The guards stepped aside as the gate opened.
Gian moved forward first, but Chris was fast to follow behind. Just beyond the wrought metal gate, a pathway made of red stone and lined with towering trees led them toward the front of the mansion. Waiting on white marble steps were two men, both of whom Chris recognized, although he kept that to himself.
Still needed to keep up that act ...
“Gian Guzzi, and ... son, correct?” the man standing just beyond the other asked.
Jorge Lòpez.
In his head, Chris did a mental inventory of the man and also what he knew about him. From the yellow silk dress shirt he wore, with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows, to the black slacks that looked pressed from an iron. This was the man they forced Valeria to marry, according to the information they had, and he was also the oldest son of the cartel’s former leader.
Well, that’s what they assumed. No one had a clue if the former leader was a former, but from all public appearances, Jorge ran the show now.
“Chris,” Gian said, “my son’s name is Chris. We were not sure what to expect today, but this home is a lovely spot for a meeting.”
“Our father’s,” the man just behind Jorge stated.
Samuel.
Second son of the Lòpez leader. Brother to Jorge. Chris wouldn’t concern himself with Samuel, except for the fact he was a Lòpez, and there. Part of it all and possibly keeping Valeria hidden somewhere.
Or was she even hidden here?
Yet to be determined.
Gian continued his greetings with the Lòpez brothers while Chris took in his surroundings. He blamed that on his training at The League, and not so much the fact he was a made man. They had taught him to find what he needed to deal with first. To take in his surroundings, and everything else, too.
Then, there were as little surprises as possible. Although, should a surprise come up on him, he would handle that knowing everything else around him. It was all in the details, really.
“And,” Gian said to Chris’s left as he noted the white trim around the windows of the mansion, “once we hammer down the main details, I will take a step back because I have business to attend to at home. I can’t leave it for long.”
“Which is where your son will come in, sí?” Jorge asked, his accent thickening his English.
“Chris will take over whatever you need here for my side of things. I intend to involve myself in all of this, even if it is from afar and I want to understand how things will work, where everything will be held, and how you intend to smuggle the cocaine over. I hope you understand, but I am a details man.”
Jorge chuckled. “As am I, Gian.”
“Oui, well, when I am guaranteeing you the ability to supply to all of Canada through my organization and contacts, I am sure you won’t be uncomfortable with allowing us a stay here, and time to understand your business, and process, Mr. Lòpez.”
“We’ll make it work,” Samuel muttered, “although we’re not accustomed to someone who wants all the details. We rarely work that way.”
“Except we will in this case,” Jorge added, “a deal with you ensures we will be the largest producing and supplying cartel in Mexico.”
Chris didn’t miss the way the two brothers passed a look between them, something unsaid lingering in their stares. He tucked it into the back of his mind and returned to surveying the grounds.
“And you won’t take issue with my son doing the majority of the work and passing word back then?” Gian asked.
“Is that why he’s currently scoping us out?”
Chris didn’t miss the sharpness of Jorge Lòpez’s tone. He came back to the conversation, smiling carefully to make sure the man didn’t think he was malicious in his perusal of the grounds.
He was all too aware in that moment of certain things he needed to be careful to do for this plan of theirs to work. Things he needed to portray to allow him inside the cartel’s top echelon to get closer to Valeria—wherever she was here, because no one saw her yet.
They needed to trust him, at all costs. He was to be no better or worse than them, in their eyes, and willing to indulge in whatever they asked of him to make sure they didn’t question his reasoning for being here. “It’s a beautiful home. Almost reminds me of my parents’ mansion.”
Jorge eyed Chris for a moment, his silence stretching on a beat too long before he said, “Large, is it?”
“Two wings. More acres than someone cares to count.”
“Not as protected, I bet.”
Chris shrugged. “Better not to make a show, in our part of the world.”
Jorge nodded. “I can understand that, I suppose.”
Gian cleared his throat. “Shall we begin this process, then?”
“Yes, let’s get comfortable inside. We figured ... a quick lunch, and then maybe a drink later in the back by the pool before a proper dinner. If that works for you, Gian?”
“It does,” Gian replied.
“Good. Lunch will be ready soon. Later, the rest of our family will join us for dinner.”
Oh?
Chris kept that question inside, but barely. Did the rest of the family mean Jorge’s supposed wife—Valeria—and his daughter, Maria, too? Because that would answer a lot of things that were still unknown here.
“I hope you like bourbon,” Jorge said, “as that is our drink of choice for business deals.”
“I do,” Gian said.
Chris smiled when the men turned their backs to him and his father. The Guzzis were in.
For now.
• • •
Lunch went well, and as Chris assumed, his father took over the majority of the conversation with Jorge. Chris and Samuel sat at opposite ends of the table, enjoying their meal and sharing a word when asked for it, but otherwise, staying out of the dealings between the other two.
Not that Chris minded.
He enjoyed being the silent one in a conversation more than he liked to be the one who talked. It allowed him to learn a hell of a lot more when he wasn’t concerned about what might slip out of his mouth.
Once lunch finished, and Jorge and Gian seemed fine with the specifics of their arrangement, with one supplying the other cocaine, the four moved outside.
Well, three, he supposed.
Samuel disappeared after lunch. He stepped outside with them for a moment, but left soon after, re-entering the mansion through the back without as much as a word why.
It didn’t matter.
Chris had other things on his mind.
The pool, for starters.
His anxiety picked up as he, his father, and Jorge walked along the side of the pool, each with a glass of bourbon in their hands to sip from. He wouldn’t enjoy the drink this close to water even if the fear seemed unfounded.
Chris could swim.
He learned to do that.
The pool on one end was not deep.
He could touch the bottom.
Even hearing those thoughts in his mind, a constant mantra that played on repeat whenever he faced water, it only helped a little. Not enough for him to forget what it felt like to have water rushing into his lungs with every breath he attempted to take in. It didn’t stop the memory of his garbled shouts as he tried to call for help as the water pulled him under the docks at his uncle’s vacation home.