Chapter 6
G enevieve
“This is risky,” Emiliano said from beside me.
“Almost everything worth doing in life is,” I answered. I was a nervous wreck.
“He’s an MMA fighter who owns a club. They eliminate some enemies with underground fights.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He knew I had some martial arts training, but many MMA fighters followed no rules. Still, it was noteworthy.
The afternoon couldn’t have gone any more slowly.
I’d tried to weed through several files of corporate information and what few actual contracts were in place.
While Papa had never chosen to call his business a Sociedad Anónima , a public limited company, I’d been at a loss as to just how many of his lucrative operations were handled under the table.
At least my father had been an avid bookkeeper, even using traditional accounting software. That didn’t make determining the players any easier.
What I’d been shocked to see was that I’d been mostly wrong about his method of operations after my mother’s death.
He’d continued making tremendous headway in overthrowing smaller powers, hiding his income and downplaying his activities.
That had made his empire more powerful than anyone realized, including his own daughter.
Why did I continue to have the feeling he’d been well aware he was teetering on a dangerous precipice, his death even imminent?
Everything was still muddled, something I couldn’t stand.
Besides, the grief had come in waves, the agony leaving me with difficulty focusing. I’d finally given it up a little after noon, also forgoing any food. Now my stomach churned.
What I had been successful in learning was how much my father had estimated the business to be worth, how much was in his at least six different bank accounts and even about stocks he’d purchased over two decades before.
Now they were worth millions. While I wasn’t certain how to estimate the product that was obviously sitting in secure warehouses, I did remember some of what my father had told me years before.
At least I had a decent figure in mind in case Jago was brazen enough to offer me a buyout.
I noticed Antonio turned his head slightly. The soldier was paying attention to every word said. He was riding shotgun, a soldier I’d barely been introduced to tasked as the driver. Evidently, the young man my father had assigned to me hadn’t been good enough.
Everything by protocol. I’d need to figure out the pecking order somehow.
We were in a very expensive Cadillac Escalade equipped with bulletproof glass and composite armor for the body panels. My father had even bragged all his vehicles came with Kevlar or ballistic nylon tires.
With the highest performance engine possible, the huge SUV could outrun a significant number of vehicles on the road today. That didn’t mean we were totally safe.
Two other SUVs flanked us, yet they’d be forced to hang back once we reached the secure gates leading to the Torres estate. I’d read as much as I could on the organization, but as with any crime syndicate, what little that had been noted had been done with limited or unreliable information.
No one within any syndicate was foolish enough to allow their structural organization or how business was handled to be documented.
My thoughts drifted to the 60 Minutes story and interview I’d watched on one of the Mexican Cartels.
They’d all been wearing masks, fearful of being placed on the international most wanted list. I’d laughed at their secrecy, but in a few short hours understood the need.
“You need to be very careful, Madame Morales,” Antonio offered. “Jago Torres is a savage hiding behind sophisticated attire. He’ll cut out your heart before you feel any pain.”
“So I’ve heard. However, I would say you underestimate me, Antonio.
Men only make that mistake once.” I’d learned how to bluff with the best of them from a favorite law professor.
I could show no fear or any mercy easily, yet I doubted that would work with a man considered la parca o el carnicero sangriento . The grim reaper or the bloody butcher.
I shuddered from the thought of meeting him, let alone spending any time with him.
The driver glanced into the rearview mirror.
“Don’t challenge him, Madame Morales. He is an angry man.”
Antonio’s warning was duly noted, but I hadn’t agreed to meet with the notorious leader to act like a helpless female. I’d come to ensure Jago Torres knew my father’s business wasn’t for sale and certainly wouldn’t be taken.
I’d die preventing that from happening.
At least Antonio had been right about the overtures, yet Jago’s had been the only one I’d consider professional. At least two other organizations had already circled several of my father’s shipments like vultures.
I wouldn’t be able to grieve for long.
“And I am one pissed-off woman, Antonio. As any man who’s faced me in court will tell you, it’s not a pleasant experience when I’m angry.” I’d been allowed to second chair a few trials, a couple of them juicy, but I’d never handled a case on my own.
That wasn’t something anyone within the organization or anywhere else needed to discover.
Fake it to make it.
No one dared say anything else and as the minutes ticked by, I thought about how I wanted to handle the meeting. I hated that my palms were already sweaty. In attempting to act as if I could handle dealing with Torres with ease, I’d made myself nauseously anxious.
At least I had on my signature red, a power color.
That was something else my professor had recommended.
Stand out. Never hide behind a man, especially those with gray hair.
I’d laughed, but now I understood why. With my four-inch heels, I could easily see eye to eye with a man over six feet.
I’d thought about wearing shit-kicker boots, as a New York friend of mine had called them, but I wasn’t ready to present my hand just yet.
Let the fucker think I wasn’t strong enough to fight him.
I bit my lower lip as the driver began to slow.
Watching the other two vehicles being forced to remain on the side of the road gave me heart palpitations.
This could be the first of many life-or-death performances.
An eight-foot stone wall flanked the opening, which I was certain enclosed the entire property.
The gate was opened, but a guard stepped from an all-brick building, sticking his head inside and shining a flashlight.
I refused to blink when he settled the beam directly on my face. The bitch inside even managed a smile.
He allowed us to go through after running a wand under the car. The guard was checking for bombs.
The house was massive, modern looking with white stone or brick and oversized glass windows.
Whereas my father’s estate had been built in the late nineteen-forties, the property nestled in several acres of trees, the Torres property was situated on a secluded hill.
My guess was the entire city of Barcelona was highlighted through windows in the rear of the property.
Lights were easily seen through the blind-less glass, which I had no doubt was also bulletproof. Safety had to remain of utmost concern. Random attacks used to occur with frequency. That much I did remember.
“You’ll be fine, Genevieve,” Emiliano said just before he climbed from the vehicle. I waited, taking my place as the new lady of the manor until my commander opened my door. He even offered his hand, guiding me onto the aggregate driveway.
We both knew we were being watched, our actions and reactions noted. It’s what any good attorney would do. Antonio followed behind us while the driver would remain with our vehicle for security reasons.
Before we even made it to the house, we were stopped by two hulking men who looked very uncomfortable in the suits they were wearing.
“No weapons,” one of them stated.
Emiliano growled, acting as if he wasn’t going to comply.
“It’s okay. Do as they say. We are guests.” I tried to keep my tone light. For now.
My commander wasn’t quick to comply, but did as requested, Antonio following.
“Arms out,” the second hulking mass stated.
I tipped my head toward Emiliano first as a silent command.
He was cursing under his breath, but did as he was told, the bastard taking his sweet time patting my man down. I almost blurted out that I thought the guy liked it a bit too much but managed to keep my mouth shut.
When they were finished with my men, I unbuttoned my suit jacket, allowing them to see the interior pockets. “Would you like to frisk me as well, boys?”
Antonio coughed.
The two thugs looked at each other. Finally, one just opened the door, allowing us inside.
I held back a laugh, but not a smile. We were greeted by two more gigantic men who led us from the entrance foyer into the house.
I wasn’t impressed easily, especially when it came to interior design, but I was captivated with the furnishing and the layout of the sleek home. Surprisingly, a wide-open floor plan had been used, offering stunning views of the city from every room while offering little privacy.
From what I could see through the glass panels leading into one room, a party was about to be held. Perhaps Jago believed I would cave that easily. What an asshole.
After making a turn down a hallway, I noticed more traditional walls and a door leading to another room. The men stopped in front of it, knocking once.
“Come in.” The voice was deep, husky, and full of authority.
A soldier opened the door, ushering me inside, but stopping my two men.
“We stay with her,” Antonio stated.
I glanced into the room, noticing Mr. Torres had his back turned to us. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers and was staring out glass doors onto what appeared to be a gorgeous well-lit patio full of tropical greenery. I could also see a pool off to the side.
“Is he unarmed as well?” I asked.
“I assure you that there are to be no weapons inside my home on this night.”