“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 copter 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.
With a vibration in my pocket, I put down my drink and read Tepic’s text: Emergencia.
Shit. What now? Forcing my shoulders down, I excused myself from the table and dialed Tepic as I wound through the tables toward the windowed perimeter of the dining room.
“Diego,” Tepic answered breathlessly. “Have you talked to Jojo?”
“I’m still in the city with Costa.” I stopped at a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the city. “What is it?”
“An explosion at the Juárez-El Paso tunnel.”
I closed my eyes and clenched a fist. What the fuck? That tunnel had been a million-dollar construction in itself, not to mention a crucial channel into the States. “Tell me that’s the only news.”
“No.” He hesitated. “Mike and Felipe were inside. And they didn’t make it.”
I looked down, massaging my temples with one hand. I was no stranger to losing people on my crew, but it never got any easier. It was personal. Mike and Felipe were more than workers—they were friends. I refrained from making the sign of the cross only so I wouldn’t draw attention. “This wasn’t an accident,” I said.
“No, patrón.”
“What happened? How much did they have with them?”
After some static on the line, Tepic said, “I’m finding out the exact amount—”
“How much?” I repeated.
“Jojo says they were mid-delivery. Some made it but not all. Five, maybe six containers gone.”
“Puta madre,” I said under my breath. “Make sure every border agent on our payroll knows we have no margins. Pay them more if you have to. And get every man we have guarding every stash house.”
“Some are en route to Guadalajara to meet with Nuñez’s guys.”
“Bring them back. We need all hands on deck.” I glanced at the table to find Cristiano watching me as Costa picked a cigar from a box the waitress offered. “Keep me updated,” I told Tepic and hung up.
The cityscape glowed against a starless night sky. I tried to figure out how to break this to Costa. This wasn’t human-pyramid bad, but now we’d hit our absolute limit. That was a serious problem in itself made worse by the fact that whatever was happening, it was calculated. And it was in front of Cristiano. Or because of him?
He’d been back less than a week, and things we’re starting to fall apart on the most important deal I’d ever made. Natalia had drawn the right conclusion—Cristiano had lost the only life he’d known when he’d been forced from the compound. A life he’d felt he’d deserved, even if it’d been built on betrayal. And now he was back—but I was the one who had Costa’s trust.
Was my brother here to earn it back?
And how would he regain it?
I didn’t doubt he had come home with a plan. Did the Maldonados somehow play into it?
I pocketed my phone and returned to the table. There was no use in drawing out bad news, so I resumed my seat at the table and dismissed the waitress.
“What is it?” Costa asked, puffing on h
is Montecristo. “I was about to order.”
I placed my elbows on the table, leaning in. “A tunnel has been compromised at the border,” I said.
Costa nearly choked. As he coughed, smoke billowed around him, shrouding his reddening face. As I sensed his temper mounting, I glanced around to remind him we had onlookers.
When he’d calmed, at least in appearance, he spoke. “We’re under attack.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Costa looked to Cristiano. “It has to be one of the Maldonado cartel’s many enemies who don’t like the idea of us working together. Don’t they know fucking with us means severing ties to our network?”
“I can find out.” Cristiano spun his glass on the table. “But right now, you need a plan.”
“Damn right we do.” Costa scrubbed a hand over his face and pulled at his long chin. “What are you thinking?”
Why was he looking to Cristiano for guidance? How easily they fell into old patterns. After our parents’ murder, Costa Cruz had set us up at the ranch house on his compound, far enough away that gunfire wouldn’t draw attention, but close enough that the main house was only a short drive. At the ranch, Cristiano had been fed choice food, armed with the finest “toys,” and boarded in a private room while I’d shared everything with the others adopted by the cartel.
Costa and Bianca Cruz had favored Cristiano up until her untimely death. But now, I was the one who ate at Costa’s dinner table many nights. I had over a decade on my brother of unwavering loyalty to Costa. Of standing by his side to build a business with limitless potential—and profits. And of being there for Natalia whenever she needed me.
Failing the Maldonados could take all of that from me. And if my instinct was right—Cristiano knew it.
“I can still salvage the shipment,” I interjected. I couldn’t dwell on what was gone. I needed to protect what remained. “We won’t exceed the Maldonados’ expectations as I’d hoped, but we’ll still be within the percentage we promised.”
Costa raised his cigar to a comrade across the restaurant. A signal that we had things under control.
But over the past two days, we’d lost more than just control.
“How close?” Costa asked.
“Some of the drop was made.” I looked to the ceiling to subtract what we’d potentially lost and the containers that had made it. “If we move everything left, we’re likely still within a percent or two of what we guaranteed the Maldonados would make it across the border.”
“So you need a ninety-nine percent success rate for what’s left.” Costa set his jaw. “Not one seizure at the border. It can’t be done.”
“It can if I move slowly, carefully, and strategically,” I said.
“You’ve run out of time for that,” my brother said. “You’re being targeted, and you need everything in the States immediately.”
Cristiano had to comprehend the scope of that operation, even for a company in supply chain management. To mitigate risk, product was stored all over town, then moved in small batches across the border, mostly by individual vehicles. “I can’t just send it across all at once,” I said.
“And what if another stash house falls tonight? Tomorrow?” Cristiano asked. “You’d be a dead man walking. You, and everyone associated with you. Including Costa.”
I pulled at my collar feeling suddenly parched. The situation was dire, yes, but Cristiano was just trying to rattle me. “That won’t happen,” I said after gulping some water. “I’ve called in all our security and alerted them to the gravity of the problem. It’s all under guard.”
“By men who have inside information about where everything is kept,” Cristiano pointed out.
“You have inside information,” I shot back at my brother. “And you were the last to show up around here. So how the hell do I know you’re not behind this?”
“Tranquilo, Diego,” Costa warned. “Calm down.”
Cristiano took a slow sip of his mezcal, watching me over the rim. The Cristiano I’d known had never touched alcohol and wouldn’t have cared enough to distinguish top-shelf tequila from sludge. Then again, I’d never seen him in a suit until his return, either, and definitely nothing near the fine, custom-made ensemble he currently wore. What was the point of a gangster like him in a bespoke suit that’d surely be ruined by the blood of his enemies? He could show off all he wanted, but while some of us did what was necessary to get by, Cristiano thrived on being a natural killer.
“I’ve spent the past decade trying to get back in Costa’s good graces,” Cristiano reasoned. “Why would I immediately turn around and jeopardize that?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” I said.
The corner of Cristiano’s mouth ticked. “There’s no ruse. I can tell you the truth of it. It’s that I’ve missed this—strategizing under fire. Enjoying a meal with the great minds at this table. Spending time with mi familia.” He said family with an edge that Costa seemed to miss. That, or he didn’t want to see it. Cristiano looked between both of us. “It has been too long.”
“It has,” Costa agreed.
I bit my tongue. What Cristiano missed wasn’t family—he’d given that up long ago. It was the prestige and power he could gain by partnering with Costa.
Prestige and power I would earn by pulling off this deal.
“Your brother is right,” Costa said. “You need to get every last kilo over the border as quickly as possible.”
That was easy for Costa to say. He had nothing but constraints to contribute to the process. He was asking for complete accuracy on an impossible schedule. It wasn’t as if he’d be down in the trenches with us. “Even with a full crew, I don’t have the manpower,” I said.
Cristiano drank some mezcal and studied his glass. “I do.”
Of course he did, but I wouldn’t allow him to insert himself in my deal. “I’ll make it work.”
“Then at least let me try to reason with the Maldonados,” Cristiano said. With his elbow resting on the back of his seat and a passive expression, he could’ve been discussing anything from wine varietals to horse racing.
“Why would that make any difference?” I asked.
“We have history,” he explained, “and they need my guns more than I need their money.”
As Cristiano and I locked eyes, his plan began to take form before me. His timing wasn’t a coincidence. Cristiano wanted in on this deal. But if I knew him, it wasn’t about the money. He wanted the credit. By saving my Maldonado deal, he’d be the hero. He’d win back Costa’s favor. And he’d undercut me in the process. Everything he wanted with one fell swoop.
“I can’t guarantee anything,” Cristiano continued, “but perhaps it’ll help ease the sting if I tell them they might not get the results they were promised.”
The results I had promised was what he meant. Results that were challenging but should’ve been attainable. Unless someone with a motive to bring me down had interfered.
Costa nodded along as if Cristiano spoke the word of a patron saint. “That’s a generous offer, but a last resort,” Costa said. “I’d rather not get the Maldonados involved until we have to. We’ll take you up on help consolidating what’s left, though.”
“I’ll make some calls,” Cristiano said. “Get your most trusted men together, and I’ll get mine. We can store the product in one of my warehouses. Nobody will know the location, and if they do, they wouldn’t dare cross me.”
Cristiano was hijacking my deal in front of my eyes. How would it look to Costa that I needed to be rescued? How would it look to Natalia? With a deep ache in my jaw, I unclenched my teeth. “You expect me to trust my livelihood to you and your unhinged cabrónes?” I asked.
“Cristiano is offering to help,” Costa said. “Where is this warehouse?”
“At the border of town where the desert starts,” Cristiano said and glanced at me. “Nothing to do with the Badlands if that’s what you’re referring to.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Costa sai
d. “With both cartels working together, we can pull this off.”
“With our two cartels working together,” Cristiano said, returning his gaze to Costa, “we can pull anything off.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. Aha. There was more to it than I’d thought. The Calaveras had their own solutions for trafficking, but if they joined forces with us, they could move double the volume and restrict their competitors from our services.
But that would mean a merger—one I’d be excluded from.
And not just any merger, but one between the de la Rosas and the Cruzes.
Anyone at the helm of both the Calavera and Cruz organizations would be afforded a power few others could match. Did Cristiano feel he was owed that after the decade he’d lost? Was it not enough that he’d taken our parents from me? Now he was back to take the rest? If so, his endgame was bigger than I’d guessed.
He had reason to push me out . . . but no—it was impossible for him to know that. I was nothing if not careful and always had been. Cristiano would’ve gone to Costa by now, and this conversation would be happening atop a fresh grave.
“Perdón.” Cristiano rose from the table with his cell phone in hand. He started to turn but paused. “You may want to consider putting Natalia on a plane, don Costa. In case things get any worse.”
I wondered, not for the first time, why Cristiano was concerned with Natalia at all. I hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at her at the costume party, first predatorily from the balcony, then later, the way a man regards a woman who has something he likes.
I recognized his interest in Natalia because I shared it as well.
She was more than an interest to me, though. I loved her. She was my weakness.
Did we share that as well?
Did Cristiano have a tender spot for her that he might not even be aware of . . . until someone stepped on it?
As Cristiano left the table, Costa turned to me. “Are things going to get worse for my daughter, Diego?”
He said everything he needed to in that one question. It had nothing to do with how the Maldonados could hurt her, but how I could. “Natalia is my best friend,” I said carefully. “I’d do anything to protect her.”
Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1) Page 11
