“Soon, mi amor. I’ll be in touch.” As he exited the room, he answered the phone with, “Jojo? There’s been a theft.”
Despite his unusual behavior, my shoulders relaxed with a small degree of relief. Stolen goods didn’t sound like much to be concerned about when a phone call could mean anything from a kidnapping to a RICO charge to the death of a family member.
I put my shoes back on and sat to wait for a ride, feeling slightly comforted.
As far as bad news went, I would take a theft over the alternative any day.
9
Diego
Our waitress looked between my brother and me in the low light of a steak restaurant, trying to decide which one she liked better. It’d been a while since we’d been sized up that way. Women had started comparing Cristiano and me once I was old enough to get female attention.
“Brothers?” she asked, placing Cristiano’s mezcal on the table.
Don Costa sat back in his dining chair, reveling in the show. “What gave it away?” he asked her.
She twisted her red lips at Cristiano, her eyes glimmering. Apparently, she’d chosen him, not that I cared. With a long nose and features that didn’t quite register as feminine, she was no Natalia. “The height,” she answered. “Dark hair. Same smile. You look a lot alike, but there’s also something very different about you.”
“What do you suppose that is?” Costa asked Cristiano.
Who gave a shit? I checked my phone for news from Tepic. We’d been in constant contact with the increasingly dire events of the past couple days, but it’d been a few hours since I’d heard anything.
I prayed that was a good sign.
“One of you is lighter.” The waitress returned her eyes to me as she served my tequila. “Must be the eyes.”
“Or Diego’s soul isn’t as charred as mine,” Cristiano said with a half-smirk. “Yet.”
She laughed. “Enjoy. I’ll be back soon to take your orders.”
When she was gone, Costa looked me over. “You like her?” he asked me. “We can send a copter back for you tomorrow if you want to stay the night in the city.”
I bit my tongue to keep my temper in check. Anything to keep me from Natalia. I unfolded my napkin onto my lap. “No, thank you.”
“All right then.” Costa leaned his elbows on the table. All mirth drained from his features as he lowered his voice. “You have fucked us, Diego.”
We’d taken a helicopter all the way here, to an exclusive restaurant that topped the city’s tallest building, for him to say that. Two tables away, Mexico’s attorney general dined with his wife. At the bar sat a rep for one of Bolivia’s most pervasive cartels. Comandante Trujillo laughed with cronies across the room.
It was no accident that Costa, Cristiano, and I were showing our faces here tonight.
“Two stash houses were hit in two days,” Costa said. “Millions worth of product stolen. What do you have to say, Diego?”
No excuse would do. I hadn’t slept much and needed to return home to help prepare the next few deliveries, but instead, I was here, putting on a show. “It can only be explained as bad luck,” I said.
My brother picked up his drink. “Two direct hits less than forty-eight hours apart? Nothing to do with luck. You have a leak.”
“Unlikely.” A rat inside the walls would fall on my shoulders, and having a solid team I could trust was one of the things I prided myself on. “My men wouldn’t do that.”
“Until they would,” Cristiano said.
I looked to my brother. Over the last decade, I’d worked side by side with Costa to strategize and build a more advanced tunnel system, to secure long-term relationships with border agents, to arrange reliable shipping via land, air, and water in all corners of the Americas, and more. Cristiano hadn’t been there for any of it, so why was he here now?
“How much is gone?” Cristiano asked.
“We’re still within reach of what I promised the Maldonados,” I said, “but that means we have to be especially careful going forward. No hiccups at the border.”
“There are always hiccups at the border,” Costa said. “You know that better than anyone, Diego. When have you ever gotten every last kilo across? It can’t be done.”
Costa spoke with a smile for anyone who might be watching. Rumors were likely starting to circulate, and the first sign of trouble would only breed more of it. Our current clients would pull their cargo until they heard more. A broken link in our system would expose us to weakness. And most importantly—the Maldonados would start asking questions.
Questions they wouldn’t like the answers to.
We were here tonight to reassure those around us that we weren’t worried, and to crush any rumors that might start circulating about our business or our relationship with Cristiano.
“We have some leeway still,” I said, massaging my eyes as they burned from lack of sleep. “I just have to take extra precautions with the transport.”