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vadaschiquita · 4 years

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Chiquita | Ch. 11

Chapter 10

“Where the hell is she?” Nevada grumbled, shouldering past Miguel at the threshold of his home.

Miguel looked… bashful almost, never before having seen her like this. In his eyes, Mariana was a warrior, a force to be reckoned with. Nevada would never admit this to anyone, but Miguel had known Nevada since they were both teenage boys, wreaking havoc around the neighborhood, and he’d seen many a side to the drug lord, but the way Nevada would clench his jaw, the way his eyes would shimmer, and the way he’d accede to her requests let him know that Nevada was in love, and more importantly, he respected Mariana both as a woman and an equal.

Miguel had only seen Nevada so… compliant twice in his lifetime: towards his mother and towards their tenth grade teacher. The fact that Mariana’s words or actions carried more weight with Nevada than that of some of his men led Miguel to believe that she was truly the one. He had a soft spot for the ardent woman and he loved to see Nevada wither in his resolve when it came to his Chiquita.

“Jefe,” Miguel breathed out, “she’s been jumpy and, and… she has this… distant look on her face ever since Jairo picked her up at the school,” Miguel explained to Nevada. Nevada frowned, breathing out through his nose like a bull. “Something happened, Jefe.”

Nevada hummed, giving a clipped nod towards Miguel as he strutted towards his couch. He saw her, sitting up tensed. He could see how high her shoulders were placed on her neck and as he drew closer, he could hear the shuddering breaths she was taking. Rounding the couch, he caught sight of her profile. Her eyes were nearly bulging from their sockets, her lips were parted, dried at the corners most likely from deprivation of moisture, and the placement of her hands had him the most worried. Her left hand was protectively placed on her stomach, her fingers fanned over the fabric of her blouse, and her right one was at her side, clutching the edge of the cushion.

“Mari?” he tried, taking a tentative step towards her.

He saw as the veins and joints of her right hand flexed and tensed across the back of her hand, and he could see her barely hanging on by a thread. He lifted his head, watching Pucho stretch on one of his dining room chairs and Miguel sitting across from him. A few of the boys from the inner circle lingered around the table and around the kitchen. He waggled his fingers, fidgeting with the ring on his finger, and he sighed softly.

Whatever this was, he needed to deal with it right then and there. He worked his fingers around the buttons of his dress shirt, working promptly to rid himself of the constricting fabric, and once loose, he let it fall from his shoulders onto the chaise behind him.

“¡Pa’ fuera, coñazo!” he shouted, making Mariana jump in place. He balled his fingers into a fist, digging his nails into the skin of his palm, loathing his self for adding to the edge she already felt.

He watched as everybody scrambled to their feet and he heard Pucho chuckle as he stood, too. Nevada approached Mariana slowly, extending his hand to reach her shoulder, and once he lain a hand over her tensed muscles, the sharp intake of breath she took as she jumped back, knocking his hand away, was enough cause to plague his mind with thoughts of penitence the next time he chose to visit the neighborhood’s church.

“Mari, mami, you’re ok,” he placated with arms raised.

The way her eyes danced across his face and the way she had wrapped her arms around her stomach let him know that she was feeling cornered and unsafe. No matter how many times she’d been in his presence, the times his hands had touched her bare skin, or the way she had once trusted him to not sully the sacred piety that was the union of their bodies had entirely vanished in a matter of seconds.

“Mari,” he tried, taking a step back.

Mariana saw her window of opportunity, a moment where she could escape, and hopefully ward off the explanation that would ensue once Nevada figured out a way of actually speaking to her without exactly scaring their child out of her body. She stood in haste, nearly bolting to Nevada’s room.

Crestfallen fell short to what Mariana was feeling. She was beyond vexed at her behavior, a behavior that had taken almost a complete year to work out of her body, one that had come back like the rush of a fall to afflict her current and stable peace of mind.

Nevada heard the slam of his bedroom door rattle on the hinges and he turned with newfound purpose, belting, and directing his anger towards Miguel, “¿Qué carajo pasó?”

Miguel shrugged, “I don’t know. I sent Jairo and Morgan out to pick her up and I told them to go get her in her classroom. When they came back, she was already like that and the boys were… confused as to why she was acting that way.”

“Find them. Now!”

Miguel nodded and disappeared down the foyer towards the door. “Get out of your head. They’re not that dumb to try something and she’s not that… fragile to not defend herself,” Pucho said without preamble.

“No. No,” Nevada said, pacing the area in front of the table. “I’m not worried about that. What I’m fucking pissed about is the fact that they saw her in that state y a nadie se le ocurrió la brillante, puta idea de llamarme.”

“Chico,” Pucho began, gesturing, “they’re new, cut them some slack, and they’re good.”

“Slack?” Nevada stopped his pacing right in front of Pucho. “You want me to cut them slack?” he took several quick steps to stand just a foot away from Pucho. “I could’ve been here earlier and she wouldn’t have reached that state if they’d done their fucking job.”

Pucho sighed, leaning back against the chair.

He knew that Nevada had been gone all day, settling some paperwork, contacting their off-the-books lawyers, and settling some other stuff with landlords and brokers for the new home he’d purchased. He knew Mariana wouldn’t move in to the apartment he currently stayed at, and he knew why too. It was tainted, stained with blood and product, girls, and thugs. If he wanted her with him, she needed someplace new, someplace fresh, without the looming cloud of his life around.

A place big enough where they could start anew, a place close enough to the school, and a place beyond close to her best friend. Mariana was in the city by herself. She never spoke of family or of any other friends, and he knew that currently, that was what she needed.

He paced and paced, huffing and puffing, cursing the empty space for having been so blind to their prior exchange. Six hours later he had turned up to his apartment, thinking this was just some other hormonal bout due to her pregnancy, but when Miguel had damn neared corralled him at his door, he knew it was something more.

Another thirty minutes passed and he heard his door swish open and Miguel grumbling in his deep voice to the boys that had picked up his Chiquita. He turned, hands on his hips, watching as the young men fumbled with their feet and stood in the space that divided the foyer with the dining area.

“Rompan a hablar,” he said quietly, standing wide and tall.

Jairo, a Cuban-American kid looked at the sandy-colored hair one besides him with a frightful expression, not wanting to speak out of place, but not wanting to keep anything from his boss. Nevada knew Morgan, a trade-in as a form of peace between his guys and the Middle Easterners. He wasn’t green, he knew his guns, and he always had good information at hand. When Pucho had said, ‘they’re good’ he hadn’t known Miguel had sent him to Mariana’s aid.

Morgan raised his head, “We got there, circled once around the block to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, and then, we went inside.”

“What could possibly be out of the ordinary at that time in front of St. Elizabeth’s?” Nevada fished.

“It’s Holy Wednesday, boss. There are two services at the Greek Orthodox Church around the corner from St. Liz’s,” Nevada hummed and nodded. “When we went inside we knocked on her classroom door, but she never opened the door. It wasn’t until Jairo said something to her that she opened the door.”

His smoldering gaze landed on the crestfallen boy next to Morgan. He’d noticed that his eyes kept dancing between Morgan and him as if with fear. If he had to guess, this was probably Jairo’s first audience in front of him, and usually, they never ended on a good note.

“What’d you say?” Nevada spoke in an eerily even tone; one not even Pucho was accustomed to hearing when it came to disciplining the boys.

Jairo’s jaw worked, trying to find the words, but all he did was stutter. Morgan raised his brows, tilting his head towards Nevada in a subtle nod, urging him to speak when addressed, but Jairo’s nervousness seemed to be winning and Nevada’s patience was thinning.

“Boy,” he grumbled, taking a step forward.

“I—I said, I said, ‘Se—Señito, Miguel nos mandó’ and—and when she opened the door it looked like she’d been crying. But—But, I swear, she was already crying when we picked her up—”

“And nobody thought of fucking calling me to let me know!” Jairo ended his word vomit with a sigh, shaking his head and lowering it on his shoulders. “Next time Miguel or Pucho or I send you out to do something that involves my Chiquita and she’s crying—I don’t care if they’re tears of joy—YOU FUCKING CALL ME AND LET ME KNOW, ¡maldita sea la madre, coño! Get the fuck out!”

The boys had jumped in their spots, momentarily dumbfounded at Nevada’s sudden change in attitude. Nevada watched as they shouldered past Miguel, Jairo knocking the broad man’s shoulder in his haste, and before Miguel could settle back on a chair he spoke once more.

“Ustedes también, arranquen pal carajo,” he finished, running his hands through his hair as he disappeared down the hall that led him to his room.

Before opening the door to his room he heard Pucho mumble something before he heard the door shut behind him. He sighed. He had to gain some composure if he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Why hadn’t Mariana been waiting on the curb for the boys to pick her up swiftly? Why hadn’t she responded to the knocks coming from his men? Why did she wait for them to speak before she opened the door? Who was she hiding from? What had happened? Had she received a threat?

He huffed, swallowing a bout of nausea that threatened to spill out of his mouth at the thought that one of his enemies had possibly hurt her. He pushed the door open, watching as she hitched her breath once her eyes landed at the figure coming through the door. She whimpered, lowering her shaking head as a solid stream of tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Chiquita, what happened?” he tried, approaching the bed. She was sat with her legs underneath her, staring at the door—at him. “Tell me, how can I help you. I will put a bullet en el casco del hijo de puta que te puso así,” he entoned his words, mindful of the tone of his voice.

Mariana looked up at Nevada and she sniffled, utilizing the backs of her hands to clear the tears dropped. “I saw him today,” she whispered, her voice breaking at the end.

“Who?”

She sniffled, clearing her throat, “The reason I’m here in New York City.”

“Motherfucker,” Nevada hissed, grabbing at his jaw as he paced the room. He couldn’t allow for Mariana to know that he had an idea of what exactly had happened in her past and the reason she was now here away from the life she’d once had.

“Mariana Rivera,” Nevada turned around, humming at the foreign name dropped from her lips. She lifted her head, looking into Nevada’s green eyes, “That’s my name, Mariana Rivera. My mother’s maiden name is Santos.”

“Chiquita—” he began approaching the bed, but she extended her arm and shook her head.

“Please, I need to tell you this,” he nodded and saw as she took in a deep breath. “I’d just graduated and my friends and I were out celebrating,” she scoffed with a rueful smile on her face. “I’d just gotten accepted into the online graduate program at University of Miami, and a couple of days before, I’d signed my contract at Montessori to start as a teacher that fall. Everything was perfect, and then I met him.

“He bought me a drink, I smiled. He asked me to dance, and we closed the club down,” she giggled. “A couple of days later, I ran into him at Centro, this really good club. It was the summer, so we were out a lot. He asked me out, I said yes. My friends though,” she shook her head, “they were not sold altogether, but I ignored them. We went out and had a really good time.

“My parents met him, and though wary, they allowed me to make my own mistakes,” she sniffled, rubbing at her swell for comfort. “He’d been excited, you know, a twenty-two year old landing a major contracting job, and he’d asked me to move in with him. We’d only been dating for about six months and I accepted. Half the payment of rent in Miami? Of course I was in! And, then, everything went downhill from there.

“He was controlling, jealous, overbearing…” her lip snarled as she recounted the events of her failed relationship. “One day after work,” she bit her lip, closing her eyes, “I was in the kitchen and he was bent over the newspaper, looking for jobsites or some other shit, who knows,” she waved her hand dismissively. “He started reading aloud to me about something in the paper and he stumbled on a word, and I giggled ‘cause it was funny how he’d stumbled on such a simple word, and in a matter of seconds, I was on the floor.

“Me dijo ‘puta’ before kicking me in the stomach… I was in shock, Vada. One minute, I’m finishing the dishes, and the next I’m fighting for air and trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. It only got worst from there,” she hung her head, opening her eyes.

“Mari—”

“I tried to leave, Vada. I did, but because of his constant abuse, verbal beratings, and beatings, I stuck around. He’d made me drop hours at the school, and I did for a little bit, but then I realized, he wasn’t home most of the time. He worked sixteen-hour days, so I could work my full-time hours, and still be home by the time he got there.

“I lost weight, my friends stopped talking to me, I had to close all of my social media accounts… I almost didn’t graduate with my masters because of him,” her head had snapped up to glance at Nevada who had just stood rooted to his place, his hands clutched in fists by his sides. “Three and a half years I stayed with him, Vada. Three and a half years, wasted!

“The night I left, he had gotten home from work in a fucking mood, Jesus…” she ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, down her face as she held her jaw in awe. She hadn’t thought of that night since landing in New York after her thirty-six hour bus ride. “I should’ve known better,” she shook her head. “He went off—yelling and screaming about some guy at his job, and me, being the sensible person I am, opened my mouth to say that maybe they should’ve been working together.

“He beat me to a pulp,” she heard Nevada’s sharp intake of air, fighting off every rage molecule coursing through his veins. “I woke up two hours later. He’d spat on me, it was dried on my cheek, I was bleeding from everywhere it seemed. I walked to the room, and I knew he’d gotten drunk, and was sleeping it off like a log. I bathed, hissing and crying at my every pain receptor firing at the same time, and when I got out, I packed a bag, went to a couple of nearby ATMs and emptied our joined account.

“I bought a bus ticket and spent the next thirty-six hours cowering and hiding until I reached New York.”

Nevada had taken a step forward, mindful of her movements and reactions. “Where did you go when you got here? Why didn’t you go to your parents?”

She chuckled ruefully. “When you don’t talk to your parents for four years, it kind of puts a strain in the relationship,” her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she did so nonetheless. “I went to a cop’s station. I needed… something to protect myself.”

“They helped you?” Mariana nodded, hiding her face. “And, this son of a bitch is here, now?”

She shuddered, rubbing her swell. “He was waiting for me, Vada. In front of the fucking pharmacy; he knows where I work. It’s only a matter of days until he finds out where I live,” she mewled, covering her mouth as more tears streamed down her face.

Nevada was quick to gather her in his arms, wrapping her in his warm embrace as he shushed her. He placed his lips against her forehead, running his hand through the hair that by now was stuck to her neck and face due to her tears and perspiration. Her arms were tightly wrapped around his waist, her head tucked underneath his chin. She’d been so strong for so long and feeling Nevada next to her, being able to wrap her body around his had broken her resolve.

She’d been so stuck in her fight or flight mode that she’d barely had time to let go. Nevada kept shushing her, placing his lips to whatever skin he was able to reach of her face. He wanted her pain to be his and he wanted this motherfucker dead for what he’d done to her. All the pain he’d inflicted on her, he would double it and then some. This man had bent Mariana to his will, almost causing her to break, but like the strongest of the bamboos, she’d molded and held and had sprung back and blossomed into the beautiful human being he now knew and… dare he say it?

Loved; he loved Mariana.

Mariana sighed, pressing her forehead just next to his gold cross against his chest, sniffling loudly after gathering her composure as much as she could. “Vada—Vada, what am I going to do? He—He knows—God, he knows where I am…”

Nevada shushed her, “Épale Chiquita, cálmate que you’re doing no good to our gordita.”

Mariana scoffed and chuckled, shaking her head before lifting her chin to gaze into Nevada’s stormy gaze. “God, all the stress she probably has endured… She’s been so quiet…”

“I’m glad you’re on the ‘she’ train, but you barely noticed me come in through the door, what makes you think you’ve noticed what she’s been doing in there?”

“Nevada,” Mariana smiled, patting his chest. “You—You’re right, but now I’m worried.”

She had tipped her head to gaze at her stomach. Nevada grabbed her chin, lifting it so that she could look into his eyes. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Mariana shook her head, “No. I just need to relax, eat something, go home, and try to sleep.”

“Home?” Nevada scoffed loudly, throwing his head back in laughter. “Tú estás fumándote algo bueno ‘cause you ain’t leaving this apartment tonight, and tomorrow when I take you over to your place so that you can shower and change, pack a bag with all your shit, ‘cause you’re not going back.”

She furrowed her brow, dropping her arms just to cross them against her chest, “Nevada—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Mariana. This is non-negotiable, and I don’t want to hear it,” he took a step back, not wanting to trigger in her any past emotion. They’d been standing pretty close and if they were about to argue, he didn’t want her to think this was a power play. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but that is final. Te vas a quedar aquí until I find that cock-sucker and make him—”

“Hey, hey,” she smoothly said, taking a step forward into him, placing her hands against his chest. “I heard you, ok? Loud and clear, no me tienes que gritar.”

Nevada closed his eyes, huffing like a bull. He felt her lips on his jaw, trailing towards his lips where she planted hers furiously.

The kiss slowly developed into something more and the more Nevada gripped her waist, drove her into his body, and held on to her hips, the more he could feel the budding anxiety shed from her skin. He’d known part of the information Mariana had shared with him in that moment, but listening to his Chiquita recount what she’d gone through at such a young age, the same age range that his sister was in at the moment, had shaken him.

Of course he’d seen his girls beaten and ill-handled by a john that thought that just because he was paying for the services provided, he could do whatever he pleased with the merchandise. The guys working the corners and watching for the girls were always the one to bring them in, they trusted no one else, and when Nevada would milk them for the information, he would send them home and until whatever cuts and bruises healed and faded they weren’t allowed back on the streets.

Nevada prided himself in having the best looking girls and for that, the johns paid top dollar for.

The girls looked like your typical girl-next-door, a devoted housewife, and some had that mean streak that a lot of men liked. The minute one of his girls came to him with a problem, it was resolved on sight. How many times he had his men tracking down johns all the way to New Jersey in their two-story home with a loving wife sitting on the porch watching their kids play just to teach them a lesson? And, now that Mariana had presented this problem to him, he wouldn’t rest until he had Ricardo’s blood splattered on his chest.

Nothing would bring him greater joy than seeing the man that had put in danger the mother of his child begging and pleading for his life.

She’d been emptying a suitcase with the help of Jess on top of Nevada’s bed, sorting through what she’d been able to grab earlier that morning and what Jessica had been able to retrieve a couple of hours before arriving to Nevada’s home. She’d accumulated quite the wardrobe in the years she’d been in New York and now she needed to wean the things she knew for sure weren’t going to fit even after the pregnancy.

During lunch, she’d caught Jess up in the events of the prior day, causing Jessica to be overly apologetic over leaving so drastically just for a dick appointment.

Nevada busted through his bedroom door, “Chiquita, you have ten minutes to get ready.”

Mariana looked over her shoulder, “Get ready for what?”

Nevada narrowed his eyes, “Nine minutes.”

Mariana rolled her eyes, turning back towards Jess, “We’ll talk later.”

Jess nodded and glared at Nevada as she exited his room and home. Mariana wasted no time in changing clothes given the time frame Nevada had given her. She wore a light blue striped linen and cotton midi length dress. It had a flattering drape design that accommodated her growing bump beautifully and she paired it with nude sandal heels. Nevada hummed in approval, lingering his eyes on her changing body.

It was no secret that Nevada was incredibly attracted to Mariana, but what he didn’t know then was how attracted he could possibly be to Mariana’s pregnant form. The way it felt underneath his palms was a feeling he couldn’t get exactly over and once she realized he was touching her it was as if the baby could feel it too and the excitement could be felt through her stomach.

He lain awake some nights, feeling the activity happening inside of her, and when she didn’t wake, he would take that opportunity to talk to the baby, rubbing small circles against her stomach in the different places he felt his child move.

They’d safely made it down to the SUV and during the ride; Mariana’s curiosity peeked once again. “Where are we going?” she was fidgeting with one of the buttons down the front of her dress.

Nevada sighed, redirecting his attention from his phone to Mariana besides him. “We’re going to the club,” he evenly said.

Mariana furrowed her brow, “It’s six thirty in the afternoon. On a Thursday.”

“And?”

“Why?”

He huffed once more, having directed his attention to a more pressing matter in the privacy of his mobile screen. “Mari,” he scrubbed his hands over his face. “We’re going to some interviews, Jesus. Cállate ya, and let me work.”

Mariana raised a single brow, turning on the seat, “Interviews for what? Why do I need to be there?”

Nevada growled, causing Miguel to snicker in the front seat. Mariana smirked. She lived for nothing else than to irritate Nevada and at that very moment, she was proving to be more than successful. Nevada turned to glare at her, only to be met by a playful smirk and pursed lips.

Nevada shook his head, “We’re interviewing guys to protect you. There, are you happy?”

“Protect me from—” she started then abruptly stopped once she saw the rage and readiness of Nevada’s eyes. She nodded, biting her lip. “Why new people that I don’t trust? Why can’t I have Miguel?” she gestured towards the front seat where Miguel sat, diligently coursing through St. Nicholas Avenue towards Nevada’s precious club.

“Because, I need him.”

“What about Pucho? You trust him.”

“Exactamente, that’s why he’s not muscle, he’s brains.”

“Why do you need Miguel, then? Why can’t you just keep Diego or, or Josean, or—”

“Porque no, coño, porque no,” Nevada interrupted with a slight raise of his voice. “I don’t like explaining myself, Chiquita. You’re getting your own detail, just like Nina and Sofía have their own men, you’re getting your own. ¿Me entiendes?”

Mariana puffed, slamming her back against the seat like a petulant child. Nevada sighed heavily, deciding to ignore Mariana’s caviling attitude for the remainder of the ride. He was busy, settling the final contracts in order to move in to the new place. He still hadn’t let Mariana know of his plans, and the place needed some work, but he wanted to be able to give Mariana that sense of satisfaction that came when transforming one’s space into their own.

He chanced a glance over to her, smirking at her pout and furrowed brow. She was shaking her head, rolling her eyes as she attempted to hide her annoyance from Nevada. Nevada reached over, pinching the skin of her elbow playfully.

Mariana shook her arm away, clicking her tongue in distaste, “Deja.”

He bit his lip, repeating the movement once more. He was trying to get her to lower her arms from across her chest, just so that he could thumb the ink above her elbow fold, the one with snowcapped mountains alluding to a new beginning; a new beginning with his namesake.

Mariana turned abruptly, knocking his hand off of her flesh, only to be met by his smoldering malachite eyes. He grinned devilishly, pulling her by her arm towards him. She fussed, but once his lips fell on her, she went limp in his arms. The arm that he had imprisoned was coiled against her chest whilst her free hand crept up his neck.

She allowed herself to be swallowed by Nevada, his kiss proving to be liquid fire upon her mouth. In a matter of seconds, her heart had picked up a changeless gallop, and as she sought his shifting mouth, her hunger for him rose. Nevada flicked his bottom lip against hers, taunting and teasing, as he pulled back from her, resting his forehead against hers.

He hummed, closing his eyes, attempting to swallow the array of emotions that threatened to bubble up with abandon. He breathed out, tilting his chin to press his lips against hers two more times before Miguel cleared his throat, announcing their arrival at the club.

Nevada released Mariana’s arm, letting his palm linger on the swell of her stomach before popping open the door. He glanced both ways before allowing Mariana to step down from the vehicle, and as she did, Miguel was there to swoop her inside with Nevada carefully trailing behind.

The club appeared different on an off day. There were several contractors there, maintaining the place with some minor modifications, Tony was behind the bar—as usual—taking inventory and making sure nothing needed fixing or replacing for the upcoming weekend. She waved at Tony who in return smiled and raised the glass he was polishing, raising his brows once he saw her growing bump.

“Where are you going?” she asked of Nevada once she felt him breeze past her.

“Chiquita, must you question everything I’m doing today?” Mariana offered no reply, simply staring at him until he provided his answer with a deep sigh. “Dios santísimo, I’m getting a drink.”

“Club soda with lime,” she said, turning towards Miguel who waited patiently for her.

Nevada scoffed, digging into his pockets for his cigarettes. He never lit up around her, not even in his home any longer, especially not since finding out she was pregnant with his child. He leaned against the bar, watching her retreat with Miguel and he smiled, placing the cigarette between his lips.

He inhaled deeply as he sparked, turning to regard Tony who had placed a glass of his private label in front of him. Nevada smirked, chucking the two fingers of liquid back rapidly before smacking the glass atop the bar once more. He’d never admit to it, but he’d been nervous.

All of his men were boys of the neighborhood, eager to please and see profit dealing for the infamous drug lord. He had some working with Pucho—the smarter ones—on his books, the more street wise ones were the ones that dealt, the ones business street smart were the ones that cared for the girls, making sure that they didn’t pocket money that belonged to Nevada, and the tougher ones were muscle.

In his inner circle, the ones that got to see and work closely with Nevada on a daily basis were the ones that had earned promotions, coming to Miguel or Pucho with useful information, making sure there were minimal losses and profitable gains, and of course, those who Nevada trusted the most, were children of his own men. Nevada never recruited from the inside, but if they showed interest and promise, he would accommodate as he seemed fit.

Nina and Sofía’s detail were guys he’d grew up with, guys he’d gone to school with, who’d seen and known Nina since she was most likely Sofía’s age. Mariana had raised some valid questions, and after pondering it further, he knew she was right. Why couldn’t she have Miguel? Over the months, they’d developed this bond, a bond he was proud of. He knew she’d be protected at all times, no matter what, and she knew that she could have some freedom when moving through the city, without necessarily losing all autonomy and sense of privacy.

He needed Miguel, though. Miguel was more than just a bodyguard. He was eyes and ears, he was the city, he was everything and Nevada couldn’t afford to lose that. There was too much at stake. Losing Miguel meant losing an important structure in his meticulously forged house. Nevada needed to find someone as trustworthy as Miguel for Mariana, but knowing him, no one would be up to par.

He took Mariana’s drink, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the back office. She was laughing with Miguel who sat at Nevada’s desk whilst she was cozied up on the couch across the room, rubbing on her baby bump. Nevada cocked his head towards Miguel, sending him out of the office in search of the men that had signed up for this job.

Nevada handed Mariana her glass of club soda and she smiled, crossing her legs as Nevada sat next to her. He had already put out the cigarette, but the lingering scent of smoke clung to his leather jacket as he worked to divest his self of it. Nevada leaned forward, searching for his own glass as Mariana ran her hand down his shoulder blades, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he moved.

She hummed, sitting straight. “Papi,” she husked lowly, balancing the glass in her right hand on her crossed knee.

Nevada turned his head, pressing his chin to his shoulder. The curl of his mouth looked enticing and so she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his slowly, once… twice… thrice… until he parted his lips and she saw the perfect opportunity to capture his lower lip between her teeth, slowly tugging at it, until it popped back in place when Miguel opened the door, allowing the first guy to follow in.

Mariana sighed, leaning back against the couch, and raising her eyes to the young man in front of her. The guy couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, he still had some glimmer in his eyes, easily not found there in someone who’d seen better days.

Nevada waved at the boy to sit in front of him. “Name,” Nevada evenly said, fidgeting with his father’s ring.

“Jonathan.”

“How old are you, Jonathan?” Nevada asked, lifting his head slightly.

“Twenty-two.”

Nevada snickered, glancing over his shoulder at Mariana. “You ever killed someone, Jonathan?” the boy stuttered, widening his eyes. Nevada gave him no opportunity to answer or recover when he shot his other question. “You ever fought someone with a knife?” the boy stumbled again, opening his mouth to answer, but not quickly enough for Nevada. “If something happens, how can I trust you’re going to protect yourself and those around you?”

The boy visibly looked ill, but if he couldn’t handle a simple interview with Nevada, how exactly was he supposed to handle whatever thrown at him and to be in charge of Mariana at that? Nevada sighed, ready to dismiss the boy when he spoke.

“I—I have older brothers, sir. I’ve had to defend myself my whole life,” he explained apologetically.

Nevada smiled his signature half smile. “Do you know who she is?” he shot a thumb over his shoulder in Mariana’s direction.

“Your—Your girlfriend?”

“That’s right!” Nevada shouted, smacking the table for fun, and watching the boy tense. “That right there is my Chiquita. And, my Chiquita happens to be carrying my kid, and you are here, Jonathan, to see if you’re fit to care for my Chiquita when I’m not around,” he paused for effect, all evidence of amusement were wiped away from his face as he renewed his line of thought. “And, you think that defending yourself from your brothers is experience enough to handle a motherfucker with a gun? Get out.”

It had all happened so quickly that Mariana wasn’t sure of what had happened, but she saw the boy sag his shoulders as he stood and exited the office. When the door opened a second time, Miguel set his eyes on Nevada, attempting to communicate something about the next candidate. Nevada frowned, giving a clip nod in response. The next man walked in, a little more mature than Jonathan in Mariana’s eyes.

Nevada ushered him towards the chair across the coffee table, “Name.”

“They call me Lalo,” he responded, sniffling in the process. “Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “my allergies this time of the year—crazy.”

Nevada hummed, “How old are you, Lalo?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat once more, shrugging his shoulders as he offered his response.

Mariana didn’t quite catch what the man had said, and once Nevada had asked of him to repeat himself, she still hadn’t understood what he’d said. The next few minutes of the interview went by as such, Lalo speaking animatedly and Mariana attempting to figure out and piece together bits and pieces of his responses.

“Open your mouth when you answer this question, and make sure you’re enunciating your words, Lalo,” Mariana said quietly, conveying her annoyance in her tone of voice.

“Huh?” he responded, glancing between Mariana and Nevada.

“You’re mumbling.”

Nevada turned on his waist, raising his brows at her. “Is that a problem for you, Chiquita?” he grinned.

Mariana shrugged a shoulder calling out for Miguel and asking of him to bring her another club soda and lime, “I don’t trust mumblers, and you shouldn’t trust someone who’s sitting in front of you high off your shit, Vada.”

Nevada narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled in response. He turned back to acknowledge the man across from him. Yes, he had noticed his fidgety demeanor and he could smell the weed off of him, but that wasn’t a problem as long as he could do his job effectively. Many a time, Miguel, Josean, Pucho, whoever had shown up high, but they were still functional, only a tad bit hungry than usual.

Nevada glared at the man until he saw how uncomfortable he grew under the scrutiny of Trujillo’s eyes. “You’re on that shit?” Nevada asked, leaning forward.

Lalo stuttered, clearing his throat and sniffling, “Trujillo, I—I—no, I mean, I smoked a little weed to take the edge off—”

“A little weed isn’t my concern,” Nevada shook his head, his voice gaining that sudden edge that Mariana dreaded. “You’re fucking tweaking.”

“No, Nevada—”

“Get the fuck out before I do something really stupid,” Nevada warned evenly.

Lalo was quick to be on his feet, scrambling to reach the door before facing off more of Nevada’s wrath. Mariana giggled and the sound of her airy laughter suddenly placed him at ease. Mariana shrugged when Nevada asked her how she’d known, offering the simple response that one of the mothers she frequently saw was an avid user of his product, and though never fully high, she was in this constant state of chipper joy that was unmistakable, just like Lalo.

The interviews continued, men rolling in, some rolling out, others being thrown out by Nevada behind their incompetence, and one having to be carried out by two of the guys Nevada always kept around for disrespecting Mariana.

“Jefe, this is the last one,” Miguel announced.

Nevada sighed, “Send him in.”

Mariana leaned forward, placing a kiss to his shoulder, “I don’t want to add to your stress right now, but I have two things to say.”

Nevada turned his head with hooded eyes, letting his body feel Mariana’s belly against his ribs, “And, what is that, Chiquita?”

“One, we’re hungry and two, I told you so,” she giggled, leaning back as the door to the office opened.

Nevada scoffed, shaking his head. “We’ll go pick up Sofía after this and go eat. She’s staying with me for the weekend while Nina goes do whatever the fuck she does when she gets together with her friends,” he waved a hand dismissively in the air, turning to acknowledge the broad man in front of them.

He was blondish, tall, and looked like he ate protein for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mariana frowned at him as she saw from her peripheral Nevada glance back at her. He was buff, annoyingly so, and Mariana could already feel Nevada’s interest in him to protect her and their child increasing.

Mariana sighed, knowing that he most likely was built for visuals only. His pretty boy face gave him away. “Name,” Nevada asked as the man sat in front of them.

“Dylan Perrot.”

Nevada regarded Dylan, adjusting his watch, and scratching at his brow. “Where are you from?”

“Just moved here from Wisconsin. Been living in the Lower East Side for about six months or so,” he licked his lips, leaning forward and clasping his hands together.

Mariana raised her brow, taking a sip of the remaining liquid in her cup. In between interviews, she’d gotten up to relieve herself several times, not wanting to miss a sliver of conversation between Nevada and the prospect of guys. If he wanted protective detail for Mariana, the least he could was allow her to weigh in on his decision.

Nevada narrowed his eyes, “Jimmy Mucci sent you?”

“Nah,” he shook his head.

“I don’t know, Dylan. Seems sketchy; a guy from downtown all the way uptown, for a job?” Nevada shook his head. “Not buying it.”

“I met this girl, Marisol, at a bar in the West Side, she was the one that told me about this job.”

There was silence and for a moment, Mariana thought he was going to kick him out, but instead: “Miguel!” the door opened almost immediately with Miguel’s head peaking into the office. “Llámate a Marisol, la hija de Puchi, and ask her if she sent someone to me.”

Miguel nodded and closed the door. Mariana hissed, rubbing at her swell, but she’d noticed that even though Nevada had looked her way, Dylan had remained stoic, only addressing and speaking to Nevada. Now, that could mean—in her mind—one of two things. One, he was respecting Nevada for who he was, and not chancing a moment for Nevada to call him out in staring at Mariana or two, he was purposefully ignoring Mariana’s presence in the room.

“If this checks out, your sole purpose is to protect her. At all times. No matter what, is that clear?”

Before Dylan could answer, Mariana interrupted, leaning forward to place her glass atop the coffee table separating the three of them. “Do you even know how to handle a gun?” she smirked, leaning back, and biting her lip.

Dylan flexed his fingers, looking at Nevada. “Answer her,” he cocked his head, scooting back to place his hand on Mariana’s thigh.

Between teeth, Dylan answered, “No, but—”

“Can you fight?” Mariana quickly added.

She could see the redness peeking from underneath the collar of his V-neck shirt and if Nevada weren’t sitting besides her at the moment, she would feel somewhat uncomfortable in his presence. Her heart was beating fast and erratically and if Nevada couldn’t sense her discomfort through his touch, he could most definitely hear it in her breathing.

“I’ve been known to defend myself—”

“You’ve been known to defend yourself or have you defended yourself?”

Dylan frowned, glancing at Nevada. “Sorry, papo, you’re on your own,” Nevada snickered, raising his free hand in mock defense.

“Well?” Mariana pressed.

“Look, I can get the job done, all right?”

At that moment, Miguel opened the door, filing in with his cellphone in his hand. “Jefe, Marisol vouches for this guy. They are… friendly,” he lifted a suggestive brow, but backed away and was out the door once Nevada gave a subtle nod.

Nevada had moved his hand up Mariana’s thigh, resting it on her swell where he felt the somewhat active movement that had been going on inside of her for quite some time. It had been the reason she had hissed not that long ago. He hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against her clothed swell.

Dylan cleared his throat and Nevada rolled his eyes, “Did I get the job or not?”

“Mari?”

Mariana pursed her lips, attempting to hide her smile. Out of all the men they’d seen in the hour or so they’d been at the club, none of them had sat right with her, but none more than Dylan. He was cocky and arrogant and she couldn’t stand the… easiness of his face. It’s not that she was expecting a type of person to walk in, but in some way, she was expecting someone more rugged than pretty boy Dylan.

She blinked slowly, rubbing her bump as she let the fretful air increase around them. “You can go now,” she said sweetly.

“Really?” Dylan asked, raising his hands.

Mariana looked at Nevada and back at Dylan, “Did I stutter?”

Dylan didn’t spare another word and abruptly exited the office, leaving the door wide opened as he brushed past Miguel. “Chiquita, Chiquita, Chiquita,” he mused quietly, rubbing at his brow. “Mari, you have to pick someone.”

Mariana snickered. “Vada, you don’t even trust half of them sitting here in your office, are you really trusting them with my life?”

“I liked that last guy.”

Mariana scoffed loudly, “Of course you did. Sir Meathead is all looks, Nevada.”

“All looks is what you want, Mari! Chica, por favor, coopera. I’m doing this your way. Meet me half way, mami, please.”

“If you were doing this my way, I would’ve had one of the guys you already have on payroll,” she mumbled, scoffing as she saw Nevada’s withering look.

“Chiquita, you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“You are!”

Nevada scoffed, “That’s… fucking grand.”

“Oh, please.”

Tensions had risen exponentially in the minutes that had passed since their moment on the couch. Nevada was at his wit’s end. He wanted what was right for her and their baby, but Mariana was evading any logical reasoning at every turn. Stubborn as a mule had taken a new meaning that day.

“Ni una puta mula…” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Screw you!”

Nevada had been quick to stretch his arm, pinching her nape as he scooted his body closer on the couch next to her. His mouth was closest to her ear and as she fought him off, he pulled her against him, “I know you’re fucking hungry, pero cuidadito como me hables, coño.”

“Vada, I—”

Nevada shushed her, “Quietesita, we won’t leave until you make a choice, Mari. Simple as that.”

Mariana was silent and she shook her head as much as she could, fighting off the tears that had sprung in her eyes.

She hadn’t meant to be impossible, but she was scared, and in all honesty, she had been deflecting. She’d been placing the responsibility onto Nevada to make him understand that no one would ever be good enough to take care of her and watch over her the way he’d done so these past months. Nevada had this… gift for reading people and she had this gift for reading Nevada and even when she didn’t want to realize it, she knew that Nevada trusted some of the men that had interviewed.

Trust was too far of a stretch, but something in them he had liked, and that’s why he pushed for a decision. No matter how much she hated each and every one of them, she knew the real reason was because none of them were Nevada, and none of them would be trustworthy until they were.

She mewled, hanging her head, “I’m scared.”

Nevada sighed, closing his eyes and directing her into his chest, allowing her to settle underneath his chin. “Yo lo sé, Chiquita. That’s why we’re here, but you’ve got to ease up!”

“Vada, I’m scared,” she repeated and he placed his lips on her head, running his hands up her torso. “He’s here. He—”

The choking sound that creeped out of Mariana’s throat could’ve been enough to send Nevada into a murderous spree if so he pleased, but being calculated and meticulous was one of his fortes, and he had Pucho working around the clock to find the son of a bitch and make him pay for what he’d done. It’s why this entire process had been incredibly hard on him, this isn’t how he broke in new men. He’d bring them in, allowed for them to make a drop with a couple of casualties and however they managed it, he’d proceed from there, but when it came to her safety, he wanted only the best that was out there.

He held on to her, letting her get all her frustrations and fears out. He clutched her hair in his hand, drawing his resolve from the crumbling one in his hands. As much as he wanted to fuss and fight, throw around every piece of furniture in his office, he needed to be calm, cool, and collected.

“Mami, slow down. You can’t get yourself worked up like that,” he whispered against the crown of her head.

Mariana sniffled, turning her head to press her forehead against Nevada’s shoulder. She sighed, taking a few deep breaths in order to calm herself down. Nevada soothed her, rubbing her back in wide motions until her shuddering breaths settled into easy breaths.

“Just pick the meathead, Vada,” she acquiesced.

Nevada smiled, shaking his head at the name his preferred prospect had gained from his Chiquita. He would send Miguel out to find him, and he would prep him so good, that even he would need clearance to approach Mariana and every fiber of her pregnant body.

tags: @imjustreallynosy @bananas-pajamas @scarletsoldierrr @katierpblogg @angelicdestieldemon

#me #chiquita #chapter 11 #new chapter #Raul Esparza #Nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #trouble in the heights #reader #trash can #feelings

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