Chapter Twelve
“This is the second major shipment lost to the Americans this month.” Diego Lopez Becerra— El Víbora —glared at his son through a sixty-five-inch monitor in the secure room of Vincente’s Miami Beach nightclub, Club Turquesa.
The other monitors in the room displayed real-time feeds from the security cameras throughout the club.
“ Papi , the DEA and Homeland Security are cracking down.” Vincente kept his voice level. In the background, the main dance floor’s thumping bass pulsed, although the pale gray acoustic panels lining the walls kept most of the club noise out.
He sat at the long oval table of smoked glass and brushed steel. “Border crossings are up. Precursor chemical shipments from China are under scrutiny. They’re sending a message.”
“Where are your informants? What are they doing besides collecting large sums of money from us?”
Pain stabbed behind Vincente’s eye. “Tío Ramón killed one of my informants, remember?” He massaged the burn in his chest and leaned back into his sculpted white leather chair. If he’d known he’d be dealing with his father tonight, he’d have skipped the heavy meal and the whiskey.
“Maybe my brother did what you should have, no?” Diego’s silver-threaded black hair glinted in the Baja California sun as he reclined on a chaise in nothing but a Speedo. “Maybe you should spend less time partying and more time running our business.”
Vincente bit back a retort, waiting until the scantily clad woman—his father’s latest mistress—handed him a tequila cocktail and retreated from view. “Tío Ramón overstepped. He interfered in my territory. I’ve grown this product line by over sixty percent in the US. Sixty percent !”
His uncle never missed a chance to undermine him. His father might be the Viper, but the real snake in the family was Ramón.
Diego waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. With your fancy degree. But sometimes, a man must get his hands dirty.”
“I have,” Vincente ground out. “Or have you forgotten what I had to do a few months ago.”
It had cost him Abigail.
No. Not Abigail. Gianna. His lover hadn’t been who he thought she was, either.
Gianna Barone. He liked the sound of the unfamiliar name on his tongue.
After the sighting in Gallup, Juan’s private investigator finally unearthed some interesting information about the woman Vincente had known as Abigail Winters. She’d taken a job on an Indian reservation under a different name—her real name, as it turned out.
No fancy pedigree. Just the daughter of a mafioso.
And she’d turned her back on her family.
His Gianna liked pretty things. Hadn’t he treated her like a princess? Given what he knew of her background now, she should have understood his world. He’d trusted her enough to show her a glimpse of his reality—and she’d run.
At least she hadn’t gone to the police. It was the only reason she still breathed .
“Ramón tells me your woman was spotted in Gallup.” Diego’s words rang with an almost sadistic glee. “Have you dealt with her yet?”
Damn Tío Ramón and his spies .
“She hasn’t gone to the police, Papi . I know where she is. I’m handling it.”
“Hmm, like you’re handling your new distributor?” Diego’s tone sharpened. “I hear the Aztec Kings are talking to Los Coyotes. They want our territory.”
Vincente kept his face blank, but not before a flicker of triumph in his father’s eyes told him he hadn’t hidden his surprise quickly enough. Juan had informed him only yesterday of a rumored meeting between the Kings and a middleman for Los Coyotes.
“Maybe it’s time you visit the Southwest.” Diego’s voice hardened. “Take care of both problems personally, hijo. Or I’ll let Ramón handle them for you.”
The screen went black.
Vincente exhaled heavily. Sparring with his father had only gotten worse since Gianna’s disappearance.
Rising from his chair, he crossed to the glass-and-steel bar console, stocked with fine liquors and imported Cuban cigars, all tucked beneath a climate-controlled humidor.
From the crystal decanter on the bar tray, he poured two fingers of whiskey.
Amber liquid caught the light as it sloshed against the sides, the glass cool and heavy in his hand. The tremble in his fingers was a small betrayal he couldn’t afford. Not with Juan watching.
“Your father enjoys meddling in my business.”
Juan stepped away from the wall, arms folded. “As he meddled in mine. Let my Carlita die in a raid just to prove I wasn’t ready for more responsibility. ”
“Which is why you came to me.” Vincente downed his whiskey in one swallow, the harsh burn spreading to his chest. “Someone in our crew reports to Ramón. Find our spy and deal with them.”
He locked eyes with his cousin and closest confidant. “Your father and I will come to blows eventually. You know this.”
“You promised me a future. Loyalty.” Juan’s hand swiped across his mouth. “My father gave me neither.”
“Good.” Vincente slapped his cousin’s back. “Let’s go home.”
But Juan moved to block the door, one hand braced against the frame. “My father’s not known for his patience. He’s positioning himself. If he convinces El Víbora you’ve lost control—”
“I haven’t,” Vincente snapped. The burn in his chest intensified.
Instead of responding, Juan shrugged. “Then do as your father suggested. Visit the Aztec Kings. Show him you’re still in control.”
Heat flared at the tips of Vincente’s ears. “You think I look weak.”
“No, primo.” Juan gripped his shoulder. “My father is trying to make you look weak and you must not let him. Handle the Aztec Kings. Retrieve Abigail yourself.”
“Not Abigail—Gianna,” Vincente corrected. “Any news?”
Juan hesitated.
Vincente stilled. “What is it?”
“The man who interfered the other night? He tracked Matteo and Emilio to their hotel. Was waiting for them. He had a message for you. Leave the woman alone, or deal with me .”
Vincente blinked, then gave a sharp laugh. “Who is this man who threatens me?”
A dark, possessive emotion coiled inside his chest. Was Gianna fucking him?
She’d regret it if she was. No one touched what was his.
“He’s either very brave or very foolish. ”
Juan shrugged. “His name is Caleb Varella. His father worked for Espina Negra before he was killed. Matteo kept in touch with the wife. Kept her quiet. Said she talked about her son—the Green Beret.”
Green Beret?
A soldier. Skilled. Maybe even for sale. If he was anything like his father, the answer was probably yes.
It also was possible this Green Beret had ties to Los Coyotes, and his involvement with Gianna was just a distraction—a cover for a deeper betrayal inside Espina Negra’s territory.
Vincente pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache loomed. “A dangerous man whose loyalties we don’t know is a threat.”
Juan gave a silent nod.
“Tell your men to deal with this Caleb Varella.” Vincente’s voice iced. “Permanently.”