Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pablo
I hate leaving Flora immediately after arriving at my parents’ house, but there’s little choice.
I need to make it to the rendezvous the Boston Mexicans were going to have with this nameless man.
I’m certain she’s safe with Mamá. The woman lives and breathes protectiveness for her children—even when she couldn’t protect them from themselves.
She always has, and I know she considers Flora her daughter already.
She hasn’t said as much to my girlfriend, but she’s told me.
I want this meeting over as fast as possible.
We barely arrive in time since we had to take Flora all the way to Jersey before turning around and coming back to Yonkers.
My cousins didn’t even hint at sending Flora with any of them or our men.
They knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d let anyone else oversee her movements until we got to my parents’ house.
They don’t live in a gated property or community like my tíos and tías.
My father’s reputation is enough to keep most people away.
Also, the fact they’re in Jersey while all the other syndicate families live in parts of New York City helps too. Some would say the remoteness of their home and Tío Enrique and Tía Elle’s would make them easier targets, but it hasn’t.
“Alejandro, you follow me in but hang back. Tres J’s, take men and go around the back. See if you can find a way in.”
I hate arriving somewhere without time to scout, but it’s tight.
We noticed an SUV similar to ours at the house we raided, so whoever’s waiting for the Iglesias men won’t question the black SUV pulling up in front.
Alejandro and I drop Tres J’s off half a block away.
Alejandro takes over driving, so my attention’s fully on the building we approach.
We don’t have our guns drawn as we walk inside, but they’re ever at the ready.
He and I have a knife in each hand ready for us to flick open the moment we need them.
“Puta de madre.”
I mutter it at the same time Alejandro does.
We recognize the man standing in the center of the warehouse.
Light shines in from the bay door that’s open behind him.
There are men hanging out back there. The guy waiting for the Iglesias men is a mercenary my family’s used many times.
After Robert Simms died a few years ago, Mason Harrison filled the void.
Simms had been the world’s top mercenary for decades. He ran an intricate network of men and women who hired themselves out. Like Simms, this man has loyalty only to himself. One day he’s your ally. The next day he’s your enemy. It all depends on who’s paying him.
That’s what I need to find out.
“Mason, you weren’t expecting me, were you?”
“No, you’re certainly taller than the person I’m supposed to meet.”
“Who ordered you to take Senorita Bautista?”
“Oh, Bautista is it now? I could’ve sworn she was only going by her father’s name while she was in Colombia.”
“No, that may be what people called her, but her name has always been Bautista. Who hired you?”
I refuse to get into an argument over semantics—especially since I was guilty of thinking of her as only an Aguilar.
I want everyone to understand her ties to her father’s family are over.
If Mason survives this—that’s a huge if—then he can tell everyone else that Ernesto no longer controls her and doesn’t dictate shit about her life.
Until she becomes a Diaz, she can be just a Bautista.
“If you were going to kill me, Pablo, I’d already be dead, so what do you want?”
“Your death is yet to be determined. I can make that happen if you’re asking.”
“You won’t kill me until you know who hired me.”
“Then you can decide between receiving an even larger payment or your death. Which do you want it to be?”
“There’s no way you’re carrying enough money in your pockets to pay me more than the person who hired me. If I have to, I’ll take my secrets to the grave.”
“Dead men don’t earn money. I know that’s the most important thing to you. You always wanted to prove you were better than Simms by earning more. You’re not a man with integrity, so why pretend?”
I watch his reaction for a moment, but how he’s positioned also allows me to see outside to the back loading dock without shifting my gaze.
Tres J’s creep forward and take out one mercenary after another.
The silencers on their weapons do the job they’re supposed to.
In an enclosed space, the silencers muffle the sound, but don’t eradicate it.
However, with little for the sound waves to reverberate off when you’re outside, they truly are irreplaceable in our line of work.
Alejandro pulls his gun at the same time Tres J’s enters the warehouse.
I don’t reach for mine. Instead, I’m in a standoff with Mason.
He barely flinches as my cousins kill the men here who work for him and might have even been his guards against the Mexicans.
It only takes a couple minutes, then it’s the five of us surrounding him.
“Decide now. Speak or you can die by firing squad.”
“After you torture me, of course.”
“You decide how it’s going to be. You could live to work for us again and agree to never accept another job against my family, or I can torture you until you beg for the relief death brings. You choose.”
“I know I’m not walking out of here alive. You offer me that compromise, but I’m certain you won’t follow through.”
“You don’t believe I’ll allow you to live, but you believe I’ll torture you. Do you want to have this over quickly, or will we be here all night?”
He shifts his weight as he twists to look behind him, spotting Tres J’s for the first time. I prowl forward as though I don’t have a care in the world. He and I both know I control the situation. It makes me wonder why this was so easy.
He’s a confident man, but not so egotistical as to believe he’s untouchable. He must have had some assurances from the Boston Mexicans that everything was going smoothly. Maybe that’s why no one here was as on guard as they should’ve been.
“Who hired you?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “I can’t give you an exact answer because I don’t know which one it was, but I’d look at Enrique’s oldest rival.”
I wonder if he means oldest by age or most long-standing enemy. It could be any number of people. I flick open my knife and raise it up to his Adam’s apple.
“That’s not enough information. How much were you paid?”
“A million.”
“What were you supposed to do after you got Senorita Bautista?”
“I was to hold on to her here indefinitely.”
“Indefinitely?”
“The person who hired me said they’d get her when they were ready.”
I glance over at Joaquin, and he nods. Since he’s standing behind Mason, he backs away silently. He’ll check out the rest of the warehouse. The only way this man would stay here indefinitely is if he had his creature comforts. It makes me think this might actually be his home.
“How were you to get paid?”
“I already got half upfront with a cash drop here. When my employer comes, I’m to receive the second half.”
“And you were willing to just wait around, possibly for days, until someone showed up? Did you intend to keep Senorita Bautista tied to a chair the whole time?”
Something flickers in his gaze. He didn’t pass the test. He planned to do far worse to Flora. When Alejandro sees what I do, he rushes forward. He grabs the man’s head, one hand on his forehead and the other under his chin. He snaps Mason’s head back, and I draw my knife across his throat.
Jorge and Javier turn surprised expressions at me. It’s Alejandro who responds.
“He was going to rape Florencia while he made her wait.”
Tres J’s aren’t triplets, but they may as well be since they’re so close in age.
They’re the same height and practically carbon copies of each other.
So, I’m looking at matching shocked expressions before their gazes lower to the ground where Mason now lies, blood pooling around his head.
His eyes stare up to the ceiling as blood splutters from his mouth.
I kick him in the balls for no reason other than spite.
I know he’s feeling no pain since he’s seconds away from death.
I rarely indulge in such outbursts, but it makes me feel ever so slightly better after thinking about this man violating my chiquita.
Joaquin comes back into the main area and barely gives Mason a second glance.
It hardly surprises my cousin to find the man dead on the floor.
“He’s definitely been living here. It’s completely decked out as a home upstairs. Full kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom. All of it.”
“Then we need our cleaners to go through the entire place.”
One team is already at the house in Yonkers.
They’ll fix everything and scrub it down.
They’ll leave it cleaner than it was as a new construction.
There’ll be no hints of the showdown at the OK Corral.
Another team will come here to handle the bodies and remove any evidence we were here.
They’ll also remove any evidence that Mason lived here.
Javier’s already on his phone texting the team as my cousins and I climb into the SUV and head back toward Jersey. I think out loud as I consider the little we learned from Mason.
“I ended things because I knew he wouldn’t give up anything else.
We’d never trust him to do another job for us, and we couldn’t forgive him for targeting us.
He said to consider Tío’s oldest rival. I think he means Salvatore.
Both Salvatore and Tío Enrique have led their syndicates since they were in their twenties, so about thirty years.
It’s not just Salvatore’s age. It’s about those years spent vying for the top position in New York. ”
The Irish and Russians have had their moments. However, before Maks and Dillan rose to their positions, their leadership over the last couple of decades was too weak to truly rival the stability Tío Enrique and Salvatore provide their branches.
Alejandro turns toward me from the front passenger seat. “What do you want to do? Do you want Tío to address Salvatore or are you going to ask Tío if you can lead?”
“I believe he’ll ultimately let me decide since Flora and I are together, but if he doesn’t allow me to go after Salvatore—if it’s him—then there’ll be problems.”
Javier claps his hand on my shoulder from behind.
“There won’t be. He won’t put you in a position where you must defy him because he understands what Florencia means to you.
It’s the same as what Maddy means to me and what Tía Elle means to him.
It’s the same as what’s between Tío Matáis and Tía Catalina and between your parents.
It’s the same as when Papá was alive. He’ll always defer to us. ”
It’s Jorge who speaks next from the driver’s seat. “But I’d listen to any suggestions he has. As well as we know Salvatore, we don’t know even a fraction of what he’s capable of compared to Tío Enrique’s firsthand knowledge. They’ve been enemies and friends over the decades. Take Tío’s advice.”
“You know I will, but before we can decide anything, we need to know more.”
Joaquin places his hand on my other shoulder and pats it as he speaks. “I’ll start looking up information as soon as we get to your parents’ house.”
Joaquin has one of his computers with him.
He’s rarely without one in reach in case there are moments like this where he must do research, so we can make educated decisions before we act.
We’re a few miles from my parents’ house when Alejandro lets us know Tía Elle, Tía Catalina, and Tía Luciana are already there with Mamá and Flora.
We’re almost to my parents’ neighborhood when my phone rings.
I recognize my father’s number. I answer and put it on speaker.
“Papá, I’m here with Alejandro and Tres J’s. We’re almost at your house.”
“Good. Both of your tíos are on the line as well.”
This must be serious if Tío Matáis has joined the call. Papá’s in Peru right now, so it makes me wonder why he’s the one calling. I’m usually happy to hear from him, but it gives me a sinking feeling. It’s Tío Enrique who speaks up.
“What have you learned so far? Florencia told your mamá you had some meeting to go to with a man she spoke to on the phone, but she knew nothing more than that.”
“It was Mason Harrison. He said we should look at your oldest rival. We suspect he means Salvatore.”
The three men on the other ends of the call release a slew of curses in Spanish. There’re so many that come out so fast I can’t tell who says what. When they finally stop, it’s Papá who speaks up.
“That tracks with what I just learned. Apparently, some gringo’s been down here poking around.”
We knew something was up in Lima, but we didn’t know what. My father went down to visit some associates who clued in Tío Enrique that someone outside of Latin America’s been sniffing around.
“What did you find out, Papá?”
“The locals say this man is as handsome as Cortés supposedly was, except rather than golden hair, he has brown. He doesn’t speak Spanish, but he practically looks like he could be Latino. Apparently, he was there to set up labs in the Andes.”
Papá’s referring to the debunked legend. The one about how Montezuma and the Mexica—the Aztecs—thought Hernán Cortés was Quetzalcoatl. He was the ancient serpent god known for his striking good looks and golden blond hair. Apparently, the Conquistador resembled the mythical god.
“He told one of our rivals he has something no one else does. I assume that’s Florencia’s formula. At least this man acted as though he already had it.”
I’m silently fuming as I listen to Papá. I know which motherfucker it is. Handsome, like, a god. That’s what he believes he is.
Motherfucking Lorenzo Mancinelli.