Carrera Cartel: The Collection

by Kenborn, Cora

  Her jaw tightened. “I thought you said he told you?”

  Son of a bitch.

  He should have.

  And he’d regret the decision not to in a little over three hours.

  Val was a deadly man. A killer who was able to turn his conscience on and off like a leaky faucet. The same bloodstained hands that slit countless throats during the day, came home and rocked our son to sleep at night. I’d never turned a blind eye to the monster lurking beneath the man I married.

  But this killer, this monster, even he had limits, and human sex trafficking ranked at the very top. Val’s father made his fortune in the flesh trade, a vile atrocity he was forced to partake in as a young boy.

  So, to blatantly lie about something so personal felt like a slap in the face.

  “He did,” I jumped in, trying not to sound rattled. “He just made it sound like he’d already taken care of it.”

  Please work. Please work. Please work.

  “Not yet, but he will,” she said, and a thousand sighs lay buried within my slow exhale. “We still have two days until the girls are being shipped out of Corpus Christi, according to the Russians.”

  I nodded along, still pretending I knew what the hell she was talking about, when my brain backtracked to something she said. A word that didn’t register until now. “And the ‘caveat’?” Lifting both hands, I drew air quotes around the word and hoped like hell my intuition didn’t fail me now.

  People always said nothing in life came for free. It was true. However, in cartel life, the price tag usually dripped with blood.

  Adriana’s face darkened as if I’d mentioned the devil himself. Letting one white stiletto slip off her heel, she dangled it on her toe for a moment before flinging it across the room. After watching it clear an impressive distance into the bathroom, her lips curled into a victorious smirk. “Let’s hope he drinks his drink, eats his cake, and then puts himself, his wife, and his bitch squad on those three overpriced death traps and flies his ass back to the lost city of Atlantis.” Rolling her eyes, she waved a hand in the air. “Or wherever the fuck he came from.”

  I decided to let the obvious hostility slide and focus on draining this intel well dry. I huffed out a fake, sardonic laugh and kept my eyes averted. “All roads lead back to Dante Santiago.”

  “Hijo de su putra madre,” she spat out with sudden venom. “Brody put a year and a half of work into that port, and we almost had it. We were this close.” Lifting her hand, she held her thumb and index finger only centimeters apart, then balled her hand into a fist and punched the mattress. “Fucking stupid idiota. Fucking Feds...” She didn’t finish her sentence; instead, she shook her head, and let her silence speak for itself.

  Again with the goddamn silence.

  Then every muscle in my body stiffened. Brody’s main focus in the last year and a half had been making a deal with the Italians to open up the New York port to the Carreras. If something happened to ruin it that involved the Feds, the idiota at the root of it had to be their crime boss, Don Ricci.

  Which left New York free for the taking.

  A territory Dante Santiago used to have a stronghold over.

  Caveat.

  My mind spun backward even further.

  As for the Russians…

  “Will Ava be attending as well?”

  Adriana nodded. “Last I heard, she was.” She pinned me with an icy smile. “Of course, I’m not the one in charge of my own guest list. You’d have to ask your husband.”

  So, the wedding was a cover for some type of tit-for-tat deal with the Colombians, and my jackass of a husband was going to let me play the clueless, happy hostess, filling drinks and making toasts while two ruthless empires sat around a table planning world domination?

  Fuck that.

  No, fuck him and fuck that.

  Right then, I made a mental note to corner the head of the Miami Bratva at the reception. However, right now, I needed to get the attention off me and back onto her by any means possible.

  “Hey, Adriana?” When she glanced up, I placed a hand on her shoulder, risking having it bitten off with my next words. “Are you really okay with all this going down at your wedding?”

  Her pinched expression faded, and she gave a half-hearted shrug. “I grew up in a cartel, Eden. Esteban invited a Romanian arms dealer to my fifth birthday party and then shot him while I blew out the candles. I’d be more surprised if there wasn’t a meeting.”

  “I’ll make sure to keep you away from any open flame.”

  Two dark eyes snapped to mine, guarded with a resurging suspicion.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best swerve, but fuck it; time was ticking. I had to clear her head and do some creative damage control. Eloquence wasn’t exactly my friend at the moment.

  Another silence fell between us. It was comfortable but still thick with tension. Lines still creased Adriana’s forehead, and fear seemed to darken her eyes. However, it had nothing to do with visiting Colombians, trafficking rings, or imploding trade deals. They were just shields to a brewing tempest.

  Whatever still bothered her went much deeper.

  “There’s something else,” I said, shattering the stillness. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  I thought it was a valid question, but her dark eyebrows shot up as she twisted around. “In marrying Brody? No. I love him. He’s the only man I want to be with.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that there is no problem.”

  I leaned forward because obviously, I heard her wrong. “I’m sorry, what?”

  As if someone let the air out of a balloon, Adriana’s rigid posture deflated, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Nothing has ever come easy for me. I’ve fought for everything I have. Growing up, it was Esteban’s attention and Manuel’s respect. Then after the truth came out, it became so much more. I fought for my name, my life, my family, and eventually love. I fought my own demons to let Brody in. I fought every damn day against the fear of everything being taken away—of the bottom falling out and fate laughing in my face.” Narrowing her eyes, she lowered her voice in a mocking tone. “‘You fool. Happily ever after doesn’t exist. You were born into brewing chaos, and you’ll die in the eye of the storm.’”

  “Oh, Adriana…”

  “Things are too perfect.” Gripping the glass like a lifeline, she shifted her gaze toward the nightstand again. “In an hour and forty-nine minutes, I’ll walk out of this house and down the aisle where the man I’ve fought for waits to marry me.”

  Something in her voice triggered an instinctive response, and I cradled my belly. At the same time, Adriana looked up, the familiar gold-flakes in her dark eyes glinting with something that sent a cold shiver down my spine.

  “And?”

  “And what if all this perfect is just a false calm?” she whispered. “What if at the end of the aisle, all that’s waiting, is the eye of the storm?”

  Sliding my hand off her shoulder, I grabbed hers and entwined our fingers. “I don’t have all the answers. I walked into this life blind and naive. But you said it yourself; you grew up in a cartel. You’ve seen blood on your birthday, and blown out candles to the sound of bullets. I could sit here and say nothing bad could happen today, but we both know it’d be a lie. Every morning the sun rises, we take a risk we’ll never see it set. That’s our reality, and it fucking sucks.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Yeah, it really does.”

  “However, either we accept it, or we live in constant fear.”

  Shaking her head, Adriana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “You don’t sound so blind and naive to me.”

  “Cartel crash course.” Winking, I added, “Discounted with the price of abduction.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “You’re fucking insane.”

  “And you’re late for your own wedding. Go find your shoe, Cinderella.” Giving her hand one last squeeze, I took the glass out of her ot
her hand and rose to my feet. I promised to stand by her side, but I also knew when to back off. She needed time alone to process this before facing what waited for her downstairs.

  I made it halfway across the room before I came to a complete stop and sucked in a sharp breath, the glass slipping from my hand and shattering on the marble floor.

  Adriana shot to her feet. “Eden? Are you okay?”

  Forcing a smile, I waved a hand, motioning her away from the mess. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little too much ‘physical exertion’ earlier, I guess.”

  She made a gagging noise after catching on to my innuendo. Which was good, since it was physically impossible to make it any more obvious. “You know, you can tell that manwhore brother of mine no once in a while.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” I said, wiggling my eyebrows. “If you think Val’s dominant with his men, you should—”

  Adriana’s face contorted as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. Leaping to her feet, she pointed toward the door. “You’re disgusting. Get out.”

  “Fine, fine,” I laughed, holding my smirk until she turned her back to me and limped on one bare foot and one stiletto into the adjoining bathroom. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding, gritting my teeth as I white-knuckled the edge of the dresser.

  Fine, fine…” I repeated, lifting my chin and staring at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s going to be fine.”

  If only I believed my own words.

  Chapter Eight

  Valentin

  My father never hid who he was or what he did. Every aspect of his life revolved around the cartel, and he didn’t give a shit if it made its way inside the gates of our estate. I was a young boy who watched as his father returned home covered in blood and then sat quietly as dozens of men filed into our house for closed-door meetings. My mother did everything she could to try and make our existence seem normal, but she failed. Even if she’d lived, she was always going to fail.

  Once a man brought violence into his home, it was stained.

  Soiled. Cursed.

  That was why only three people were allowed to cross the threshold of my home with a gun in their pocket and business on their tongues: my sister, my underboss, and my first lieutenant. For anyone else, I secured a place close enough for access, but far enough away to ensure my mother’s failure wasn’t repeated.

  My men called it Cámara de Senadores or simply Senado. The Senate. Named not so ironically after Mexico’s corrupt legislative branch of government—the one with the power to pass laws, impose taxes, or more importantly, declare war.

  A branch I controlled along with every dirty politician inside it.

  Every important Carrera decision was made inside the walls of Senado—a single room building tucked in the far west corner of the estate. Away from the prying eyes of wedding guests and suspicious wives.

  So that’s where I stood right now, outside the thick steel door of Senado with my most trusted men and allies behind me, preparing for a modern-day clash of the titans.

  Mateo unlocked the door, and the Miami Bratva queen and I filed in, side by side. However, after only two steps, Ava’s confident gait faltered.

  “Why the fuck is he here?”

  It took more effort than I anticipated to contain my amusement.

  One useful thing my father instilled in me was the importance of keeping both enemy and ally on their toes. “Never become predictable to either,” he always said, “or you’ll fall to both.”

  Well, this was about as unpredictable as it got.

  Welcome to Mexico, muñeca. Doll.

  I followed her heated glare toward the bombshell perched at the far end of the long rectangular table situated in the middle of the room. I wasn’t surprised to find our guest of honor half-drunk, stuffing his face full of churros. In fact, I counted on it. Left to his own devices for damn near half an hour, Ronan Kelly was just how I wanted him: on edge, unsettled, and primed for the impending show.

  I offered a conspiratorial wink. “Trust me.”

  Ava’s stoic expression faded into pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “I don’t trust anyone, Carrera. Especially you.”

  I fought a smirk. “Words hurt, Ava.”

  “Not as much as my blade if you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re trying to pull.” She lowered her voice as Brody, Niko, and Mateo dispersed around us. “We had a deal.”

  “And we still do. This has nothing to do with our agreement. In fact,” I whispered, ignoring Niko’s iron glare as I took hold of her arm and maneuvered us toward our seats, “play along, and you’ll find I’m throwing in an added bonus free of charge.”

  Jerking out of my hold, Ava flounced into the seat next to her husband, clenching her fists so tightly, I was surprised her red nails didn’t snap. Noticing the dramatic shift in his wife, Niko’s watchful gaze turned lethal.

  Which, of course, I ignored.

  After taking my rightful place at the head of the table, I held up the slender amber bottle in front of me while nodding to the other three lining the table. “Have a drink, Gaheris. You look like you need it.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Too bad.” Pouring myself a glass, I egged him on by taking my time swirling the liquid around inside it. “It’s Don Julio 1942. Sweet and smooth. A gateway tequila if you will. Añejo for the beginner palate. Something to wash away all that shit vodka you Russians drink.” Smirking, I tipped the glass back.

  I had nothing against Niko, Russians, or their vodka. He simply needed a reminder that this was Mexico, not Miami, and while I respected his integrity and our alliance, his presence wasn’t needed or wanted. It was tolerated as a courtesy to his wife.

  “I said I wasn’t thirsty.” The gravelly words he spoke were meaningless. However, the message behind them was crystal clear.

  Cross my wife and you cross me.

  “Suit yourself. But perhaps you’ll change your mind. After all, I never offer anything to my guests without knowing its worth.” Niko’s stare hardened, but I didn’t have time for him to read between the lines. Directing my attention at the opposite end of the table, I added, “Isn’t that right, Kelly?”

  “Aye,” the Irishman mumbled, his cheeks packed full of churros. “Yer a damn fine host, Carrera.”

  “I am,” I agreed. “But only to allies.” Today, he’d learn that truth for the last time. “Don’t you agree, Ava?” Still holding my glass, I shifted my attention to the fuming redhead to my left. “Seeing as how Kelly, here, is your ally as well.”

  The muscles in her jaw tensed. “Val, I can explain...”

  “No need. Ronan has told me everything, haven’t you, amigo?”

  The Irish mob boss shifted his gaze toward Ava, an uneasy wince pinching the corners of his eyes. “Ye told me she’d already confided in ye.”

  “Oh, she has,” I assured him. “I just prefer my associates hear it from you.”

  Clearing his throat, he set his half-eaten churro on the table. “Ava and her government contact found a traffickin’ ring runnin’ through Chicago. Figured out that bastard Carlos Cabello”—he waved a dismissive hand in the air—“Ignacio Vergara, whatever the feck his name was, set it up when he was runnin’ shipment through my port. The only thing I can figure is that his son, that bastard grandson of mine, took over after his death and has been pulling the strings from Guadalajara.”

  I’d already tied him to the stake, but watching him struggle to break free from the inevitable was oddly fascinating. So, instead of letting the flame slowly build, I stoked the fire.

  Sitting back, I stroked my thickening beard. “Is that right?”

  Dance motherfucker.

  Ava’s cat-like eyes flashed toward mine. “Val, I didn’t tell you because it didn’t involve you. Petrov had interconnected trafficking pods all over the world. Besides, I didn’t know the mudak would be here.”

  Ronan’s fist slammed against the table. “Watch yer mouth!”

  “Of course.”
I smiled because every domino I set up was tipping in perfect sync. “Why would you? Adriana’s efforts to secure Chicago port access didn’t fit into your trade agreement with Santiago. Well, that, and you didn’t have any useful information to dangle in front of me.”

  Finally, the light dawned across the Irishman’s face. Darting his eyes toward the door, he slowly rose from his chair when Brody snapped to attention on my left.

  The moment his feet hit the floor, his arm lifted, his finger curled around the trigger. “Sit the fuck down,” he growled.

  With the tall Texan’s gun pointed between his eyes, Ronan sank back down, his face paling.

  A low click came from my right, and I didn’t have to look to know Mateo had his gun in hand as well. He’d been a wound ball of tension ever since I had him bring Ronan to Senado a half-hour ago. He didn’t dare challenge me, but he didn’t have to. His eyes held enough doubt for twenty men.

  He thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.

  But sanity didn’t win wars.

  Besides, I was enjoying the show. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself, Ronan. But the fun isn’t over yet. I have a surprise for you.”

  Before he could say anything, the metal door swung open. “Thanks for waiting, asshole.” Six sets of eyes turned to where my sister stood with hellfire in her eyes.

  “Adriana,” I said, crooking a finger against my lips to mask the smirk trying to break free.

  “Don’t say a fucking word,” she hissed, slamming the door and stomping across the room. Nobody said a word because frankly, no one knew what to say. The woman looked like a fucking cartoon character. Clad in a tight, strapless red dress, white beaded stilettos, and a flowing white veil pinned to the low bun at the back of her head, she looked like the featured entertainment at Satan’s bachelor party.

  Also? I didn’t take fucking orders.

  “What’s with the look, hermanita? Aren’t you supposed to be wearing something a little more…” I waved my hand up and down her dress. “White?”

  Adriana grit her teeth. “The groom isn’t supposed to see the bride in her wedding gown before the actual wedding, hermanito. I changed.” Wedging herself between Ava and Brody, she glared down at the pakhan queen. “Move.”