Although he loved his brother, someone had to put a stop to his irresponsible ways or else it would be Ando they’d be burying next. Since Ando’s fiancée was killed in a freak boat accident, he’d spiraled out of control. At twenty-seven to Lorenzo’s thirty, they looked more like twins than mere siblings. Both stood six foot three, with the jet-black hair and dark-brown, almost black eyes their mamá swore were the spitting image of their papa’s. But that’s where the similarities ended. In the last twelve months, his brother had lost at least forty pounds, making him seem almost gaunt.
Last week, Lorenzo had been shocked at the sight of his brother with his shirt off. He’d been able to count every rib on Fernando’s chest, and it had taken all of his self-control not to flinch at the anguish on the younger man’s face.
Shaking his head, he picked up his office phone, dialing quickly before changing his mind.
“Hola, Lorenzo,” his mother, Lydia, said with a heavy Cuban accent.
“Mamá, buenos dias. ?Cómo está hoy?”
“English, my son,” she chastised. “But to answer your question, I’m doing fine. Your padre is grumbling because the doctor told him he has to cut back on the caffeine. I swear, you’d think the man told him he couldn’t have sex.”
“Madre de Dios, do not say things like that to me, Mamá. I think I’m blind.” Lorenzo yelled.
His mother huffed then ruined it all by bursting into a fit of giggles.
“You can’t be blinded by something you’ve never seen, now, deaf, maybe. But blind? I do not think so. But enough about me and your father,” she laughed.
“Is Papá around?”
“This sounds serious.”
“I’ll tell you both at the same time.” He heard her cover the mouthpiece with her hand then, in a voice loud enough to alert the neighbors, she yelled for his father. Within moments, the sound of his gravelly voice came on the line.
Lorenzo explained the situation, naming the latest figure Fernando had cost their business, an amount he was sure caused his parents’ eyebrows to rise, and awaited their condemnation. The silence lengthened and, unlike with his sister, he didn’t want to hear them speak first because he feared they’d be angry with him.
“We wondered when you’d finally realize you weren’t helping young Fernando.”
He inhaled sharply, sure he’d misheard.
“Are you still there?”
“Si, Papá. I’m here.” Reverting to Spanish was a sure sign he was upset, a fact his parents were sure to be aware of.
“Ah, we have shocked you, si?” His mother’s sigh filled the silence.
“You could say that.” Air whooshed out of his lungs.
“Hijo, your madre and I have not lost touch with reality. We know the problems your brother is facing. The fact you have let him slide all this time is a miracle in itself.”
Major freaking understatement, if there ever was one. His family had originated from Cuba, only immigrating to America because of Castro. Although he, his brother, and sister had been born in America, Latin blood pulsed through their veins. All of them were hot tempered, and very passionate about people and things they loved. And Lorenzo loved his family.
He swallowed the lump threatening to choke him. “Thank you for understanding and for your support.”
“Did you doubt that we would? No, do not answer that. I haven’t had any damn caffeine in two days, and I will not be responsible for my actions,” his father grumbled.
Hearing his father laugh, the hands he had in tight fists unclenched, and he closed his eyes, saying a little silent prayer of thanks.
“I love you.” Three simple words he hoped conveyed how much he appreciated them.
“Te queremos demasiado, hijo.” His parents said they loved him at the same time.
Hanging up the phone, for the second time that day, he breathed with a sense of relief. Club Inferno had been his parents’ before they let him and Fernando buy them out. Although his portfolio contained many other properties and business deals, this one meant the most to him. He pushed back from his desk, ran his hands through his hair, and walked over to the bank of windows overlooking the dance floor. Staring down at the club from above always put a smile on his face.
The floor sparkled like it had been sprinkled with glitter. A huge oval bar stood center stage, surrounded by an obscenely large dance area that spanned the rest of the ground floor. After buying their parents out, they’d revamped the entire place. Cozy circular booths, adorned with gauzy curtains that could be pulled around them for privacy, lined the perimeter of the downstairs. Upstairs were the VIP sections. They required a minimum two bottle purchase to be reserved, and they were always booked months in advance. His bouncers turned away more people than most clubs, due to over-capacity crowds each night.
The vibration in his pocket broke into his musings. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. The conversation with his parents had eased some of his guilt, but not enough for him to converse with others. Tough love was fine when other people did it. He didn’t mind being the heavy with employees, but playing that role with Fernando was harder than going to the barber.
Lorenzo grimaced at the overly long hair brushing his collar. He hated getting his hair cut with a passion. The sound of the buzzer near his ear literally made him break out in a sweat. Deciding he’d been maudlin long enough, he turned back to his desk, needing to get some work done. Liquor didn’t order itself, now, did it?