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narcosmx · 1 year

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being the arellano baby and being into ismael "mayo" zambada would include (the wedding cont.)

a/n: has to get this out of my head and dump it here

okay i had this idea stuck in my head

the last part ended with this moment of like benjamin and ramon at odds

benjamin was out here trying to butter mayo up and have you dance with him and at the same time, ramon is sicking his dogs on you to keep you away from mayo

and if this wasn't the representation of your life, watching on the sidelines as like wtf while the boys make these decisions for you

and the idea that stuck in my head was just like what if in that moment you snapped

you had lived your who life being calm, agreeable and this, this just made you snap

so kitty is wrapping his arm around you, guiding you away from mayo who is measuring his next move and you just stop

"no, no, no dejame" you protests, shaking kitty off but when he comes off to grab you by the elbow that's when you truly fucking pop off

"no me escuchastes? get the fuck out of my way, en serio. i'm an arellano-felix just as much as my brothers are dont fucking forget it"

the fucking look on literally everyone's faces when you reminded people who's fucking twin you were

kitty lowering his glasses, giving ramon this look before turing to you with a little like damn girl smirk "orale, perdoname patrona"

i swear dina is in the background with this big ol fucking smile on her face

and you kinda turning around to mayo who is standing there with arms crossed shaking his head in lowkey amazement

"pues, mi princesa, por lo menos ya se quien realmente manda aqui" he teases as he reaches out to you with this little teasing look

you reaching out to grab his hand, him pulling you into him with much less hesitancy now and slinging his arm around your waist as he leads you to go dance

i just pout of getting to the dance floor and he bring you up against him gently, slow dancing to luis miguel and you just kinda melting into him

i'm screaming, head pressed against him and him leaning down to whisper something like "i could get used to this" or or something about like "quizas puedo dejar de ser mi propio patron, solo si tu eres la patrona"

i will never and i mean never get over the thought of mayo calling you his patrona because he will always defer to you

when they stopped the music to transition to the speeches and stuff, you and mayo being the last ones on the dance floor and you being pulled away by one of your sister

"ahorita te la regreso" she'd tease mayo and i just the logging looks you give each others please kill me

okay but then we get to that fucking moment in the speeches, where the poor fucking soul from the sinaloa cartel who was like "and a toast to the eight inches she'll be swallowing" or some shit like that

but could you picture if he added something about baby arellano too if he added something about "and i have some inches the youngest can choke on, don't worry nena"

i'm screeching at the idea of mayo slamming his fucking fist down on the table and standing to like death glare this man almost just almost as fast as ramon gets up to fucking take care of it

dina and benjamin escorting you to go sit down, mayo i just :(( coming over to you and reaching his hand out to caress your face making sure you're okay

thumb going softly across your cheek and he's searching your face "ay, nos encargamos de esto, no te preocupas, reina"

and him winking at you before turning and just casually walking out the door not far behind ramon and his juniors

why do i have this idea of mayo being the kind of man that would want to bring you out and have this piece of shit apologize to you

like holding this guys head up, blowing smoke in his face and being like "pidale perdon, mas bien ruega que te perdona porque yo no"

anyways i'll leave this here

#narcos mexico headcannons #narcos mexico #ismael el mayo zambada #el mayo x reader #ramon arellano felix #benjamin arellano felix

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cositapreciosa · 1 year

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If you’re taking request : El mayo fluff, meeting at Dina’s wedding? Or being pregnant during the whole war? Loooved Safehouse!!

Como La Flor

Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada x female!reader (mention of wearing heels, being called a lady), 2909 words

mention of alcohol, you like red wine in this one, the usual for the show

a/n : why is Alberto Guerra such a babe. Is this named after the episode? yes. Am I the biggest Selena fan ever? yes.

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

You are not sure how you ended up at Dina Arellano’s wedding out of all people. You did keep up with her over the years, a coffee here and there, dinner nights at your place when she was in town, being invited for a drink or two at Roxanne’s every time you were back in Tijuana. Before you moved away, you had appreciated the friendship she gave you, and you enjoyed giving yours just as much, but as the months went on and as you started to notice the guns tucked in everyone’s waistbands and the unusually large funds on her credit card, you just decided to take a step back, but so did your trips up north.

That is why receiving the wedding invitation at your door had been a surprise in the beginning, you haven’t been to Tijuana in months. It was a pleasant one, but one you felt might have been out of nostalgia and for old friendship’s sake.

Coming back to Tijuana had been a hard choice at first, feeling like a defeat, having to tell everyone it just didn’t work out down south. And after many sorry looks and probing questions you didn’t feel like answering, Dina’s way of seeing it had been a breath of fresh air. Maybe you are just coming back to rest a bit, hmm? When you feel like moving again you can still do it. Nothing is stopping you. That day, with your hands around a warm coffee cup, sobbing in her kitchen, you remembered why you two fit so well together. Now you have no reason not to show up to my wedding, she laughs, it makes you too.

You were grateful every time she forced you to come along with her on all the wedding shopping, even if you felt your presence was unnecessary, outdated. It didn’t matter to her, she told you many times, that you needed to be out and about, live a little, enjoy the company. She was right, and as the day grew close and you got to know Carlos better, you realized you didn’t feel as out of place as you thought you were at first. The thirteenth sibling everyone had missed so much.

The food was generous and the many glasses of wine you already had even more, which is probably why you couldn’t say no to her every time she grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor. The chandeliers shining sparkles of lights all around you.

Everything was starting to feel a bit overwhelming. The noise, the music, being pushed around, front and back, having to say hi to everyone after so many years. Why didn’t it work out? Was Tijuana not enough for you? How are your parents? It ended up being too much for you when Dina’s mom cornered you, holding your hands softly between hers, voice trembling, telling you how much she had missed you, how everyone did.

You don’t remember when you had taken your shoes off on the way out, almost running to the door, your body begging for a cigarette and some fresh air. Still, you try not to drop the red soles, making the edges balance between your fingers and your glass of wine as you rummage through the inside pocket of your jacket for a smoke. They were a gift from Dina, one way too expensive for your own wallet, one she didn’t want you to refuse. A thank you gift, she had said, for being here for me tonight. The evening is colder than usual this time of year, but the breeze on your cheeks is a nice change compared to the hot air inside. Your fingers reach the bottom of your pockets. Where the fuck did I -

‘’ Are you going to beg me for one too? ‘’

It is a man leaning on the side of the building that spoke, a small smile tugging on his lips, cowboy hat raising with the movement of his eyebrows. You barely noticed he was there in the first place.

‘’ Pardon me? ‘’

‘’ A cigarette, I mean. ‘’

‘’ Ah. ‘’, a small laugh escapes you. You vaguely wave your free hand around your pockets, red wine dancing dangerously close to the rim as you do. ‘’ Those I have, they’re just in there somewhere. ‘’

His hand goes up, pointing to your glass with his cigar, smoke rushing down his face as he exhales,

‘’ You want me to hold that for you? ‘’

‘’ That would be lovely. ‘’

His eyes follow your movement as your fingers loosen and you let your shoes drop at your feet, presenting him your glass of wine. His gaze connects to your naked feet against the concrete, you can tell he doesn’t approve.

‘’ So, ‘’ you fish around in your jacket again, ‘’ Bride or groom? ‘’

Something like a grunt comes out of him, deep in the throat, a laugh maybe. He brings his cigar to his lips.

‘’ More on the bride’s brother’s side, you? ‘’

‘’ Just the bride, Dina’s an old friend. ‘’

He takes a deep drag, his chest puffing with the inhale. ‘’ I’ve been told you are more like a family member at this point. ‘’

You know word comes around fast in Tijuana, even more so at a Tijuanense wedding. Still, his words scratch a part of your brain that screams at you, showing you once again everything you know, everything you have been noticing for years now, but prefer to ignore.

‘’ I haven’t lived in Tijuana in years. I’m not invited for Christmas anymore if you’re wondering. ‘’

He doesn't answer back. Thank god. The silence stretches out for a while and your hands are reaching once again into your pockets. You can still hear the music inside, a loud, quick norteña you would barely be able to keep up with. You still can’t find your pack of cigarettes.

‘’ Does the offer still stand?"

His eyes slowly go back to yours, brown, gentle, tired. His head tilts to the side in a silent question. He is a man of few words. You can already tell.

‘’ A cigarette, I mean," you say. "I do have a lighter. I can’t find the pack, though."

A smile pulls at his lips this time, and you can feel the tension that was gnawing at you fade away a little. The skin of his hand meets the inside of his denim jacket. It’s something close to genuine, his smile, like he does find your answer humorous. His palm is warm when he presses the cold metal case in your hand. He points a finger your way again.

‘’ Let's make it two, and you don't use my lighter," he says.

You bring the case close to your chest, a small smile on your face. A peace offering maybe. You feel like a child negotiating for dessert, "Make it three, I use my light, and you can keep my glass of wine. We have a deal?"

His eyes squint, eyebrows almost meeting in the middle, you know your lie won’t work. You are surprised when he chuckles, half a smile, brushing his teeth with his tongue as he tuts.

‘’ Thought it was an open bar tonight."

‘’ No, it’s not. Not after eleven."

‘’ And what time is it now?"

You clear your throat as you pull the three cigarettes out of the case, quickly squeezing one between your lips.

‘’ Way past eleven. It’s too late now, you have to take the deal. ‘’

‘’ What if I don’t like red wine? ‘’

You bring your hand up, shielding the flame from the wind. As you exhale the first drag, you take a step back, leaning on one of the pillars orning the balcony. The smoke is warm on your face, prickling your eyes on the way up.

‘’ You don’t seem to me like the type of person that likes wine, no matter the color. Am I wrong? ‘’

He doesn’t retort back this time, but the smile is still there as he turns his attention back to the garden. You take this time to really look at him, how dark his eyes are, how there is not a single wrinkle on his blouse. You breathe in the smoke while he swings the liquid around in the glass. He is handsome, there is no doubt about that, with his mustache and his tailored pants. Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be as boring as you first made it out to be. Your eyes are lingering on his face, you don’t bother hiding it. They trace their way up and around the wrinkles beside his eyes until it reaches the curve of his cheek, tumbling down to graze his lips.

‘’ I don’t think I asked you for your name. ‘’

It is a question without being one, a statement that he will have to answer anyway. You feel bold tonight, something that barely happens anymore, but even with all this build-up of confidence, spilling over the edges, going down your throat with the nicotine, you still feel small when he is now the one analyzing you. His brown eyes are back on you, and you love how the wind catches in his curls, pushing them under his hat. He crushes his cigar with the heel of his foot, sparkles of hot ashes following the movement.

‘’ You can call me Ismael. ‘’

Ismael. You like it. It suits him, a soft name for a soft exterior. You can tell this calmness is only a facade. An ocean a wind away from becoming a storm.

‘’ And what do others get to call you then? ‘’

The ones I can see looking through the window. Keeping watch. He snorts, taking a sip of your wine, his face souring at the taste the second it meets his lips.

‘’ You are right, I don’t like wine at all. ‘’

You know pushing your question once more will get you nowhere, so you don’t ask again. Maybe Ismael will be the only thing you’ll get tonight. You do offer him your name instead, and he says it back to you, the letters rolling softly off his tongue. You stay silent for a moment after that, a moment spent looking back into his eyes, ears still ringing from the music inside.

‘’ Let me guess, ‘’ you propose, motioning to the untouched wine in the cup, ‘’ and if I win, I get-, what did you say you do for a living? ‘’

You’re fishing again. You can tell that he knows, you can tell he doesn’t care.

‘’ I got my own business. ‘’

‘’ Right, ‘’ you stretch the word out, softly fishing your glass of wine out of his hand. He lets you, ‘’ If I can guess your drink of choice, you owe me one peso, we got a deal? ‘’

You can tell you have his attention now, it’s the way his eyebrows raise and how his lips form a small smile across his cheek. He leans gently towards you, as if his next words were only meant between you and him.

‘’ If you can guess in one try, I’ll make it two pesos, but you’ll owe me a dance, deal? ‘’

You scoff, taking a sip from your glass. You swoosh it in your mouth a little. Left, right, swallow. It’s bold, you have to admit, but you can tell he is as serious as you are. It does surprise you when he holds his hand out to you, expecting a handshake, a deal. Whatever business Ismael has back home, you know selling is probably his strong suit. You shake it, his fingers are warm in your hand, palms dry and calloused. You are a horrible dancer anyway, it’s his feet that are going to take the worst of it.

You use his hand as leverage to pull yourself off the pillar, choosing to sit on the bench next to it instead. You look up at him, eyes squinting.

‘’ You’re clearly from Sinaloa… And your hands are strong, so you probably work a field job. How am I doing so far? ‘’

‘’ Surprisingly good. ‘’ His hand brushes through his mustache, you know he’s smiling, ‘’ So far. ‘’

You hmm, elbows touching your knees as your chin follow the movement, pressing against your open hand. Your fingers drum on the side of your cheek. You could stare at him for hours.

‘’ I think I know, ‘’ you grin, ‘’ You are a classic beer kind of guy. ‘’

He doesn’t react, and for a second you do believe that you are wrong, but just as you are about to stand back and pull out your wallet, something in his eyes changes. It’s soft, barely there, but you didn’t miss it. Hook, line, and sinker. It’s your cue to keep going, you know you’re in.

‘’ None of those artisanal ones, nah. I think you’re a classic Pacífico guy. ‘’

‘’ What do you do for a living? ‘’

You let out a laugh,

‘’ I watch a bit too much of those police novelas on TV is what I do.’’

Ismael chuckles, his eyes moving down again to your feet. You gaze down too, noticing now how the pavement has gotten colder under your toes.

‘’ I owe you a dance, don’t I? ‘’

‘’ You don’t have to put your shoes back on if they hurt. ‘’

You stand up from the bench, holding out your hand towards him. Ismael slides his fingers between yours as he pulls you closer to him. You can feel your blood rushing down your body from the movement, your heart pushing against your ribcage. His arm raises above your head, slowly pushing you to swirl around. Your toes rub on the ground as you turn, you are not sure if it is his proximity or the alcohol that makes your head spin.

Before you can reach for your heels, he is already leaning down by your feet, bending his back until his other hand grabs the back of your shoes.. When he straightens back up, it feels like he’s a step closer, in his hands, the tip of your shoes is nudging your thigh. You can smell the tobacco on him, feel how heavy his gaze is on you, see the dots of green in his brown eyes.

‘’ Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow. ‘’

You can’t help your eyes from following the movement of his lips, the movement of his skin creasing where it meets his cheek. You look up, back into his eyes.

‘’ Really? ‘’

He mirrors the word back to you, raspy, confident. Really. You know your cheeks are red without a doubt, the heat you feel is enough. You nod, leaning back on your heel, in the hope that putting some distance between you and him would help you regain whatever confidence you left on the bench. His thumb is brushing against the back of your hand now, what a smooth mother-

‘’ Even if I step on your feet the whole dance? ‘’

Your words are quick, begging for a chance to stop melting over this, over him. He thinks for a second, looking up in a mocking way before his eyes are back on you again,

‘’ I’ll allow it. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it after a few songs. I’m a great teacher. ‘’

You don’t doubt him for a second.

And you don’t miss how Dina eyes you when he brings you to the dancefloor, making you twirl once more, but tonight, as much as it pains you to think it, you can’t seem to care. You can deal with the speeches, rumors, and the big sister talk tomorrow, because tonight you feel better than you have felt in weeks. Maybe it’s the way Ismael does not even flinch when you do inevitably step on his toes or how his fingers bunch up the fabric at your waist to bring you even closer to him. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to think about the gun your fingertips brush every time your hand caresses lower down his back. Maybe because he feels so different from the one you had been meeting before.

Still, you are surprised when he calls you the next morning, asking you what time would be best for you tonight. After breakfast, when you lie to Dina and tell her you’re having dinner with an old school friend, you can’t help how wild the butterflies in your stomach are.

You don’t think much about it when you slip into his car at the next street corner, as he drives you around with the windows down, as he asks you about your day, pushing your chair out from under the table for you. You don’t even remember why you were feeling nervous when he orders his food after you, calling back the waiter before he could leave.

‘’ Can you bring a Pacífico with that? And a glass of wine, red, for the lady. ‘’

Ismael turns to you, lips pulling into a smile, his knees knocking against yours under the table. ‘’ Rojo, that’s right? ‘’

He’s still wearing that damn hat inside, the buckle on top catching the light. You smile back at him, nodding.

That’s right.

#ismael el mayo zambada x reader #ismael zambada x reader #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico fanfic #ismael el mayo zambada #narcos x reader

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cregan-starks · 2 years

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El Mayo + smoking

#narcosedit #narcosmxedit #narcosmexicoedit #netflixedit #tw smoking #tw alcohol #userbreslin #userfrodosam #maevemills #narcos mx #narcos: mexico #narcos mexico #ismael el mayo zambada #alberto guerra #original creations

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naidsoo · 2 months

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NADIE:

Un wey bien ondeando por la captura de el Mayo:

#el mayo zambada #mexico #lol #haha #memes #notas

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dailyworldecho · 2 months

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#Arrested #Cartel Sinaloa #El Chapo #El Mayo #Ismael Zambada #Joaquín Guzmán López #Son

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artemiseamoon · 1 year

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Preview: Late nights, early mornings

Javier Peña & Kami (ofc) | Kami x El Mayo

Read in full on A03

Summary: Before flying out to see her lover in the morning, Kami shows up for her night shift to see the familiar face of another man she’s grown affection for over the last month.

Words: 1,868

Warnings: Pretty mild really. Drinking and smoking. Not the real people of course, and not glorying anything.

October prompts Day 2 “Porque No Los Dos?” Day| Crossover w/a character from each @narcosfandomdiscord (one pairing is platonic)

An: I don’t know enough Spanish yet to write it properly. So you can imagine it’s spoken between the characters. OC (Cameron aka ‘Kami’ ) is in her mid 30s. This is my first Mayo 🫢! season 3 Javi is 😍❤️! We may see them again this month for another prompt

Kami slipped behind the bar, giving her coworker a little wave as she focused on the man at the far left.

In his favorite seat, just like all the other times. Tie loose, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. That mop of dark hair in her eye line as he started down at his drink, like he was waiting for some kind of answer.

Kami helped another patron, giving out two beers before the man finally looked up.

“Hi.” Javier sat up, pulling his tie off completely. The heavy shadow over his face lifted a little.

“You were too busy using your drink like a magic 8 ball to see me,” she went over to him, “one of those days?”

Javier answered with a slight eyebrow raise and tilt of his head. Kami flashed that warm smile of hers then turned to make him a drink.

Javier watched her, that calming effect she has on him already working.

He finished the drink before him, making room for hers.

“It’s better when you make them.” He said as he picked it up and raised it in the air.

“Such a flirt,” she made herself a shot, then raised the glass to his, “to a better night.”

Javier made a face, like he was sure that wasn’t going to happen. It was a shitty day on top of a shitty week. All he had to look forward to was a hot sleepless night, then do it all again in the morning.

But he chose this.

He could have been on his father's ranch right now. Trying that normal life thing. But he was so damn restless, and he had unfinished business here. Javier still wasn’t sure if coming back was a stupid fucking idea or not.

Read on A03 (yes you will need an account)

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@artemiseamoon-updates

Masterlist for the October prompts

#Javier Peña #Ismael Zambada #narcoctober #Javier Peña & ofc #el mayo #narcos crossover #narcos mx #narcos og #el Mayo x ofc #el Mayo narcos mx

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centraldenoticiasmx · 1 month

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Por secuestro de ‘El Mayo’ Zambada, FGR acusa de traición a la patria a Joaquín Guzmán

🖊#Nacional | Por secuestro de ‘El Mayo’ Zambada, FGR acusa de traición a la patria a Joaquín Guzmán +INFO:

A través de un comunicado, la Fiscalía General de la República (FGR) aclaró que la acusación hacia Joaquín Guzmán López por traición a la patria se basa en el presunto secuestro de Ismael ‘El Mayo’ Zambada. Dichos cargos se basan el artículo 123 del Código Penal Federal, el cual establece que se impondrá de 5 a 40 años «a quien prive ilegalmente de su libertad a una persona en el territorio…

#Chapito #El mayo #guzmán #Joaquin #zambada

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hausofmamadas · 1 year

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| Tu cómplice |

⁂

Pairing: Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada x Benjamín Arellano Félix

For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober Fanworks collection [October 1 - Day of Firsts]

Word count: ≈ 2.8K

TWs: Canon-consistent violence? Much angst but like in the supes casual way I imagine Mayo does..?

Just the two of them seated at the wrought iron table in the backyard, up till dawn, smoking and talking. It felt quite the honor just to see the man laugh. Ngl guys, this is Basically just Mayo internally but actively pining for Mín? for like kinda no reason?? while he’s negotiating with Dina because Mín’s gone into hiding after the assassination of Cardinal Juan Posadas Ocampo. Idk this is literally just 3k words of nonsense and insanity. It’s legitimately one of the most aimless and ooc things I’ve ever written sksks but hey!! it exists now..?

⁂

The ornate, gilded door knocker felt heavy between his fingertips as he rapped a few times and waited, stubbing out his cigarette in the open mouth of one of the lion statues placed on either side of the stairway. He chuckled to himself. If it wasn’t an ashtray before, it was one now. To him it looked like one anyway. The mansion’s pretentious decor always screamed “New Money” to him, no matter how hard the Arellanos tried to bury Sinaloa in their past.

By his count, Mayo had only ever been to Arellano house three times. Once by invitation, another by accident, and a third - the last - by mistake. A mistake he couldn’t muster the good sense to regret no matter how hard he tried.

It never pays to fall for a family man, isn’t that what the girls say? Certainly the ones he’d shared a few fleeting nights with between the sheets, a wad of folded bills on the nightstand, couple packs of cigarettes, and some pillow talk that always told some tale of woe about falling for a family man. But is that what happened? Had he fallen? Or was he just at sea like always? Either way, it made for no less than an interesting ride.

The relief-distorted disappointment when it was Pancho who answered the door should’ve told him something, even if he didn’t care to pay it much mind just now. A matter for tomorrow. Except that’s what he’d told himself the whole time. Shit, that’s how he got into this mess. Surely there’d come a point when tomorrow was today, no?

Pancho smiled, “Qué húbole, compa?” and pulled Mayo in, clapping his back twice in a way that was warm and sincere as much as it was overwhelming. But Pancho was good people. He always liked Pancho. Shit, who didn’t like Pancho.

“Nada mucho, nada más,” Mayo winked, tipping his hat as he crossed the threshold into the foyer of the Arellano mansion.

He smirked to himself at the same private joke he had every time he’d set foot in this house: the place’s grandiosity might be as intimidating as it was meant to be if it weren’t so fucking cartoonish. But he supposed that’s what happened when you let an overgrown manchild, dressed head-to-toe in Versace, stick his gold-dipped cuerno de chiva against the decorator’s temple and threaten to blow them away into semi-automatic oblivion, just for a discount on silk drapes from Rome or wherever-the-fuck.

Mayo's eyes stung a bit, hit with the phantom smell of the cigar smoke that came tumbling out of Benjamín’s mouth when he’d laughed himself nearly to tears telling Mayo that story. It'd been just the two of them seated at the wrought iron table in the backyard, up 'til dawn, smoking and talking. It felt quite the honor just to see the man laugh. He got the feeling Mín didn’t laugh much. That was the second time Mayo had been here.

He shook his head, the image etch-A-sketched away like nothing and followed Pancho through the foyer to the dining room and then the living room. Or rather, one of the living rooms. The house smelled so strongly of floral-scented candles and potpourri, he worried he might get a headache sitting in here for too long. They must’ve just had the place cleaned. It bothered him that he even noticed and it especially bothered him why. That it was because there was no hint of that familiar, faint musk that should’ve been there, expensive without trying too hard, that seemed to trail Mín along with a perpetual cloud of neurotic discontent, everywhere he went.

Even from the beginning Mayo liked that about him. The discontent he wore right on his sleeve. He’d noted it when they’d first met at some meat market in Mazátlan, right around the time he first linked up with the Sinaloa crew, just before they arrested Miguel and the whole Federation got dissolved. Just in Mín's discontent, his raw, kinetic ambition, Mayo saw something of himself, even if the two fo them strove for very different things. He used to think, what a strange little something you are, Benjamín Arellano Félix, the way one would think fondly of a pet they had growing up. He found himself wishing now that Mín felt just a pet to him.

But they belonged to each other in a new way now. Darker, tenuous, and confounding in just exactly how straightforward it was. No implications, no questions to be asked. It said nothing about either of them except that they belonged, if only for and evening. Or the amount of time it takes to smoke a full Montecristo and down a stiff drink of scotch.

He turned to the fish tank and stared at his warped reflection, saying to no one in particular, “Things are changing real fast, huh? The army in Tijuana fucking shit up. Coming after your family, no less. Now Benjamín’s gone. Fucking mess, huh?”

He felt it coming. This meeting. Depending on the outcome, it might signify a breaking point and he’d have to choose between what is and what should never be. The Arellanos got caught flying far too close to the sun and they knew it now. (And everyone wondered why he preferred boats.) It’s what set Mín on the lam, no telling how long he would be out there. Floating around wherever he was. Away.

Shaking his head, “Just hoping it all blows over and Benjamín can come back home,” Pancho spilled a glass of some brown liquor, as he set it down on the beverage cart in front of Mayo.

Amused, Mayo tried mopping it with only his fingers until he gave up, taking a sip. There was still plenty to drink, since Pancho had filled it nearly to the brim, almost as high as his own. Suddenly, it made sense why Pancho wasn’t in charge of the family business despite being the oldest. Hombre couldn’t bluff for shit.

Mayo took the seat by the beverage cart, as Pancho practically melted back onto the giant couch across from him. Doing his best to affect it, almost like an afterthought, Mayo leaned back in the chair and said, “Send him my best, yeah?” He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pockets, giving them a little jiggle and raising his eyebrows.

Pancho got what he was asking but Dina startled him with an answer before Pancho got the chance. She spoke from behind them, standing at a large window, “Of course, please. Make yourself at home.” She waved her own lit cigarette as if to hammer the point home. “I do it in here all the time. Drives mamá mad. The smell gets in the drapes, she says.”

How long had she been standing there? Her beige suit blended so well with the drapes she spoke about with such indifference. Mayo half wondered if it was some kind of business tactic, camouflaging with the furniture. Better to hear all chisme whispered in these halls by house staff or other scheming subordinates a quien no le gustaba tener una jefa. In truth, he didn’t much like it either. But he hadn’t figured out if it was just because she was a woman or because of the kind of woman she was. He never had much patience for anyone with a chip on their shoulder.

Though he’d certainly made an exception for Mín who’d carted around a chip so heavy, it was a wonder he never tipped over. So, maybe it was the woman thing. Did it much matter? Not really cuando sabía que ella había planeado quitarle sus huevos. All these months later, and that cool twenty mil still burned a hole in their coffers and there was no making eyes at Dina to make it all go away, least of all when they were hurting for the cash. Not that he wouldn’t try. That is after all how he and Benjamín started off doing ... Well, whatever the fuck they did.

He thought of Dina’s wedding, how light and alive, self-assured Benjamín was. In his element. A new look he wore so well that, in Mayo’s estimation, he didn’t get to enjoy for long enough. Now look where they all were.

“So look, Pancho,” he brushed Dina off because if her goal was to blend in with it, well, he was happy to treat her like the furniture. “Amado’s expanded operations. Taken over the port in Peñasco, made it hard for my boats to unload. I was hoping to redirect them through San Ysidro, and not pass them through Tijuana.”

“That would put all your business in our plaza, wouldn’t it?”

The smirk of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar broke across Mayo's face and he dragged on his cigarette, nodding in the affirmative.

“And yet, you refuse to join our organization?”

He offered the answer that seemed to satisfy anyone who challenged his go-it-alone approach. It satisfied Mín well enough when he'd approached Mayo at the wedding. “Es qué, a mí me gusta ser mi propio patrón.”

Nothing less than the truth. In an industry of professional con artists, backstabbers, hustlers, and murderers, maybe like her brother, she’d appreciate it.

“Yes, so you’ve said.” She didn’t.

And she still hadn’t turned around to face them. For people so concerned with blending into high society, the Arellanos weren’t the most well-mannered. Mayo’s working-class manner of dress might, to the untrained eye, indicate that manners weren’t something he cared about. But he did. Even in his blackest moments, twisting his knife in someone’s gut or getting ready to light them on fire, he couldn’t much find a reason not to be at least cordial.

Fighting for a lifeline, he glanced at Pancho who almost looked like he was trying to become one with the couch, drink limp in his hand, as he stared at the All-Knowing Queen in white.

She finally turned to grace them with her full attention, gliding over and resting her hands on the back of the empty couch next to him. “You owe us twenty million dollars. What’s your plan to repay us?”

Back in the days when Miguel held court and favored the Sinaloa faction at the expense of his own family, dicking the Arellanos around as though the petulant kids he’d watched grow up would remain petulant kids forever, Mayo remembered thinking that Mín’s attempts at diplomacy weren’t well-earned by their uncle. And he’d told Mín as much. Even Dina agreed at the time.

But all these years later, with Dina the sharp tip of the lethal spear that was now the Arellano Félix Organization, Mayo wondered if they couldn’t do with some of Benjamín’s trademark diplomacy. Mín liked people. He knew how to talk to them. Dina was trickier to deal with. Though savvy like her brother, she was nothing but prickly, sharp edges. Good for dealing what needed to be dealt to their enemies. Not much for making friends.

Mayo tried his hand at diplomacy, “Money in shrimping, eh … moves slower than I’d like,” but ire crept in anyway when the absence of his— his— of Benjamín was screaming at him. “Benjamín understands that. I pay as it comes.”

Understands, yes. Present tense. He was gone, not dead and even with Dina in charge, he still must’ve been keeping tabs from somewhere. She couldn’t have the final word here. Not really.

Unwilling to follow his lead in diplomacy, she shot back. “How much have you got?”

“Here with me?” Now he was annoyed.

And that was met with a haughty huff from her, along with a scorn-filled smirk, so acrid and bitter he nearly tasted it in the air between them. She had him where she wanted him and it twisted his gut, knowing where this was about to go.

“You aren’t moving anything through this plaza until the tax is paid.”

It was over already and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from trying one final time, “Qué dice, Pancho? Esa es la última palabra de la familia?” like it might speak Benjamín into their living room.

Of course, when it didn’t work, the thought of Mín, knowing what he’d have to resort to next, only served to make his stomach churn more. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. What’s that thing they say about purple elephants? Because before the first don’t, the image of Benjamín’s gentle brown eyes in the moonlit backyard, full of that kinetic ambition, not for success but for something else —belonging— flooded Mayo. The third time he’d been here.

᪣

It had only been a few months since the wedding. A celebration at Roxanne’s gone awry and he’d had to bring Ramón home before he tore the club apart, going after Chapo for some snide comment about what they all knew happened to Rayo. The bad blood between the Arellanos and the Sinaloa crew was so long standing without erupting into an all-out war, it seemed to make sense at the time to at least attempt to avoid tipping it over the edge. In hindsight, the whole shitshow was gripped with such inevitability, it seemed more like going against the will of the gods, now that he thought about it. But you only know what you know when you know it. So, he done the sensible thing, intervened before things got ugly, agreeing against his better judgment to remove Ramón from the equation, by driving the rowdy motherfucker home while he sat in the passenger's seat of his pickup, three sheets to the wind, sprawled out, passed out, and snoring. Despite the fact he’d had no love para el pinshe huevón, there was love in his heart somewhere. And so it was easy to say, “yes” after shucking Ramón off his shoulder onto one of their house staff's, when Mín offered him a cigar and a drink. An opportunity for another of their little chats that they’d come to enjoy whenever they crossed paths. Though Mayo had noticed, in the distinct lack of one, every one of those times happened to be under the unconscious supervision of a crowd. So that when Benjamín complimented him on his business savvy, and said things like, “Fuck, man. You’re better than that,” the grin that spread across his face never got as wide as it wanted to be. They never stood as close as they’d wanted to. They never talked for as long as they wanted to. It was for the best. Because without the safety net of nosy onlookers, talking about life, growing up in Sinaloa, the incessant hustle, the never ending grind to the top, commiserating over the absurdity of this business they’d both come up in, ambition, what all of it even meant? Could they do something else? Should they do something else? Was it really worth it?— they both folded like a pair of cheap suits. And so he didn’t remove it, when Mín’s hand found itself on top of his. The contrast of how smooth, almost manicured it was compared his own, weather-worn, brought to light disparities that extended far beyond the physical and yet didn’t make a bit of difference. The words tumbled from Mín’s lips suddenly. “You know ... I do love my wife.” And that trademark cloud of anxiety that made him think too much came swept over them with a fury. Not long for this world, Mayo waved it away. “I know you do.” “You do?” It was almost funny. Despite the evident affinity they shared in these little chats, Mín’s shock reminded him just how little they really knew each other. How much of a gamble he’d just taken. “You know that I know that this,” Mayo lifted their hands, fingers interlaced together, and placed his lips against one of Mín’s knuckles, “and that,” then bobbed his head toward the house, “can be different but true, at the same time.”

᪣

He sighed and swallowed the memory hard.

“‘Ta bueno, ‘ta bueno,” nodding vigorously because he saw the whole fucking thing coming before he’d set foot in the house. Standing up and putting his hat back on, he muttered cooly, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Striding toward the fish tank, he thought of Mín again and turned back around. He met Dina’s eyes in a challenge, you did this but simply tipped his hat, “Patrona,” a gesture of faux respect she was undoubtedly smart enough and petty enough to see for what it was.

On his way out of the house, he was already hard at work, scouring his brain. What was the last number that he had for Amado? Fuck, that shit was months ago. He'd probably have a new one. Oh, well. It'd be worth it. Or ... would it? Well frankly, if he was really honest with himself, he'd probably stopped giving a shit the second the words, "make yourself at home" came out of her mouth.

Stepping out into the midday sun at the top of the steps leading down to the driveway, he caught the carcass of his cigarette laying in the lion's mouth out of the corner of his eye.

Dina would regret this and probably never even know why.

But Benjamín would.

En ese mundo de complicidades y traiciones, un día tu mejor enemigo es tu cómplice y al otro se convierte en tu peor enemigo.

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