“Get in.” His voice is clipped. American. Unimpressed.
Frankie steps in front of me with a grimace. “Tell the Devil we’re taking a rain-check on death today, thanks, Grayson. He can come back tomorrow to collect.”
“Are you under the impression he was asking nicely?” comes the icy response. “Best laid plans went to shit, and he wants to know why.”
“I thought Santiago liked spontaneity.”
“Not when it comes to two truckloads of trafficked girls and a Brigăzi gang that’s about to slip through our fingers. Now, get the fuck in the van, before I lose my temper.”
CHAPTER 39
FRANKIE
“Why does it always have to be in a warehouse?” Viper mutters. “Why can’t they interrogate us at the fucking Ritz-Carlton instead?”
“Too expensive.” I glance around the huge space that Grayson just dumped us in, taking in the broken windows, the rusty steel girders, the hundred or so trained killers lined up behind the biggest killer of all, who’s wearing a scowl the size of Colombia. “Besides, they need a big space for this number of men to show off their cocks and guns.”
“Explains why so many criminal organisations are moving their businesses online. Not everyone exceeds the average size by three inches like me.”
“Just let me do all the talking again, okay?” Shooting him a warning look, I keep Ada locked to my hip as we’re beckoned forward. “They wouldn’t have warned us yesterday if they wanted us dead.”
“Maybe they wanted that pleasure for themselves.”
“Maybe we should think positively, for Bambi’s sake,” interrupts Ada, giving me a weak smile that’s mostly sponsored by defiance.
Queen.
“What’s the play this time?” says Viper.
“To ask for his help.”
Stopping five metres out from Santiago and his men, I greet him with a twisted smile, and gesture to the space between us. “We wouldn’t want to give you any unnecessary cleaning bills.”
“That’s considerate of you.” His dark gaze flits between the three of us, lingering and assessing.
Judging or condemning?
“Would you like us to stand on a plastic sheet as well?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he surprises me by breaching No Man’s Land first this time, his scrutiny shifting to Ada. “You killed Kirill Semenov.”
It’s hard to tell if it’s a statement or a threat. Either way, it pisses me off.
“She didn’t know he was off limits,” I grit out. “It’s hard to make a rational decision when someone’s trying to beat you to death.”
“Frankie...” Ada takes a step to bring herself level with me, reminding me once again that she doesn’t need anyone fighting her battles. She’s shown me she’s more than capable of defeating the monsters by herself, but, fuck it, I’m still going to try.
“Yes, I killed him,” she admits, her soft voice commanding the attention of every man in the warehouse. “I shot him three times, and then I shattered his kneecaps with the same baseball ball he used to shatter mine, but it will never come close to the pain he’s inflicted on me over the last twenty-one years.” She takes another step forward, closing the gap between her and Santiago to a couple of feet, looking so small in his shadow he could crush her with a single glance if he chose to.
“I don’t know who you are, Mr. Santiago, but you must be someone important from the size of your entourage and the power that you wield. Frankie told me you have the means to destroy the Red Compass, and if my actions have made you question that, then I’m asking you to learn about my scars first before you and your men get back in your private jet and fly home to whatever non-extradition country you’ve flown in from.”
I cast a glance at Santiago to see his reaction to my spitfire of a fiancée, but his face remains cold and impassive.
“I know you came to London to bring your cartel business into this city. You also came to help women. With that in mind, I’m begging you to help one more.” Her voice starts to waiver. “O’Sullivan kidnapped our daughter yesterday, and we need your men and your expertise to get her back.”
“I thought you had a son?” demands Grayson, appearing next to Santiago.
“Secrets and lies.” I look directly at the Colombian as I say it, remembering what he shared with me about his own daughter. “It’s the shit you do to stop a little girl falling into the hands of predators.”
“Mr. Santiago, you don’t know me,” continues Ada. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just a girl who was taken from her mother at ten years old and forced to live in the company of thieves and liars. But I paid attention when I wasn’t allowed to speak. I have insider knowledge of O’Sullivan’s mob and Semenov’s cell, even Mario Zaccaria’s organisational structure—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
He clicks his fingers, the movement sharp and swift, and the door to one of the vans behind him slides open. A man is pushed out of the backseat and into the warehouse. He stumbles like a drunk, and then he’s losing his balance and going down hard on the concrete with a guttural curse.
Italian.
His hands are bound in front of him, and his expensive white dress shirt is stained in blood. When he lifts his head to glare at us, I see the features of the man I killed in a prison cell in France.
“We adapted our plans for the developing situation.” Santiago gestures for Mario Zaccaria to be brought to him. “Which included catching a mafioso who sang all the right tunes…given the right incentive.”
Grayson kicks Mario’s feet out from under him and he falls to his knees with another grunt. “We also turned one of O’Sullivan’s men yesterday. He told us about your surveillance man and the Irish intention to raid your casino.”
“Turned or tortured?” I say, lifting my eyebrows at Santiago
“Semantics,” he says with that vicious smile. “He spilled his guts right before O’Sullivan walked into your party.”
“Thanks for the warning… Even if it was thirty minutes too late.”
“When we got to you it was all bodies and cops. Your casino is a fucking mess, by the way… Who’s idea was it to drive a tank into it?”
“Mine,” drawls Viper. “I wasn't happy with the colour scheme.”
There’s a rare flare of amusement on Santiago’s face. “Can you get the place up and running again?”
“Depends,” I say. “Can you help me find my daughter?”
Without answering, he switches his attention to Ada. “You remind me of my wife, Mrs…”
“Soon-to-be Lastra,” she finishes, making me smirk.
“—And I mean that as the greatest of compliments.” He clicks his tongue slowly, as if weighing up his decision. “We might have an idea where she is.”
Ada’s composure slips to reveal the true panic underneath. “Is she okay?”
“Care to share?” he says, glaring at Mario.