“Damn right we do.” Costa scrubbed a hand over his face and pulled at his long chin. “What are you thinking?”
Why was he looking to Cristiano for guidance? How easily they fell into old patterns. After our parents’ murder, Costa Cruz had set us up at the ranch house on his compound, far enough away that gunfire wouldn’t draw attention, but close enough that the main house was only a short drive. At the ranch, Cristiano had been fed choice food, armed with the finest “toys,” and boarded in a private room while I’d shared everything with the others adopted by the cartel.
Costa and Bianca Cruz had favored Cristiano up until her untimely death. But now, I was the one who ate at Costa’s dinner table many nights. I had over a decade on my brother of unwavering loyalty to Costa. Of standing by his side to build a business with limitless potential—and profits. And of being there for Natalia whenever she needed me.
Failing the Maldonados could take all of that from me. And if my instinct was right—Cristiano knew it.
“I can still salvage the shipment,” I interjected. I couldn’t dwell on what was gone. I needed to protect what remained. “We won’t exceed the Maldonados’ expectations as I’d hoped, but we’ll still be within the percentage we promised.”
Costa raised his cigar to a comrade across the restaurant. A signal that we had things under control.
But over the past two days, we’d lost more than just control.
“How close?” Costa asked.
“Some of the drop was made.” I looked to the ceiling to subtract what we’d potentially lost and the containers that had made it. “If we move everything left, we’re likely still within a percent or two of what we guaranteed the Maldonados would make it across the border.”
“So you need a ninety-nine percent success rate for what’s left.” Costa set his jaw. “Not one seizure at the border. It can’t be done.”
“It can if I move slowly, carefully, and strategically,” I said.
“You’ve run out of time for that,” my brother said. “You’re being targeted, and you need everything in the States immediately.”
Cristiano had to comprehend the scope of that operation, even for a company in supply chain management. To mitigate risk, product was stored all over town, then moved in small batches across the border, mostly by individual vehicles. “I can’t just send it across all at once,” I said.
“And what if another stash house falls tonight? Tomorrow?” Cristiano asked. “You’d be a dead man walking. You, and everyone associated with you. Including Costa.”
I pulled at my collar feeling suddenly parched. The situation was dire, yes, but Cristiano was just trying to rattle me. “That won’t happen,” I said after gulping some water. “I’ve called in all our security and alerted them to the gravity of the problem. It’s all under guard.”
“By men who have inside information about where everything is kept,” Cristiano pointed out.
“You have inside information,” I shot back at my brother. “And you were the last to show up around here. So how the hell do I know you’re not behind this?”
“Tranquilo, Diego,” Costa warned. “Calm down.”
Cristiano took a slow sip of his mezcal, watching me over the rim. The Cristiano I’d known had never touched alcohol and wouldn’t have cared enough to distinguish top-shelf tequila from sludge. Then again, I’d never seen him in a suit until his return, either, and definitely nothing near the fine, custom-made ensemble he currently wore. What was the point of a gangster like him in a bespoke suit that’d surely be ruined by the blood of his enemies? He could show off all he wanted, but while some of us did what was necessary to get by, Cristiano thrived on being a natural killer.
“I’ve spent the past decade trying to get back in Costa’s good graces,” Cristiano reasoned. “Why would I immediately turn around and jeopardize that?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” I said.
The corner of Cristiano’s mouth ticked. “There’s no ruse. I can tell you the truth of it. It’s that I’ve missed this—strategizing under fire. Enjoying a meal with the great minds at this table. Spending time with mi familia.” He said family with an edge that Costa seemed to miss. That, or he didn’t want to see it. Cristiano looked between both of us. “It has been too long.”
“It has,” Costa agreed.
I bit my tongue. What Cristiano missed wasn’t family—he’d given that up long ago. It was the prestige and power he could gain by partnering with Costa.
Prestige and power I would earn by pulling off this deal.
“Your brother is right,” Costa said. “You need to get every last kilo over the border as quickly as possible.”
That was easy for Costa to say. He had nothing but constraints to contribute to the process. He was asking for complete accuracy on an impossible schedule. It wasn’t as if he’d be down in the trenches with us. “Even with a full crew, I don’t have the manpower,” I said.