Asylum

Chapter 40: Unforeseen

Because Ivan wasn't looking at me, no one in the box noticed the infinitesimal hitch in my stride that I smoothly covered with a glance at the coffee table and a shy smile for the guests.

Alejandro straightened in the far chair and grinned like a kid who'd just come downstairs on Christmas morning, oblivious to his eldest brother's quelling scowl.

Tomás, seated between his brothers, leaned closer to Ángel. "Como dije, ella no habla español (As I said, she doesn't speak any Spanish)."

Ángel nodded curtly and turned his attention back to Ivan. Alejandro continued to divide his focus between the impending meeting and me, flicking his eyes over me as though I were a hotel TV with a hundred porn channels, and he was a teenage boy with a remote and a spare set of batteries.

The Castillo heir leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped loosely in front of him. "Ahora, ¿podemos enviar a los otros hispanohablantes fuera de la sala? (Now, can we send the other Spanish speakers out of the room?)"

I held my breath as I set about pouring the tequila. Ivan said nothing for a moment as he studied this new player. I was likely the only one who could see the tension in every line of his sculpted physique, belying his unconcerned, almost lounging pose on the sofa. This was no small ask on Ángel's part: With their security gone, Marshall would not be on hand to summon backup in case a physical altercation broke out, and the Castillos would outnumber Ivan three to one. Actually, three to two, but no one else in the box but me would know that.

Finally, Ivan flicked a couple of fingers at Marshall. "Wait downstairs," he told him quietly.

The bodyguard remained until the Castillos' two security guards had been dismissed and strolled past him before following them down to the main floor.

For several seconds, the only sounds in the booth were the relentless music of the club and the periodic shouts from the dancing throng below. I put the four glasses of tequila on a tray. Dusty had already sliced limes, the perky wedges clustered in a cheerful clump on the cutting board, but as I didn't see a bowl behind the bar, I figured he had just planned on sticking a wedge onto each glass. I piled the limes on one of the plates I'd brought up and added it to the drinks tray.

"Insististe usted en que la reunión era urgente, por lo que supongo que querías más que una presentación formal (You insisted that this meeting was urgent, so I'm guessing you wanted more than a formal introduction)," Ivan began.

Ángel's smile did not reach his eyes; I put a napkin and a glass of tequila down on the low table in front of him. "Veo que usted es un hombre que no escatima palabras. Eso es bueno; yo tampoco, así que iré directo al grano (I see you are a man who does not mince words. That's good; neither am I, so I will get right to the point)," Ángel began. He continued in Spanish: "The family has recently received some sad news about my father's health."

I carefully placed Tomás's drink on the table.

"Pancreatic cancer," Alejandro clarified. "It's spread all over his fucking body."

Ángel's glare cut off any further elaboration from his baby brother, who quickly looked away and took his tequila directly from my hand. He slammed the clear liquid down the back of his throat and placed the empty glass on the napkin I'd just laid down. I offered him a lime wedge, which he waved off, before putting the plate in the center of the table.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ivan said, sounding cautious but genuinely sorry. "Hector is a great man."

I moved closer to him, but he ignored me. I put his tequila on the table, collected Alejandro's empty glass, and moved unobtrusively back to the box's small bar.