The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  “Lo siento, Señor Carrera,” Luisa said, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry for the interruption. The cook made the children cupcakes, and Santi ran ahead of us, and…”

  “So, am I to assume this is red icing I have adorning my pants?”

  Her face blanched. “Oh, lo siento! Lo siento, Señor!”

  I raised my hand again. “Enough. I said, it’s okay.”

  She bounced from foot to foot, nodding like a barely held together bobblehead. It was only then that I saw a swish of long dark hair, followed by a pair of curious dark eyes peeking around from behind her ass.

  Little Stella. My second-in-command’s six-year-old daughter. A Cortes female just as skittish in my presence as her mother.

  “Hola, Stella.”

  A small smile was all I got before she disappeared behind Luisa’s ass again.

  Strange child.

  “Santi, come,” Luisa demanded in that stern nanny voice. “We must get ready for our trip.”

  “Noooo,” Santi whined, locking his hands around my neck. “Mi papá.”

  I frowned. The trip. Another security measure I’d put in place. As much as Adriana wanted Santi and Stella to be part of the wedding, I decided it’d be safer to send them to my house in Monterrey. Every precaution had been taken to ensure our safety, but with the Colombians here and an impending meeting that could end in bullets as easily as a handshake, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Go.” I motioned toward the now open doorway. “Rafael has the plane on standby. I’ll have one of the staff send Santi to you in a few minutes.”

  “Of course, señor.” With a nod, she took Stella by the hand and left us alone, closing the door behind them.

  Grinning, Santi climbed up on his knees, and placing a red-stained hand on either side of my face, squeezed the shit out of it.

  And you know what I did? I fucking laughed.

  I laughed so goddamn hard, my chest hurt, which only made him pinch even harder. I was one of the most hated and feared men in the world. Public enemy number one, and this toddler was twisting my cheeks like goddamn Play-Doh.

  And I loved it.

  I loved him.

  My son. Something I thought I’d never have. Hell, I never thought I’d have a family at all. I expected to live alone, grow old alone, and die alone. But Eden came along and changed all that. She gave me a home, and then she gave me my son—my fucking heart, bleeding in my hands every damn day.

  Settling him down, I clasped his hands and stared into his eyes. Dark brown and peppered with gold, a Carrera signature. “I’m doing this for your future, Santi,” I told him. “I’m building you an empire that will one day rule the world.”

  Santi stared down at his red-stained hands tucked in mine. “Cookie?”

  So fucking innocent. His hands were so small and innocent. Now. But no one outran their legacy, and one day they wouldn’t be stained with red icing. They’d be stained with blood.

  Just like mine.

  Exhaling hard, that sunshine from earlier burned a hole right through my heart, allowing the dagger to slice through what was left. I couldn’t change his fate. The only thing I could do was try to help him to understand it.

  “We aren’t good men, Santi, but we’re as fair as descendants of the devil can be. No one in this world is innocent, son. Every single one of us is born with sin. As Carrera men, we punish the worst of the worst and let our fate determine itself. You are a Carrera, son. I build for you. I kill for you. I steal for you. And I will die for you. One day you will be El Muerte, and I only hope I leave you the legacy my father denied me.”

  Kissing his forehead, I called for a staff member. Within ten minutes, my son was out of my arms and safely boarded on a private plane bound for Monterrey.

  As I heard the engine roar, the dagger sliced even deeper.

  I couldn’t get the image of his stained hands out of my head.

  “Val?”

  Shaking my head, I looked up to see the second most powerful man in Mexico standing in the doorway, wearing an expression I didn’t like.

  In seconds, I was out of my chair. “What the hell happened? Mateo, is Eden all right? The baby…”

  I swear, I’ll carve Dante Santiago into so many pieces he’ll return to his island in a goddamn envelope.

  “Eden and the baby are fine,” he said, motioning for me to sit down. “This isn’t about her.”

  A relief, but I didn’t take fucking orders, so I continued to stand, waiting for him to spit out whatever had him all twisted up.

  Letting out a low curse, he closed the door behind him. “It’s about the meeting. Dante Santiago isn’t our only problem.”

  Chapter Four

  Valentin

  I narrowed my eyes at Mateo, my voice escalating. “What the hell do you mean he’s not our only problem? Adriana is getting married in a few hours.”

  “I realize that,” he said, making his way farther into the room.

  “Do you also realize that Dante Santiago is about to drop out of the sky like a goddamn lightning bolt?”

  “Of course, I—”

  A full day’s worth of tension swelled within me, bubbling toward a surface held intact by sheer fucking will. Filling my lungs full of stale air, I gripped the edge of my desk with both hands, letting it out slowly. “In the last forty-eight hours, I’ve aligned with my biggest rival, agreed to share a port that fucker didn’t do a goddamn thing to earn, turned my sister’s wedding into a potential war zone, and lied to my wife about all of it. So, if you’re coming into my office with another problem, you’d better have already solved it.”

  Mateo didn’t flinch. “No, but there’s someone outside who can.”

  My grip tightened at his words. “Tell me you aren’t that stupid, Mateo. Tell me you haven’t involved someone in this without my approval.”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t just question my loyalty.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  “Will you at least hear him out? You said yourself, Adriana is getting married in a couple of hours. We don’t have much time.”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I sat in my chair and finished off what was left in my glass, immediately filling it again. Whoever was on the other side of that door not only warranted it, a full glass was in their best interest. My nerves were coiled tighter than a boa constrictor. Two ounces of tequila might be the only thing preventing the one remaining spring from snapping.

  The one holding the monster at bay.

  The man my father groomed me to be.

  The one scratching so close to the surface, it kept me up at night.

  The one he swore, regardless of what I did or how far I ran, I was destined to become.

  Him.

  I’d kept these thoughts to myself, drowning myself in nightly booze and keeping busy with our latest US shipments. No one could fight this battle but me, and if I lost, I’d damn well ensure no one would be around to suffer the consequences but me.

  Even if it meant sacrificing the only link to my humanity.

  My family.

  I watched silently as Mateo made his way back toward the door. His steps were both deliberate and cautious, a testament to the man himself. Mateo Cortes didn’t earn his place as my second-in-command by taking unnecessary risks. He earned it by staying one step ahead of both ally and enemy. He earned it by striking when opportune—not when convenient. But mostly, he earned it by welcoming all four oaths as part of his soul. He lived them. Breathed them. And more than once, almost died for them.

  The man was the epitome of loyalty.

  “Come in.” He stepped to the side, allowing two men to walk in.

  One, I immediately recognized. The tall, blond asshole who looked like someone shit in his toybox was about to be my brother-in-law. But the other… I’d seen a lot in my life, so I wasn’t a man easily shocked. However, as I took in the familiar thick dark hair, blue eyes, and painted-on scowl, I cocked an eyebrow.

  “C
ristiano Vergara.”

  A name I certainly didn’t expect to speak today—or any day for that matter. The last time I saw Ronan Kelly’s bastard grandson, he sat tucked away in the corner of a hospital waiting room in Guadalajara, avoiding eye contact as well as Brody’s right hook.

  He was, after all, partially responsible for my sister being there in the first place.

  Even though both the bride and groom had forgiven him, I wasn’t so generous. My forgiveness came in the form of allowing him to live. That was where my benevolence ended. However, Adriana had an incessant need to fix people, and her ex-fiancé had been her pet project.

  While Brody worked the New York deal, I’d put her in charge of creating an alliance with Ronan Kelly and the Chicago Northside Sinners. I wanted access to that port almost as much as New York. But Adriana wasn’t satisfied with that. My once-heartless sister wanted to mend fences between Vergara and the grandfather who wouldn’t give a fuck if I cut off his dick, stitched it to the top of his head, and gave him to Stella as a pet unicorn.

  Needless to say, there was no love lost between them.

  Or between us.

  “Carrera.” Those Irish blue eyes narrowed at me as he crossed my office, taking a seat in front of my desk without an invitation. In response, Brody leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and fire in his eyes.

  I slid an irritated look at Mateo who closed the door with more force than necessary, taking a seat beside our guest, his hands clenched around the armrests.

  “Bienvenidos, gentlemen. Welcome.” I turned toward Cristiano. “Mateo tells me you have information I might be interested in hearing.” An understatement, but it was a mistake to seem overeager.

  A sarcastic chuckle drew my attention toward the wall. “This ought to be good.”

  I landed a sharp glare at Brody who scowled back. The man had a temper, but he also knew his role, and wisely chose to shut his mouth.

  Ignoring him, Cristiano tilted his chin, keeping his eyes focused on me. “Is Dante Santiago here yet?”

  “What makes you think I’d invite that Colombian asshole to my sister’s wedding?”

  The fucker actually rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t like me, Carrera, but I’d appreciate you not insulting my intelligence while I’m sitting right here.” Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward with a hard stare. “I know about the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “You want to keep your cards close? I get it. But, here’s the thing; you don’t have a lot of time and neither do I. So instead of doing this back and forth shit, I’m going to be up front. If you let my grandfather sit in on this meeting with you and Santiago, you’re going to blow the entire operation.”

  Fuck. I had no intention of verifying anything he said, but he sure as hell had my interest. Letting a few more beats of silence pass, I picked my glass up and took a drink. “What do you want, Vergara?”

  “From you?” He let out a sardonic laugh. “Not a goddamn thing. You and Santiago could blow each other to the moon, for all I care. It’s not my problem. But you’ve turned Adriana’s wedding into ground-fucking-zero, and that is my problem. People are going to get hurt.”

  I’d had enough of this shit. “What do you know about Ronan?”

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence Adriana hasn’t made any gains with him in opening up Chicago?” I didn’t say anything. Which didn’t matter because the asshole barely took a breath before answering his own question. “My grandfather despises cartels.” A smirk played on his lips as he gestured to the tan skin on his exposed forearm. “Obviously, racism in Chicago’s underground is alive and well.”

  No surprise there. Ronan Kelly was a misogynistic, racist pig. It didn’t matter that his own blood ran through Vergara’s veins. As long as it was tainted with Latino blood, it might as well be poison.

  Still, it had nothing to do with Dante Santiago or our meeting.

  “Is there a point in all this? If not, I have somewhere to be.”

  “There’s a sex trafficking ring running through Mexico, right? Straight through your jurisdiction.”

  I almost choked on my drink. “What do you know about that?”

  “Come on, Val, think about it,” he taunted, flashing a cocky smile. “My father may have seized control of the Muñoz Cartel for a short time, but it wasn’t a fruitless reign. Remember, he also traveled back and forth to Chicago pretending to be Carlos Cabello, Ronan’s Colombian supplier.” His smile widened as he swung his attention toward the seething man against the wall. “And also Brody’s, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Asshole.” Brody fisted his hands, his face turning a shade of red I hadn’t seen in nearly two years.

  Vergara continued, ignoring both of us. “He set up a lot of underground operations in Guadalajara. He may be dead, but it doesn’t mean his endeavors died with him.”

  “Are you saying Ronan is funding a faction of an old Muñoz trafficking ring?”

  “No. I’m saying Ronan is the trafficking ring. What’s that old saying? You can cut off the head of the snake, but another one will grow in its place. Use your ears instead of your eyes, and you’ll hear the rattle in your own courtyard.”

  Locking eyes with Mateo, I reached under my desk and slid my gun out of its holster and curled my finger around the trigger. He knew the question sitting on my tongue. One laced with suspicion and doubt.

  But he intercepted before I could ask it. “How did you know about the meeting, Vergara?”

  Cristiano laughed. “I spent eighteen years of my life trying to please that man. If you don’t think I have at least one trusted contact inside the Sinners, you’re a fucking idiot.”

  Mateo’s hand went for his gun, and I narrowed a sharp gaze at him. He didn’t pull it, but didn’t move his hand away either. The man was loyal, not stupid.

  I had to think.

  If Santiago found out about this, it could blow another lucrative deal. No way in hell was I going to share two ports with that Colombian motherfucker. I’d compromised enough.

  But if what Vergara said was true, there was also no way I could allow Ronan to return to Chicago. Human trafficking was a financial food chain practice I strictly forbade. Just the thought of women and children boxed like trash and sold like cattle made my blood boil. Knowing that fat fuck had been running young girls through my territory made me want to go out into the courtyard and blow the back of his head off.

  Instead, I’d bide my time and make a statement no one here would soon forget.

  Leaning back in my chair, I released the tension I held on the trigger. “It looks as though we’ll be adding another guest to the wedding.”

  Cristiano’s eyes widened. He didn’t expect that, which was precisely why I said it. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “Nonsense,” I said, cutting him off. “You’re Adriana’s…friend.” My emphasis on the word wasn’t an accident. Brody might be a pain in my ass, but he was about to be family. Loyalty was loyalty, and he had mine. “Any friend of my sister’s is a guest of mine. It would be rude to reject my hospitality. Wouldn’t it, Mateo?”

  Mateo smirked. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “Fine,” Cristiano muttered. “Can’t wait.”

  A long silence hung in the air. I stared. He stared. Brody stared. Mateo stared. Fuck, we all stared like a bunch of catty women. Still, I gave him credit; not many men had the balls to go head to head with me. He wouldn’t win, of course, but I respected bravery.

  To a point.

  Offering him a self-righteous smirk, I nodded toward my first lieutenant. “Show Mr. Vergara to the courtyard. He’ll be joining us tonight.”

  Brody shot off the wall like a cannon. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Is there a problem, lieutenant?” Lifting my gun from my lap, I set it on my desk, my hand still wrapped around the grip and my finger still resting on the trigger.

  Brody clenched his teeth so hard I co
uld hear them grinding from across the room. “No,” he bit out. “I’d love to have my fiancée’s ex-fiancé attend our wedding. It’ll be the highlight of my year.”

  My lip twitched. “No murder on your wedding day, Harcourt. My sister will kill me if you get blood on your tux.”

  Brody stomped across the office, not bothering to wait and see if Vergara followed. Still, Cristiano rose, his steps slow and heavy. I had no doubt each one was leaded with the weight of his decision to come here. It could very well backfire on him, but his fate was none of my concern.

  I had more important things to worry about.

  Once their footsteps had faded away, Mateo cleared his throat. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to have him here?”

  “Who? Vergara, Kelly, or Santiago?”

  He shrugged. “All of the above.”

  Leaving my gun on the desk, I retrieved my glass, raising it in a sadistic toast. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s important to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of digging your own grave?”

  I settled a fixed stare at him. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mateo. There’s only one grave being dug tonight—an extra wide one—and in a few hours, it will be occupied with one less pain in my ass.”

  “And the other one?”

  “That depends on his fucking manners.”

  “I don’t think he has any.”

  “Then I have two shovels.” Amused with myself, I tipped the glass back before noticing the shitty look on his face. “What the fuck is that look for?”

  He let out a troubled sigh. “This is supposed to be the start of an alliance, Val. A roomful of Santiago’s men, our men, the Russians, and the Sinners. What you’re proposing could make a statement, or—”

  “Or what?” I challenged.

  “Or it could start a war.”

  “And what if it does? What will you do, Mateo?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll fight beside you until my last breath.”

  It was the answer I expected, but an assurance, nonetheless. In cartel life, betrayal never came from a charge from the front. It came from the supportive hand on the back.