“I’ll pretend you didn’t just question my loyalty.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Will you at least hear him out? You said yourself, Adriana is getting married in a couple of hours. We don’t have much time.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I sat in my chair and finished off what was left in my glass, immediately filling it again. Whoever was on the other side of that door not only warranted it, a full glass was in their best interest. My nerves were coiled tighter than a boa constrictor. Two ounces of tequila might be the only thing preventing the one remaining spring from snapping.
The one holding the monster at bay.
The man my father groomed me to be.
The one scratching so close to the surface, it kept me up at night.
The one he swore, regardless of what I did or how far I ran, I was destined to become.
Him.
I’d kept these thoughts to myself, drowning myself in nightly booze and keeping busy with our latest US shipments. No one could fight this battle but me, and if I lost, I’d damn well ensure no one would be around to suffer the consequences but me.
Even if it meant sacrificing the only link to my humanity.
My family.
I watched silently as Mateo made his way back toward the door. His steps were both deliberate and cautious, a testament to the man himself. Mateo Cortes didn’t earn his place as my second-in-command by taking unnecessary risks. He earned it by staying one step ahead of both ally and enemy. He earned it by striking when opportune—not when convenient. But mostly, he earned it by welcoming all four oaths as part of his soul. He lived them. Breathed them. And more than once, almost died for them.
The man was the epitome of loyalty.
“Come in.” He stepped to the side, allowing two men to walk in.
One, I immediately recognized. The tall, blond asshole who looked like someone shit in his toybox was about to be my brother-in-law. But the other… I’d seen a lot in my life, so I wasn’t a man easily shocked. However, as I took in the familiar thick dark hair, blue eyes, and painted-on scowl, I cocked an eyebrow.
“Cristiano Vergara.”
A name I certainly didn’t expect to speak today—or any day for that matter. The last time I saw Ronan Kelly’s bastard grandson, he sat tucked away in the corner of a hospital waiting room in Guadalajara, avoiding eye contact as well as Brody’s right hook.
He was, after all, partially responsible for my sister being there in the first place.
Even though both the bride and groom had forgiven him, I wasn’t so generous. My forgiveness came in the form of allowing him to live. That was where my benevolence ended. However, Adriana had an incessant need to fix people, and her ex-fiancé had been her pet project.
While Brody worked the New York deal, I’d put her in charge of creating an alliance with Ronan Kelly and the Chicago Northside Sinners. I wanted access to that port almost as much as New York. But Adriana wasn’t satisfied with that. My once-heartless sister wanted to mend fences between Vergara and the grandfather who wouldn’t give a fuck if I cut off his dick, stitched it to the top of his head, and gave him to Stella as a pet unicorn.
Needless to say, there was no love lost between them.
Or between us.
“Carrera.” Those Irish blue eyes narrowed at me as he crossed my office, taking a seat in front of my desk without an invitation. In response, Brody leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and fire in his eyes.
I slid an irritated look at Mateo who closed the door with more force than necessary, taking a seat beside our guest, his hands clenched around the armrests.
“Bienvenidos, gentlemen. Welcome.” I turned toward Cristiano. “Mateo tells me you have information I might be interested in hearing.” An understatement, but it was a mistake to seem overeager.
A sarcastic chuckle drew my attention toward the wall. “This ought to be good.”
I landed a sharp glare at Brody who scowled back. The man had a temper, but he also knew his role, and wisely chose to shut his mouth.
Ignoring him, Cristiano tilted his chin, keeping his eyes focused on me. “Is Dante Santiago here yet?”
“What makes you think I’d invite that Colombian asshole to my sister’s wedding?”
The fucker actually rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t like me, Carrera, but I’d appreciate you not insulting my intelligence while I’m sitting right here.” Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward with a hard stare. “I know about the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“You want to keep your cards close? I get it. But, here’s the thing; you don’t have a lot of time and neither do I. So instead of doing this back and forth shit, I’m going to be up front. If you let my grandfather sit in on this meeting with you and Santiago, you’re going to blow the entire operation.”
Fuck. I had no intention of verifying anything he said, but he sure as hell had my interest. Letting a few more beats of silence pass, I picked my glass up and took a drink. “What do you want, Vergara?”
“From you?” He let out a sardonic laugh. “Not a goddamn thing. You and Santiago could blow each other to the moon, for all I care. It’s not my problem. But you’ve turned Adriana’s wedding into ground-fucking-zero, and that is my problem. People are going to get hurt.”
I’d had enough of this shit. “What do you know about Ronan?”
“Do you think it’s a coincidence Adriana hasn’t made any gains with him in opening up Chicago?” I didn’t say anything. Which didn’t matter because the asshole barely took a breath before answering his own question. “My grandfather despises cartels.” A smirk played on his lips as he gestured to the tan skin on his exposed forearm. “Obviously, racism in Chicago’s underground is alive and well.”
No surprise there. Ronan Kelly was a misogynistic, racist pig. It didn’t matter that his own blood ran through Vergara’s veins. As long as it was tainted with Latino blood, it might as well be poison.
Still, it had nothing to do with Dante Santiago or our meeting.
“Is there a point in all this? If not, I have somewhere to be.”
“There’s a sex trafficking ring running through Mexico, right? Straight through your jurisdiction.”
I almost choked on my drink. “What do you know about that?”
“Come on, Val, think about it,” he taunted, flashing a cocky smile. “My father may have seized control of the Muñoz Cartel for a short time, but it wasn’t a fruitless reign. Remember, he also traveled back and forth to Chicago pretending to be Carlos Cabello, Ronan’s Colombian supplier.” His smile widened as he swung his attention toward the seething man against the wall. “And also Brody’s, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Asshole.” Brody fisted his hands, his face turning a shade of red I hadn’t seen in nearly two years.
Vergara continued, ignoring both of us. “He set up a lot of underground operations in Guadalajara. He may be dead, but it doesn’t mean his endeavors died with him.”
“Are you saying Ronan is funding a faction of an old Muñoz trafficking ring?”
“No. I’m saying Ronan is the trafficking ring. What’s that old saying? You can cut off the head of the snake, but another one will grow in its place. Use your ears instead of your eyes, and you’ll hear the rattle in your own courtyard.”