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)
“No,” I said. “I just didn’t realize . . . I didn’t think the cartel would handle something like that. Did your friend work in the cartel?”
“No, just a customer. I mean, your dad would never stand for underage prostitution,” Diego said. “He might’ve ordered it done or cut off his dick or something. But Cristiano didn’t even go to him. He just popped the kid on his own time.”
I rested my head back against the chair with a mental image I could’ve done without. Had Diego’s friend automatically broken some imaginary law my dad held that Cristiano had enforced? Or had Cristiano done it out of compassion toward the girl? Considering the kind of cartel Cristiano ran now, I wondered if any of that benevolence remained. “Do you think the kid deserved it?” I asked.
Diego ran a hand over his stubble and scratched his chin. “Yeah, it had to be done. But I was a kid too, like thirteen or fourteen. I’d known him my whole life.”
“That’s messed up,” I agreed, grateful my dad had moved on from that kind of business.
“You were my break from all of it.” Diego kept my hand in his but put his other arm behind his head. “You’d tell me about your adventures of the day. Your mom would take you to the outdoor mercado and you’d sneak fruit right from the stands. You’d come home with an orange-stained tongue or dirty fingers from picking wildflowers on the way back. Bianca loved to be outdoors.”
“My mom grew up helping my grandparents on their farm.” It was strange to call two people I didn’t know grandparents. They’d wanted no affiliation with anything illegal, and my mom had respected their decision in order to keep them out of danger.
Diego and I had nice memories, but the past couldn’t distract me from the fact that he was clearly avoiding the subject of his very dangerous arrangement. “Is something wrong with the Maldonados?” I asked, taking my hand back. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I wouldn’t lie. I just don’t want to worry you.” He removed his arm from behind his head and shifted to face me. “It’s just that—I . . . it looks like someone’s sabotaging the deal.”
My heart dropped. After what Diego had told me about the Maldonados, even the threat of a problem would worry me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “And what does ‘sabotaging’ mean?”
“Just how it sounds. There’s no reason we shouldn’t have been able to deliver what I promised the Maldonados, but a lot of their product has been compromised. And it’s no accident.” He rubbed his eyebrow. “The majority hasn’t even crossed the border yet, which is usually where it gets confiscated or stolen. Someone has to be messing with us, but not many would on our own turf.”
“How exactly did they target you?” I asked, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest.
“There were thefts at two secret locations and an explosion in one of our tunnels the exact time my men were passing through.”
Thefts. The phone call Diego had gotten when I’d been at his house came rushing back to me. In this case, a theft wasn’t better than the alternative. It could mean death.
“Your dad and I have a plan in place to make sure nothing else happens to the rest of it. That’s why I was up all night. But until everything has crossed, I’m going to be on edge.”
“How could you not be?” I asked. “What happens if anything else goes missing?”
“This is the most we’ve ever undertaken,” he said. “Millions of dollars’ worth of drugs. It’s not like we can afford to cover it. So that means it’s gone.”
Gone.
I had the same shortness of breath I got whenever I thought too long about Cristiano forcing me to the brink of the tunnel. It had taken no effort on his part. Despite every ounce of fight I’d had, no matter what argument I’d put up, he’d still gotten me to the edge. And then down, down, down.
“What’s the plan?” I asked. “Please tell me it involves taking out whoever’s behind this.”
“It would if we knew who it was. Costa and Cristiano think it’s one of the Maldonados’ rivals . . .”
I frowned. “But you don’t agree.”
He flicked his thumb and middle finger a few times, then flexed his hand. “There are pieces of the puzzle that don’t make sense.”
The only new variables in Papá’s business were the Maldonados and Cristiano. But Cristiano was more than a puzzle piece. He was the puzzle. Nothing about him was clear—not his involvement in my mother’s death, his unusual business practices, his patched together past, nor the men he surrounded himself with. “Cristiano is the wild card,” I said.
“Exactly.” Diego sat forward and looked back at me. “Jesus, Talia—I swear, you’re the only person who gets it. You should be in charge around here.”