fuck you like he was never going to see you again?"

She didn't have to say his name.

Gloria popped her head back and saw the deep-down grief of her boss, eyes watering immediately in a kind of mad empathy.

"He fucked me," she yelled back, words not meant to be loud, "... like he knew I wasn't you."

"Goddamn vodka…," Téa murmured, far too softly to be heard. People bounced all around them, turned on, high, the darkness and booze the greatest remover of all inhibitions. Through the people she saw a man who reminded her of a younger Todd… tall, longish hair, not moving a lot, just kind of bopping and admiring the girl rocking next to him. Strange how her usual cussing of him didn't come spewing forth at the sight. Strange how his ghost didn't torment her now. In her drunken mock-joy, he was just gone.

"How would you know how he fucked me?" Téa demanded. "How would you know he was doing it differently?"

Her yell disintegrated into the heat of the room, into the frenetic body movements of the small crowd. Brown eyes bored into Gloria's lighter ones.

Her assistant hugged her, pulling her in, kissing her cheek as she did that, and then said. "Because when we had sex, mami, he never looked at me a los ojos. Never in the eyes."

A flash of him bloomed in front of her, his naked marked body, a moment with Rico in bed, and he very much looked into dark eyes as that beautiful artist crawled on top of him and reached down to stroke his hard cock, as Todd gasped at the touch in that way he would when he was the most disconnected from all the bullshit in his own head and the most connected to his body, his hands coming up, one palm on Rico's head and the other reaching for Téa. The two were completely caught in this one moment for Téa, a bubble where they were truly present, real to each other, experiencing a love neither of them had ever had before.

She and Rico had almost saved him. Love had almost saved him.

Las tres en la cama.

Strange how none of that upset her, that the vodka had actually dulled her hate of him for leaving her. Fleetingly, she wondered where Rico was, a low-level heartbeat of desire to see him.

He left you, too, didn't he? Left you, knowing all you'd have to face that would be new and terrifying.

She should be cussing him out even more. Left her, Rico, and his children. Maybe Jed's telling her enough times that he thought she was dead, that he lost her, maybe that softened her.

Téa looked at Gloria and smiled drunkenly even though she wasn't nearly drunk enough. No amount of alcohol could take away her history in this town, in R.J.'s club, not enough vodka to buffer the bullets that now bounced around inside of her. She tugged Gloria the rest of the way until the two tumbled onto R.J.'s couch, laughing and breathless.

The door slammed shut, muffling the noise, and Téa waved a hand in the air, "Bring me drinks, Edward!"

"Who's Edward," Gloria asked, giggling, half lying on Téa.

R.J. didn't let the absurdity continue.

"Los Muertos are here and they gunnin' for you! Do you get that?! They are on to all you been doin'!"

His voice and words sobered Téa right up, goddamnit. He reminded her of why she shot Todd in their pancakes-and-coffee kitchen, the last time she was here. Gang warfare was why. Los Serranos got into a battle with Blanco and his MK men and blood splashed the walls and floor. She remembered Blanco showing her what life was like on the inside of his prison, and that he…

… was fucking good at being a monster.

You bastard.

She pretended the drunk hadn't abandoned her, glancing once at R.J. then back at Gloria, gazing into her eyes, light brown, almost amber. She imagined Todd kissing her, wondered if he kissed her at all. Maybe it was Blanco who did all the kissing for Todd. Strange how easy it was to see him in such sexual ways after so long of that being a mystery, easy to see him with others only though, never herself, couldn't feel that, couldn't see that.

No, no, no…only references to them, only far away visions.

She caressed Gloria's cheek. The woman smiled in her own inebriation, loose and willing, Téa knew. An unspoken message coming from her.

I'll show you what Blanco was like, what your husband did when he was so far away from you.

"Answer me, Téa."

She sighed and Gloria straightened up and the two women eyed R.J.

"What am I supposed to do, Gannon?" Téa asked in a smart-ass way, her tone sharp. She sat back on the couch, crossing her legs, stretching her arm across the back of the couch, pulling her hair up off her neck a moment or two. Cooling herself. "I'm not changing my company, my employees, what we're doing. This is a false flag. If you're playing gang wargames, don't look at me, look at them."

R.J. looked good these days, as handsome as ever, dreadlocks gorgeous, a trim beard roughening his face, tattoo on his chest visible through the open split of his fine aqua-colored shirt, one marking of many. His anger only made him more beautiful, more alive. Téa shook her head, a flurry of thoughts spinning, suddenly aware that many were about sex.

Curious, strange, considering she'd been shut down for so very long. The prank had awakened her. The vodka.

Goddamnit.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm hearing a whole lotta denial so I took matters into my own hands."

Is that right?

Téa repressed a laugh. Sex again. Snapped, "You put together an entourage."

"Four men gonna be 'round you at all times like presidential secret service. No more of this walking-alone bullshit—"

"I wasn't alone."

R.J. ignored her. "Tony told me how close the shooting of the Blue rez kids was to you. These pricks ain't messin' around and they tellin' you to watch the fuck out with that fruit basket."

"Tropical fruit basket," Téa muttered, shrugging. In truth, she was not unmoved. She fully understood her own MK bullshit had leaked beyond the personally predesignated lines. What if something happened to her, where would her babies be then? Lucía, Reese, Esperanza. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, admired her matching red sandals. For all her admitted recklessness these days, she didn't like playing roulette with her children.

Although...

"I'm not bending to gang garbage. I refuse. Who's the head?"

"Eladio Merced. Goes by El. His specialty is disruption. Word is, he lovin' what's going on, lovin' this chaos. And you getting protection ain't bending, it's not taking any risks."

Gloria chimed in, "Pedro Moreno had protection like that for a while. You get used to it."

"Well, if this Eladio is keeping me on his radar, he will notice the security and I hate that," Téa grumbled. "Makes me look scared."

R.J. crossed his arms. He stood against his desk, sitting on it. He glowered at her a few moments before hissing, "You should be scared."

"I'm not." She glared right back at him.

"Well then... I am. For you. Tony's team lead. Other three is Lanzo, Mark, and Victor. All trained. All licensed to carry, not a felony among 'em. I vetted them today, interviewed them. I know them. Rolon does too, so do you. They have committed."

"This is ridiculous."

"To make sure El doesn't get to you? Worth it." Gloria gave Téa a small nod, holding her hand, playing with her fingers, touching her fingernails. "Los Muertos are really dangerous because they cater to Mexican and Guatamala cartels. Why take chances, Téa bonita?"

"Whatever," Téa said, her lips tight, eyes on Gloria's affection. "Fine. Have them at my office next week."

"They here now. They been on you since you got here. It ain't up to you."

Téa shook her head, "You have gotta be kidding… R.J.! I am not doing this!" Now she got fiery, getting to her feet, getting in R.J.'s face. "No! I refuse!"

"Like hell you refuse, woman. Someone's gotta keep they eye on you. 'Cause I swear… I'm thinkin' you got some kinda death wish. Just like your husband."

That shut Téa up. She froze for the barest of seconds, caught between a hot wish to slap R.J. and a flash of horror because… no. She was not the parent in the Manning-Delgado world with a desire to die. Not her. Never her. No sirree… that was Todd and he already accomplished that goal.

Fucking bastard, goddamn asshole.

R.J. knew he got her good. He was deadly serious. He had to make her understand that she played a dangerous game and was in first place right now with a hell of a climb ahead. There's a cost to winning. He didn't want it to be her life.

"Mark is Posse," R,J. said. "Other two… MK. So you still draining MK. You got that workin' for you."

Téa had to control herself. She huffed and a weird instinct came over her, a strange channeling. She wanted to spit in R.J.'s face, wanted to hawk and screw up her mouth and spit. She didn't. She was not her husband.

Who are you then?

She then asked coolly, "What are the other gangs doing to end Los Muertos?"

R.J. tilted his head for a long few seconds before asking, "Other gangs?"

"Yes, the reservations, the Asian brothers, the other Latino orgs, whatever's left of MK? What are THEY all doing?"

"Why ain't you asking about the cops?"

"Because they're useless."

This blew him away. Completely unfamiliar response from the Téa Delgado he knew. "Right now," he said, his voice soft because she just knocked him off his ass, "it's a war out there. All territories is up for grabs. No unity. They fallin' to Muertos. Thanks to you.."

"I am not responsible! You have a lot of nerve trying to put this on me."

R.J. chuckled, shaking his head. Eyes on Téa, Gloria too. "I ain't blaming you for this mess… just sayin' you moved pieces."

Téa turned, having had enough. "Fine," she said. "I'm gonna dance now… come, pardner…"

"Don't you want to meet the team?"

"Why should I? They don't work for me."

And with that, she left, Gloria in tow.

Rolon waited outside the door when Téa and Gloria rushed past him. R.J. joined him, the two men watching them dance, an air of rebelliousness in their movements. Tony, Mark, Lanzo, and Victor hovered near and around her, mixing in with the crowd.

"She ain't herself," R.J. growled.

"Yeah, I know. She ain't that unawares though," Rolon added. "She knows she's having an impact on the streets."

"She wanted to hurt Moreno. She get her wish? Is he feelin' the loss?"

"Yeah, he is. He's back in La Habana. Had to escape the mess. Couldn't fix things."

"He tried?"

"Hell yeah, even hit me up. Get men back in place, he asked, but they ain't budging. They making money, getting legitimate. It's Moreno's dream...biting him in the ass. A year ago I'd have laughed like a pinche hiena that a little girl could crush MK. I ain't laughing now…"

The music shifted and Téa and Gloria got close, danced closer, giggling. Tony hung at a table next to the dance floor, eyes sharp and scanning the crowd.

"Well," bit out R.J. "She has protection. That's all that matters now."

"Hoping street wars end in our favor."

"Long shot. None a'this is good."

Across the floor of the club, Eladio Merced sat at a corner table sipping on rum and coke. He watched Téa Delgado move on the dance floor like an angel with devil's horns. Beautiful, hot, tan atrevido… bold in how she took the MK soldiers off the streets. She'd done it slowly and effectively, as a Queen in her own right. The Mad King trained her well. And her work? Well, it made Eladio a new ruler in this region. Easy to take over territories in regard to drugs, weapons, and gambling once MK's areas of dominance fell, once strong players shifted focus to the marijuana industry.

He smiled to himself, swirling the sweet drink in his mouth as she danced nearer to him. She spotted him and he kept his eyes on her, getting her to grin in a small way, a private flirtation maybe. She wouldn't know him of course. The man she met on the boulevard with the gifted fruit basket was a soldier only and Eladio looked nothing like his men. Unlike them, he eschewed facial tattoos, or the intimidating muscled bodies, nor did he carry weapons. He didn't need to anymore. He also didn't need to work to draw the attention of beautiful women. Classic Greek looks worked for them, curly black hair, straight-edged features, the dimple on his chin. And like La Reina, he had a taste for Dolce & Gabbana. His style screamed money.

Most didn't care how he got it, just that he had it.

She danced close to the other woman, not any man. Her friend maybe. A lover perhaps? Even better. Told him she'd be a wildcat in bed. He stood up and made his way to the side of the dance floor. He watched her, caught her eye once or twice. He smiled at her, chuckled, and she rolled her eyes charmingly, cutely. He turned and strolled to the bar. Ordered another drink. Stood looking into the glass. Willing La Reina to come see him.

In two minutes, two men flanked him, one a tough-looking guy with dreads and the other a 250-pound gorilla with a nearly shaved head. Eladio glanced at one, then the other. They both leaned back, elbows on the counter. Watched the dance floor. When he turned to glimpse the man with the dreads, cold dark eyes had him.

"She ain't available," R.J. growled.

Eladio turned to the gorilla who grunted with a soft Cuban accent, "Make one move and I'll lay you out, brother."

Laughing, Eladio asked, "Whose sister is she?"

Nothing came back. He drank his booze and nodded to the gentlemen. "Another time then." He headed to the exit but not before flashing his brightest smile and wink to the dancing angel. He chuckled all the way to his car.

R.J. asked cooly, "Anyone we need to worry about? I didn't recognize him."

"Me either. But at this point, everyone is an enemy."

The night passed by and Téa tried her best to enjoy it, even flirting like hell with the man doing it first to her. She spied her team, R.J.'s team. Mark with the ginger-Afro hair from the Posse who laughed easily, Lanzo with the hipster suits he always wore and a sparkly smile and a wink, and Victor with his buzzed military cut, tough as hell but sweet as a puppy dog. And of course, mysterious, cool, aloof Tony.

Ridiculous.

She kept all emotions at bay, ignored the team, knowing things were so very different, feeling different. She did not know who she was without Todd at her side, did not know who she wanted to be. Either way, a stranger occupied her body.

Foreign. Alien.

When she got back home, she got dressed for bed and climbed into Reese's bed. Hugged the little boy to her and tried not to cry for Todd. No amount of alcohol soothed her broken heart, no dancing, no drug, no sex… there was no escape. She hugged him until he swatted at her to loosen her hold. She kissed his face until he was giggling and awake and she had to ease him back to sleep.

As she lay in bed, she wondered why she even had to bother one more second about Los Muertos? She'd flattened Pedro Moreno by taking the Mambo Kings… wasn't she done then? Didn't she do what she set out to do?

If so, why did she still thirst for blood?


Catching the MK lawyer at the airport had been easy, following him equally so. No surprise to see him meeting with Pedro Moreno at a café in town and immediately engaging in a serious, intense conversation. Par for the course. Typical. Nothing new. The day was hot and humid and Jed was wildly impatient.

"Don't say another word, Correa," he grumbled at Ian's attempt to analyze what they were looking at. They sat at a table across the street from Pedro and the lawyer, far enough away to not be noticed by their subjects.

"I am sure I am right though."

"I don't care if MK is a wreck, that they've been struck by morality and are hardly existing. Don't care."

"But—"

When Pedro emerged onto the street, and the lawyer stayed behind, Jed laid a hard hand on the reporter's shoulder to stop him from getting up.

He hissed at Ian, "You're gonna watch the lawyer. You're gonna try to get every bit of interesting bullshit you can from the lawyer."

"And you?"

"I'm on Moreno. Don't lose the fucking lawyer."

Ian pressed his lips in a tight line. This wasn't his plan. "But—"

"No objection or you end up in the sea."

Jed shuffled out of the cafe, free of Ian who he didn't trust anymore. He followed Pedro for a block then left him when he saw Pedro returning to his hotel.

At that, Jed caught a bicycle taxi and hopped into the carriage and said, "Take me to the convent, Las Hermanas de la Misericordia." No English on the biker's part but he knew Misericordia. He smiled and waved and got to peddling.

He searched behind him to see if Ian had followed and didn't see him. The biker sweated in the sun and Jed thanked the gods he wore shorts and his sleeveless t-shirt. He looked like a typical American with his Van's deck shoes but he didn't care.

As they drove, Jed ran down everything he knew and it came down to basic facts. A van moved something from the bombing site. A plane flew to the airport outside Baracoa. A flight with a patient that had possibly come from the bombing in that van that was licensed as an ambulance. The convent. The saint being the same saint Todd wore around his neck. The convent operated a clinic. Pedro was in town, deeply connecting with convent and satellite church. Pedro was protecting someone he did not want anyone to know about. Even his own people.

Clearly this someone might be wanted by cops. Or even by other gang members. Or even by other MK members.

Who?

Oh fuck.

Jed bit down at an obvious possibility he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of before. A probability. Of course. He wiped his forehead of sweat.

Jesus fucking CHRIST.

Pedro was probably hiding… Manuel Caro.

"Oh for fuck's sake!"

Caro was missing. Not a stretch that he'd been in that house. Not a stretch that maybe confronting him had been the real last straw for his dad. That maybe seeing him, made him push the button. Or maybe Todd had no idea that bomb would go off and he'd been fighting Caro...maybe Caro had kept him there against his will.

Maybe his dad's death had been an accident after all.

He sat back as the ride continued down the dirt road.

There was a large noisy group walking. Americans. They gleamed in their tee-shirts and fancy kicks. A woman was leading and speaking English. Jed yelled at the biker to stop. He hopped out, paid and joined the group. They smiled and welcomed him and the leader kept talking.

"The convent was illegal for many years! But thanks to new rules, they can now operate out in the open. They even have a winery!"

She went on and on and Jed saw behind her, in the distance, the looming tower.


He'd done better today, graduating to a walker, actually. A beaten-up, old-fashioned walker once owned by an aged Irish missionary who lived her last days on the premises of Las Hermanas de la Misericordia. Todd could shuffle way better than he could yesterday. No falling and no crying today. He took a shower totally on his own this afternoon, navigating the tower room like a goddamn captain of a ship.

He collapsed on the wheelchair still in his room, legs spread, lounging. A throne of sorts Raquel had set up at the window where he could keep watch over things. He wore his sweats only, and he leaned back, hand on his chest, rubbing it unconsciously. He scanned the courtyard below and listened to the distant roar of the ocean. He turned at the chirping of the songbird. Watched her a while. Funny how he once thought he could hear words in her tunes. A low level grief thrummed at the loss of those words.

"You're just a… bird… now." As usual, the word hung out at the door in his throat. That brain tic wasn't going anywhere.

He'd been dreaming of Téa in the morning, being cuddled by her, completely wrapped in her arms, naked, heated from sex that his brain had denied him. No memory of that part. She felt so good he raged when he woke up, furious at the sun and sea for ending the bliss. He refused to go down to breakfast. Refused to be carried down the stairs.

So he spent the day brooding and shuffling.

Raquel pushed open the door and smiled at the soapy scent in the room, at the towels on the bed.

"All by yourself, you showered," she said. The smile flitted away at the sight of his scowl however. She knew he'd been moody but this seemed more pointed.

"What is wrong?"

Glaring at her, he shrugged. "Fucking...life is wrong."

"Get a shirt. We will practice the stairs."

The idea! He immediately imagined falling down those stone steps. One flight and he'd be dead.

"No," he choked. "Are you trying to kill me?"

She laughed and sat on the bed, smoothing the linens. "Yesterday morning you could move only a little. Today is a big difference. I believe your restricted movement is in your head. Your progression is about determination. Will."

"Yeah, no. I want to fucking tear outta here and I fucking can't. Not in my..." He screwed up his mouth with a furious huff before finally saying, "...head!"

He turned at laughter carrying upwards through the windows. Light, pretty, womanly laughter. Tourists. He watched a roving group of men and women tour the perimeter of the dirt expanse, admiring the tower and sanctuary. They pointed in his direction, not at him, but at the tower in general. A woman lagged behind the others and laughed with a partner. Her voice hit him and gave him the shivers like icy Atlantic ocean spray. He practically hissed. He breathed and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead as if in pain. Delgado was too close to him, he could practically smell her sweat… in bed. That laugh reminded him of her.

And his imprisonment.

"Why do you help me?"

Cold eyes fell onto hers. Good question. Beatrice often asked it. Asked it without expecting an answer. Especially in the tough times when Blanco was in pieces and Raquel was holding him like a child. She responded with a hard look. "You do not know why?"

"No. I don't deserve it."

"You do not deserve such tenderness. That is true."

"Why then?"

She rolled her eyes. How could he not know?

"You have a debt to pay. I am here to make sure you do it."

Her features softened at the end there, and she glanced downwards. Tears almost.

How could he not know...was right.

"Rico," he murmured.

She said nothing. Eyes down. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. More laughter hit him. He didn't dream about him. Ever. Thought about him. But didn't dream of him.

"I left him money. If I'm…dead… they will have maybe distributed some of it. Do you understand?" He repeated his words in Spanish. "I gave him money in my will." She still said nothing. She did not look at him. "Have you...um... heard from him?" He stuck with Spanish so meaning would not be lost, asked haltingly, words being spit out. He didn't want to know.

She regained herself. Looked hard again at him. "He left quickly after the bombing, after the police questioned him for hours. He was a sole witness to the finding of Téa."

He rubbed his face. Of course. Fucking Juarez was in that hospital wanting to know what happened to her, why she died.

Raquel sniffed, a sharp hard sound. She was angry. Reminded. "His small life changed in a single blast. New name, new history, new home. Everything he knew was a lie. Even you. We embraced and he left. I have not heard a single word. And I am a nobody to ask for him. I… did so little for him."

He knew he didn't want to hear it. Her brief telling worked like a knife slitting his throat. He could hardly breathe with guilt over their last words in the hospital, guilt that he left Rico totally and utterly alone to face the cops over Téa and of course… a new world. Even his children had it better with Viki to care for them, with their house still there, a home still in place. Rico had nothing. Todd had had reason to stay alive and yet…

He threw it all away for retribution, abandoned Rico after he promised not to.

I will not die.

I will not abandon you.

Raquel would call Rico, chiquito. Little one. Tiny. But it sounded like "chick." Like a tiny fluffy yellow chick. She didn't know the truth though.

Beautiful, brilliant, kind, vulnerable Rico...

...a monster in his own right.

God, he put Todd to shame in that department. A bombing was easy. Arranged. Someone else did it! He wanted to laugh. A mad crazy hyena laugh. Rico murdered Caro in his own unrecorded snuff film that he'd been writing for years. Ate Caro's heart in small little chick-like bites. Bite, bite, bite, until that bloody bit of muscle was gone. Slow, deliberate…bites and chews and swallows. Not to mention the careful sawing dismemberment. Body parts got left behind in a pile to rot in that locked basement.

Mí chiquito.

"You loved him," Todd said softly. "You gave him real love for years. More than I gave him."

She stood and looked at the lounging cat on the wheelchair. She'd not seen him do that since Havana. Stretched long legs, an elbow on the chair's arm, hunched slightly in the chair. Bare feet, bare chest… all that warring ink. Head back, light eyes so full of hate. If she didn't know his physical limitations, she'd step back. She'd be afraid he would spring at her in an instant. A shift had definitely occurred in him with his slight retaking of control over his body. Pedro Moreno would be shocked to see the difference. He had seen a broken body on a bed—not anymore.

Blanco was very much alive again.

"Perhaps I should return home."

That threw him. That humbled him. He straightened somewhat, his expression changing to something less cool, hate receding like a sea tide.

"No," he rasped, the child returning. "Please. Not until I'm well."

"I have a life too, you know. Una paladar, a clinic, customers, patients…"

"I know...but you can't leave. I need you."

Don't leave me, mama.

And tears came, real tears. Weakness roared through him, gutting him, crippling him. This was exactly who he was. The violent man who fought bloody fights in the Havana clubs, who'd then rest his head on her bosom and weep over lost love when he was drunk on the whiskey she'd bring him.

Raquel sighed and got close and held him once again.

"My god, Blanco," she huffed, "…my god, how you operate, how you live and breathe."

After a minute of quiet assurance, she said, "I will stay until you are well enough to go to Rico. I understand you must get to your family but I have a boy alone in that cruel America and I have to know he is well. Your money is nothing. It cannot buy him health or love. You used him for your own purposes…and that brought his life crashing down. You swore love. You have to show me that love. You have to promise me."

He nodded. A deal. An agreement. This… he understood. In exchange for Raquel's help, he would not let Rico be so alone. He would try to show the love he denied him. Love he told Rico that was real. Fine. He'd find Rico…

AND Téa.

AND his children.

And in all that… maybe there'd be a little redemption?

To be continued...