My hands twitch with the desire to feel the cold comfort of my revolver. The one I’ve carried and used until I know it better than my own body, and every woman I’ve ever had in my bed. It’s tucked in my waistband, ready for any threat this city throws at me.
A distant wail of sirens has my pulse on high alert. I hate Bogotá during the daytime and always will. The memory of that horrific afternoon permanently lives in my head rent free. That’s why we’re meeting the Mexicans after midnight in a back street bar. Our ally, Morales, is now a pending enemy. His next move hinges on the outcome of this conversation.
“I hope these motherfuckers don’t waste my time.” My father stubs out a fat cigar in an empty glass as we pass through the noisy bar packed with twenty-somethings looking for a good time.
As we move deeper inside, the drinkers move out of our way like a changing tide. Every single one of them backs away. They all sense the ripples of power we exude.
A pretty woman with a nice set of tits slides closer, her red lips wrapping around a fat straw as she sucks. Hooded lids offer a snare of temptation and her curvy ass sways as she tries to tease.
She catches Papá’s eye, but it’s me she’s staring at. Unfortunately for her, I’m not in the mood to play. Tonight, I’m untouchable. This is a business trip and I have zero tolerance for distractions.
“You killed their top guy, Papá.” He’s a law unto himself and a liability. With power comes madness, and that madness has manifested into a permanent state of paranoia. Everyone’s a threat to him these days.
“The cocky cunt was in our home.” He bares his teeth at me, anger flaring the pupils in his steely gray eyes. It’s more his home than mine. I had never really warmed up to the place.
I fix my cufflinks and rotate the signet ring on my finger. “He was a guest.” I repeat for the millionth time in the past few weeks. “And now they’ve lost faith in us. We could lose the smuggling routes and start an unnecessary war. The last thing we need is Blanco taking advantage of the situation. I’m sure he’s heard about the shitshow by now.”
“All war is necessary. You’ll eventually learn that.” He shrugs. “I’ll blow their hairy assholes into the sky. That’ll teach the cunts not to mess with me. If Blanco wants to come for me again, I’ll hack his ugly head off.”
“No one came for you this time, Papá.”
He ignores me. “At least you finished off that angel-facedputa.” Ringed fingers dive through my father’s waxed hair to ensure the salt and pepper strands stay swept back. “Who knows what havoc she would have caused? I sent a few men to Rio to sort it out.”
Carina.
The gilded Pandora’s box.
My instincts had told me she was innocent. A misfortunate archangel thrown into the underworld without an escape route. Over the years, I’ve mastered intuitiveness. It’s my one true skill and curse.
What my father will never find out is how I spared her life. The weapon I pointed at her womanly physique had unleashed a killer bullet. Except my typical aim hits the bullseye every single time. Lucky for her, the slug only grazed her flesh rather than sinking into muscle and bone.
The truth is, Carina Ferreira temporarily fought off my demons with her pretty mouth and amber eyes. For that perplexing act alone, I owed her a debt. She’d offered me peace in the mayhem of harrowing flashbacks. And I saved her from dying young.
Now we’re even.
Colliding ships in a stormy ocean, never to cross paths again.
“Yeah,” I agree with a half-hearted shrug. “Let me talk this through with Morales. Okay?”
Papá stares at me for a split second. “Fine. Angelo wouldn’t take this shit, and he certainly wouldn’t tolerate a traitor. Don’t fuck it up.”
The hairs on my nape rise like hackles. “Angelo wouldn’t shoot before he understood the facts,” I bite out, enraged by his lack of faith in my ability and the fact I had known Angelo better than him.
I had promised my uncle I’d be the best. Every day following his death, I’ve paved the way for unlimited success and studied the business inside out. Made important allies and garnered respect. To hear my father’s doubt is like a flesh-eating disease gradually thinning my efforts. In his eyes, I’d never be as good as him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Papá waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “My brother would have hacked his head off for being a snake. He wouldn’t hesitate.”
And there it is. The big, fat, fucking white elephant in the room that haunts me. My entrenched trigger—paralyzed seconds where my mind betrays me. When it slithers into unavoidable darkness.
My one true flaw, the uncontrollable delay before an ultimate deadly rage strips my senses. It's a lapse of time where I’m vulnerable—frozen. That short-lived glitch makes me weak.
“The trouble is, you think everyone is a snake, Papá.” I deflect his backhanded criticism of my proficiency.
I haven’t lost my mind. It simply sucks me into a maelstrom and tosses me out, ready for war. At least I’m not like him. Papá would slaughter anyone who gave him a reason to doubt their loyalty—including his own bloodline.
We’re granted entry beyond a velvet curtain lined with chain mail. The weighty screen shields us from the regular drinkers. This is where business deals of all types take place.
“Gentlemen.” Morales crooks his fingers. The smile he offers in welcome is a lie. We all know it. He beckons us to join him at the oval table. “Take a seat, Tomás. Elias.”