Chapter 3
Marcel
I can't believe I came all the way to New York to meet with Stefan Dalca. In all honesty, this is far for him too. His territory is south of the border. He lives outside of Rio, so why he has called me all the way here, I don’t know, unless it has to do with Ion and Mariana. But as I go into the seedy joint in the Bronx that has me checking for my Glock in the middle of the day, I somehow doubt it. It’s a converted old saloon that is now clearly the hang out of the bums and low lives of the eastern United States, the place where people get drunk during the day to forget that they sleep on a piece of cardboard at night or had to watch someone get shot up on the streets.
The only reason I even agreed to such a meeting was because he said he had pertinent information that was life or death for someone close to me. He wouldn’t say any more.
Stefan has always had a flare for the dramatics, so I am not surprised at how he decided to tell me, but this better be damn good.
He is easy to spot. The cocky ass is the only one in here smoking a Cuban cigar and wearing a bright white designer suit. How he thinks he can be safe in a place like this, I have no idea. But knowing him, maybe he is looking for a fight just for the adrenaline of it all.
I order a beer, something not on tap. I don’t want to risk the contamination since this place smells like a sewer. Then, I slam it down onto the table in the corner where I find Stefan smirking.
"You know you stick out like a sore thumb, right?" I ask him, and he just laughs at me. Not a surprising reaction at all. "So, what the hell is this meeting about, and why did it need to happen in New York?" I ask him, hoping at least this will get me a straight answer.
"Well, New York is because once I tell you this, you would have come here anyway. The person this is about happens to be in town."
I roll my eyes at his cryptic words as he sips on a dirty martini that I hope is purposely dirty. "And who is that?"
He shakes his head. "First, a confession. You know my lovely wife?"
Everyone knows his wife. She is the daughter of an oil mogul, and not at all the woman he was supposed to marry. He was actually engaged to Isabella, at least on paper. I have also heard she is quite the feisty one and wasn't gained by normal means either.
"I knew who she was and arranged the whole thing. I had a friend of mine capture her and put her on one of his ships—a ship meant for selling sex slaves and the like south of the border. I was always going to be the one who bought her and saved her from a life with some sexual deviant or abuser. She eventually found out the whole scheme, though. The problem is, she was touched. I told them she wasn’t to be touched in any way or harmed, so my friend became a dead one. What I didn’t know was his whole operation was sanctioned by some of his friends and colleagues; the Falcones."
"Shit, so now you have the Falcones after you? And that’s why you’re in New York? No fucking offense, but I really don’t want to fuck with them, and you're not exactly on my list of top priorities," I tell him, unsure what the hell any of this has to do with me.
"None taken. This is only partially about me. You see, both the CIA and the FBI have been involved with trying to take this man and his criminal network down. He fucks with terrorists. He is about as bad as it gets, and his grown up sons are just as bad. I want them dead and gone or locked up where they can’t fuck with me and mine, Marcel," he seethes, downing the rest of his drink and busting the glass by accident as he slams it down.
"Can you get to the point, Dalca?"
"I guess you haven’t heard the rumors yet, but my informant on the inside tells me that little Miss Isabella Zugra is the one they have put on the case to take down the Falcones."
"No, that doesn’t even make any sense." I slam my fist down, knowing I’m making a scene. Dalca glares at me, and I settle back in my seat, trying to wrap my head around how it’s even possible.
"Believe it. I have confirmed it face-to-face.She is here in New York right now. The FBI passed her onto the CIA for training after they picked her up for some indiscretions."
I put my head in my hands, unable to imagine Isabella being involved in such a thing. Training for combat, hunting down a crime family and going undercover. I barely saw her as a member of the Clans at all.
"Look, if you don’t believe me, go ask her yourself. I need you to handle her because I’m sure she will fuck this up, Marcel. If she does, you'll never get a chance to take her virginity."
I glare at him and his big mouth. I pull out my phone and dial her number before I even make it out of the bar, not looking back to see what I am sure is a smug look on his damn face.
"Hello, Marcel? What’s wrong?"
"You and I need to talk."
"About what? Is something wrong with Aria?"
I hadn’t thought about the fact she might think that. "No." An idea comes to me. No way is she going to talk to me about this over the phone if it’s true. I need to see her in person, just like Stefan assumed. I hate when an ass like that is right. "It's serious, though. I am actually in New York. If I give you an address, can you meet me there in a few hours?"
"Sure, I can do that." She sounded hesitant, knowing she was about to reveal that she was in New York to me, but she has no reason to suspect that I know why she is here.
"I'll text you." I hang up, feeling a migraine coming on. This is going to be one hell of a night.