Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“What do you suppose that is?” Costa asked Cristiano.
Who gave a shit? I checked my phone for news from Tepic. We’d been in constant contact with the increasingly dire events of the past couple days, but it’d been a few hours since I’d heard anything.
I prayed that was a good sign.
“One of you is lighter.” The waitress returned her eyes to me as she served my tequila. “Must be the eyes.”
“Or Diego’s soul isn’t as charred as mine,” Cristiano said with a half-smirk. “Yet.”
She laughed. “Enjoy. I’ll be back soon to take your orders.”
When she was gone, Costa looked me over. “You like her?” he asked me. “We can send a chopper back for you tomorrow if you want to stay the night in the city.”
I bit my tongue to keep my temper in check. Anything to keep me from Natalia. I unfolded my napkin onto my lap. “No, thank you.”
“All right then.” Costa leaned his elbows on the table. All mirth drained from his features as he lowered his voice. “You have fucked us, Diego.”
We’d taken a helicopter all the way here, to an exclusive restaurant that topped the city’s tallest building, for him to say that. Two tables away, Mexico’s attorney general dined with his wife. At the bar sat a rep for one of Bolivia’s most pervasive cartels. Comandante Trujillo laughed with cronies across the room.
It was no accident that Costa, Cristiano, and I were showing our faces here tonight.
“Two stash houses were hit in two days,” Costa said. “Millions worth of product stolen. What do you have to say, Diego?”
No excuse would do. I hadn’t slept much and needed to return home to help prepare the next few deliveries, but instead, I was here, putting on a show. “It can only be explained as bad luck,” I said.
My brother picked up his drink. “Two direct hits less than forty-eight hours apart? Nothing to do with luck. You have a leak.”
“Unlikely.” A rat inside the walls would fall on my shoulders, and having a solid team I could trust was one of the things I prided myself on. “My men wouldn’t do that.”
“Until they would,” Cristiano said.
I looked to my brother. Over the last decade, I’d worked side by side with Costa to strategize and build a more advanced tunnel system, to secure long-term relationships with border agents, to arrange reliable shipping via land, air, and water in all corners of the Americas, and more. Cristiano hadn’t been there for any of it, so why was he here now?
“How much is gone?” Cristiano asked.
“We’re still within reach of what I promised the Maldonados,” I said, “but that means we have to be especially careful going forward. No hiccups at the border.”
“There are always hiccups at the border,” Costa said. “You know that better than anyone, Diego. When have you ever gotten every last kilo across? It can’t be done.”
Costa spoke with a smile for anyone who might be watching. Rumors were likely starting to circulate, and the first sign of trouble would only breed more of it. Our current clients would pull their cargo until they heard more. A broken link in our system would expose us to weakness. And most importantly—the Maldonados would start asking questions.
Questions they wouldn’t like the answers to.
We were here tonight to reassure those around us that we weren’t worried, and to crush any rumors that might start circulating about our business or our relationship with Cristiano.
“We have some leeway still,” I said, massaging my eyes as they burned from lack of sleep. “I just have to take extra precautions with the transport.”
“That’s not acceptable.” Costa struggled to keep his voice level, but anyone paying close attention would see the tension in his posture. “Failure to deliver means more than retaliation. It’s complete obliteration.”
That wouldn’t happen. If I’d thought there was a possibility of it, I never would’ve made the deal. I’d even accounted for bad luck. With the odds I’d calculated, doing business with the Maldonados had been a no-brainer. A little risk was good, but there was a point where it became reckless, and we hadn’t reached that. I knew my business in and out.
Still, I paired a long sip of tequila with a quick prayer. “I’ll handle it.”
“Did you see yesterday’s news?” Costa asked. “A potential witness in the latest case against Ángel Maldonado was found at the top of a pyramid.”
I frowned. “A pyramid?”
“Of human bodies,” he said. “Every member of his family from Chihuahua to Oaxaca.”
There was a time when that mental image would’ve made my stomach churn. Now, gruesome death was sadly routine.
“This happened while the witness was under twenty-four-seven government protection,” Cristiano added. “That’s not the Maldonados handling a problem—it’s a clear message to anyone thinking of flipping.”
I wasn’t flipping. I was costing the Maldonados money—equally bad if not worse.