Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  My cousin listened carefully and praised fulsomely. "You're winners, all of you. I'm proud of you."

  The team smiled, thoroughly enjoying their triumph. Deservedly so.

  "I've been watching from a distance," the jefe continued, "and you did great. However, we need to have a sit-down."

  We took our places around the conference table.

  Arturo turned to me. "When I heard you threw away ten bricks of coke, my fucking coke, I was going to kick your ass. And when you called in British intelligence, I thought you'd gone insane." He paused, sighed and then smiled. "But then I saw the Home Office briefing."

  I would not ask how he'd accessed a top-secret document. That's our jefe, though. Pride at being a part of his team surged through me.

  "Lord Grandville says you're devious and not to be trusted," my cousin continued. "But he's suggested that his people look into using us as a resource."

  We all examined this, wondering about his motive.

  My cousin frowned. "It seems that in the last few weeks Smith went around, trying to source complaints so he could build up a case against you. But as the Zetas have done a better job of policing than the cops, the residents in our plaza sent them packing. Smith came up empty. In fact, it backfired. Lots of people wrote letters supporting you."

  Persia's plan had delivered, and beyond our wildest dreams.

  "Lord Grandville has suggested that the Zetas have deep roots in the community, meaning we're ideally placed to report on threats, especially foreign intelligence and hostile undercover operations. He thinks it's worth setting up an unofficial line of liaison to investigate opportunities for cooperation and is therefore cautiously advising Smith and his team step back for a period."

  Working out the political mumbo jumbo, I got the message: if we helped intelligence clean up future Kowalczyks, and made sure our activities didn't bother respectable citizens, we could work our plaza, unmolested by Smith.

  "I love politicians," the jefe grinned. "He's covered his arse, but he's giving us the green light."

  I wouldn't trust Lord Grandville to be a friend, but he'd not mess with us as long as we kept our business low-key. That suited us fine; we wanted to get along quietly. As for a bit of quiet assassination, that was no trouble at all. But what would the jefe say?

  "It's unusual but as I've always said, London is a different kind of operation," Arturo decided. "Well done, Jorge. You've placed us in an excellent position. Great strategic thinking."

  I breathed again.

  "As for my coke," the jefe sighed. "It pains me to say it but using it as bait was worth it. As we just proved again in Texas, it's always the last bit of the battle that costs the most. Unorthodox as it was, your move prevented weeks of expensive fighting."

  It was an immense relief. "Thank you, jefe."

  "But," Arturo frowned, "there are other matters. Matters that touch my direct authority."

  This was it.

  "I won't have my orders disobeyed," the jefe growled. "My word is law!"

  My heart sank. He was right. In the cartel, there can only be one boss. To challenge that authority means death. I'd gone directly against him; there was no denying it. He'd be fair, and our kinship meant I'd probably survive, but it was over.

  But my cousin hesitated. Maybe he was uncertain how much the men knew. Maybe he was considering taking me out anyway, just to send a message.

  Whatever my fate, waiting for the hammer to fall was torture. Better confess and get it over with. "Jefe, I made mistakes and I want you to know I am solely responsible."

  My cousin sharpened and focussed. "Oh?"

  "Persia York." It hurt me even to think of my crime. "I took her." I should have been shot, "I did that by myself, without the knowledge of my team." I manned up. "And when they tried to set me straight, I blew them off."

  My sins were out in the open. All that success and I fucked myself up forever with my arrogance, pride and stupid rage.

  "Oh, no!" To my amazement, James was on his feet. "I'm to blame too, jefe. It's my job to advise, and I messed up."

  "Us too." Lencho and Paco were up as well. "We should have been there for the patrón. It's our fault too."

  I couldn't breathe. Tears came to my eyes, just as if I were a weak woman. But I defended them. "Cousin, don't listen to them, please. They're saying it out of friendship. I'm the boss. I'm responsible."

  The jefe frowned. "Disobeying my orders is a serious offence."

  I straightened up, ready to take my punishment like a man. But before the jefe could say more, the door burst open.

  "Just as I thought!" Persia marched in, pushing a secretary away and closing the door on her, saying, "Yes, I know it's a private meeting. I'm invited."

  My breath caught as it always did at seeing her but from the stormy expression, she was on the warpath. "Persia, corazón -"

  She completely ignored my attempt to make her leave. Standing next to me, she eyeballed the jefe. "You must be Arturo Vazquez, Jorge's cousin and leader of the Zeta cartel."

  I was too horrified to speak, but the jefe smiled. "Si, guapíssima, and you are Persia York." He stood and kissed her formally on both cheeks. "I have been dying to meet you."

  "As have I," Persia replied firmly. "Seriously, what were you thinking?"

  Oh. Dear. God. I couldn't breathe.

  As the jefe looked stunned, Persia laid into him. "Jorge has worked miracles for you, putting in 14 hour days and never taking a break."

  James gawped, his mouth wide open. Lencho was blinking in surprise and Paco had his eyes closed tight with horror.

  "James was shot," Persia continued, "and Paco was beaten up."

  "It's a dangerous business." Incredibly, my cousin was explaining. "These are the risks we take."

  "It happened because Jorge was dangerously low on manpower." Persia powered up and lectured, "You cannot expect stellar results if you're not willing to invest."

  That galvanised the jefe. "Quite right," he agreed. "But we were overstretched. We had a rather unexpected expansion that ate up more resources than expected." Despite himself, he added with rich satisfaction, "We won, so that's no longer a problem."

  "Your Texas operation," Persia acknowledged. "I'm happy to hear you fixed it. But it put tremendous pressure on Jorge."

  "Now, fresa."

  I tried to shut her down, but the jefe motioned me to let her talk.

  "Jorge had to make some difficult decisions," Persia continued, "and in the process he had to innovate."

  The jefe frowned. "He broke pretty much every rule in the book."

  "Well, what do you expect?" Persia replied airily. "He does what it takes because he's a winner."

  "From what I hear, you had a rough time because of it," the jefe cast back at her.

  "True," Persia conceded. "As I shot him, I reckon we're even."

  I was paralysed, half thinking I must be dreaming.

  The jefe blinked. "You shot him?"

  "Sure," Persia shrugged. "And I'm not sorry, either."

  My cousin struggled with that for a moment but then he rallied. "He defied my authority!"

  "I get you're upset," Persia said kindly. "But nobody will find out. You will tell everyone I left Kowalczyk because he was abusive and that I asked Jorge for help."

  The jefe was sceptical. "Will I?"

  "Sure, because that mess was your fault," Persia said firmly. "If you'd not overloaded him with impossible targets, he wouldn't have gone off the edge."

  "Now, Persia, that's enough!" I couldn't let that go by. "You can't speak to the jefe like that."

  "It's not disrespect. It's constructive feedback," Persia maintained.

  The jefe merely raised an eyebrow, but it was enough to remind me I was speaking out of turn. I could see his thinking: he thought that as leader of the cartel, he could deal with Persia. I could've told him that was a bad move, Persia is as unstoppable as a tornado, but I didn't have the words. All I could do was watch as my girl bulldozed hi
m.

  "Jorge's been worried sick," Persia was laying down the law. "He worships you, you know. Nothing's too much or too good for the jefe."

  "I'm glad to hear it," my cousin replied gently. "But nobody questions my authority."

  This was it. I braced myself.

  "Throwing away a successful and loyal man over a petty grievance isn't just poor management, it's stupid," Persia cast right back at him.

  The earth stopped turning. Nobody had ever spoken to the jefe that way. Nobody.

  We were frozen but Persia just stared the jefe down. "Well? You know I'm right."

  After an eon, my cousin threw up his hands. "So, this is what it's come to," he sighed. "My orders are defied and I get a reaming. Also, I'm faced with losing my best and brightest young lieutenant and possibly his entire team."

  "Not if you go with my story," Persia remarked.

  Arturo grinned. "It seems the most sensible option."

  All the air went out of my lungs. "W-what?" My knees had disappeared too. "I don't understand."

  Persia propped me up. "Your jefe's a practical man," she informed me. "You're off the hook."

  "What?" I was convinced I'd misheard.

  Persia pinched me.

  "Ouch!"

  "Everything's fine," she repeated. "You're wide awake, love."

  "I'm not disgraced?"

  "No." Persia turned to Arturo. "You'll give him more staff, right? He'll need a boatload of them to operate that seaport."

  My cousin burst out laughing. "Jorge, you'd better marry her. She's a keeper."

  "I'd have thought you'd want her shot." I remembered who I was talking to. "Sorry."

  "Solitaire said pretty much the same," the jefe confessed. "And I daren't contradict her."

  I wasn't disgraced. It seemed a miracle.

  Persia squeezed my hand. "Jorge, this is where you tell your mates you're an arse for shutting them out."

  I faced my friends. "I wanted to protect you. I couldn't let my mistakes drag you down."

  "That's noble," Persia sighed.

  "No, it's not," James contradicted her. "Jorge, why didn't you talk to us? Don't you trust me?"

  That hurt. "No!" I reassured him. "But after acting like a pinche capullo, I just couldn't."

  James frowned. "For God's sake, you saved my life."

  "I got you shot."

  "No, you didn't," he sighed. "You warned me about my shooting, remember?"

  "Well, yeah. But I'm responsible and I fucked up."

  "Jorge, you're an amazing boss," Paco said gently. "You're careful, thorough, hardworking, and you've not just got a Plan B, but also a Plan C and D."

  I was speechless.

  "You're always putting us first," Lencho said. "But you can depend on us."

  "It's like the socios guapísimas say," Paco reminded me. "We're smart and we're strong. Together, we can do anything."

  "Exactly," James scolded. "We're a team, remember?"

  A boss would've given a speech but all I could do was hug them. All that loneliness and distance evaporated. I had my friends back.

  "This calls for a celebration," Arturo grinned. "I've heard Bubbles is awesome."

  "Excellent," Persia grinned. "Isa, Orabelle, Tazanna are on their way too, and I'm in the mood for some dancing."

  It was all mine: I'd beaten my enemy, made a deal that would ensure a rich future for our operation and ended up on top. Best of all, I had Persia. A brave and loyal woman with a heart the size of a planet.

  Her hand slid into mine. "Happy, love?"

  I drank in the sparkling eyes and sweet curves. My breath caught at the love and life that lay before us. Emotion choked me. After all the fear and rage, we'd come through.

  I kissed her gently, "Yes. Let's go dancing, fresa."

  Epilogue

  Jorge

  "There she is, it’s Persia York!" The crowd outside Bubbles surged, screaming their approval. I took her hand, made sure security was in place, and then escorted her past the velvet rope. All the way, they were calling out to her.

  "Persia! Look here!"

  "Hey Persia, show us your dress!"

  "Ohmigod, I love those butterflies!"

  My girl was waving. "Thank you so much! You’re awesome!"

  Rovero stood behind the limo, nodding at me. It was safe, so I let Persia chat.

  Others would pose for selfies but Persia was handing out cards. "Here’s a code for a 20 percent discount. You can use it on my website. Pass it to all your friends, okay? It’s good for a whole month."

  Cameras flashed and then the press of people crowding in threatened to overwhelm my security, even though there were a dozen extra men working. "Time to go, Persia."

  She turned instantly, blowing kisses, "See you later. Bye!"

  Inside, the party was going full swing. Pussy Wave were on stage, the bar was six feet deep with regulars and yet, they all cheered as we walked in. Isa, Orabelle and Tazanna, all wearing Persia's designs, jumped and squealed as they hugged her.

  "We’re so proud of you!"

  "The Young Designer of the Year!"

  "Show us the trophy!"

  "I couldn’t have done it without you," Persia was crying a river. "You’re the best."

  "She's a raving success." James was at my shoulder. "She's going to be mega."

  I was choked with pride. "She blew the competition out of the water, right?"

  His response was instant. "No doubt about it."

  "Jorge!" Ferdy Firth, pink with excitement and champagne, bounced over. "Look!" He pressed his phone in my hand. "They’re showing the award ceremony on TV!"

  Jacko, my chief bar tender was all over it. In an instant, Persia was on every monitor, accepting first prize. Pussy Wave switched into a cover version of Bowie’s Fashion, and the crowd went wild.

  My mobile vibrated, signalling the hourly security update. Seeing Persia safe with her socios, I stepped back discretely checking the texts: all was well.

  As I put it away, Paco lifted his chin, "Patrón, the Rovers are here."

  Liam surged through the dancing crowd, two of his lieutenants at his side. "Jorge, you lucky bastard. Congratulations! What a woman! What talent!"

  "Isn't it great?" I hugged him and pressed a glass of champagne into his hand. "Thanks for coming. Persia will be delighted."

  Liam was gazing at Orabelle’s endless legs. "Sweet Mary and Joseph," he sighed. "Bubbles is indeed heaven."

  As the drooling Rovers settled at the table, Lencho leaned in. "Patrón, the press want in."

  I moved back a bit. "How many?"

  "There’s half a dozen now." Lencho dropped his voice. "Jorge, this lot is just snap and go. But with the TV crews coming, it would be mayhem."

  "Okay, let this set in and tell the others they can come to Zeta Towers tomorrow."

  Lencho straightened up. "Si, patrón."

  I stood in a bubble of my own, drinking in our success. In the month following Kowalczyk’s arrest, Persia had aced her exams, taken her collection to the annual national competition for young designers, and won that as well. As for me, my extended plaza was running smoothly, my seaport was ready to go, and Bubbles was filled to capacity every night.

  It was all mine. Even the respect I’d craved for hadn’t cost me my friends. I was patrón in public and Jorge in private. It was full trust both ways, just as it was before.

  The press marched in, too intent on the glorious girls to notice me. Persia stood up instantly, wiping away her tears and making sure her socios were front and centre.

  "Funny to see her up there and not giving anyone the finger," a paparazzi with a ponytail said loudly as he snapped photo after photo.

  "She's bloody gorgeous," a beard with a Nikon remarked. "Look at those cheekbones."

  "Persia!" Laura Griffin trotted in, her lips pulled away from her teeth in a saccharine smile. "Phone me!" she squealed as she mimed talking on her mobile. "Come on my show!"

  She was dressed in crimson, prob
ably as it would hide any backstabbing. On impulse, I tapped her on the shoulder. "A word with you."

  Laura shrank instantly. "I didn’t think you’d mind," she gulped. "I just came to congratulate her."

  Kowalczyk’s disappearance had caused lots of speculation but the Official Secrets Act meant the truth had been buried. However, the press knew exactly what had gone down, and so my rep was all over town.

  Laura bit her lip. "W-want me to go?"

  I had not forgiven her and would happily have kicked her out but Persia wouldn’t have approved. "Of course not. Congratulations on your TV show. I take it you’ll be promoting the industry from now on instead of trashing it?"

  She got my meaning right away, exclaiming, "Absolutely! I love Persia York designs!"

  "Then you should stay for a drink." I signalled to a waitress. "When you’re ready to leave, I’ll tell security to get you an Uber back to Buckingham Street."

  Laura swallowed as the implication that I had her home address hit her. "Thanks."

  She got the message and so I made nice. "Always happy to help a friend of Persia’s."

  On stage, Pussy Wave were readying for a break. "Thanks for the amazing support," the lead guitar announced. "And here’s Anette Dubois, back by popular demand."

  Yeah, that panned out too. The brunette wasn't an Adele, but she had a terrific personality, knew over a hundred songs, and took requests with such cheer that she’d made lots of friends.

  As I drank it all in, filled with gratitude and pride, I fingered the box in my pocket. Sometimes, it feels like tempting fate to ask for too many blessings. But I couldn’t help myself.

  My mobile vibrated again. Lord Grandville this time. I slid into the corridor, unobtrusively edging to the kitchen. With the late hour, it was empty and blissfully quiet. "My Lord, how are you?"

  "For God’s sake, man, call me Quentin," he boomed. "I’ve good news: our friend will serve 18 months."

  Colin deserved life behind bars, but Persia would be relieved. "Thanks. That’s a lot of mercy."

  "Sentence will be announced on Monday."

  "I appreciate the heads-up." Advance notice would relieve Persia and her family. "I owe you one." I didn't mind. Doing him a favour would strengthen ties.