Chapter Twenty
Vincente took a sip of tequila and let his free hand wander down the back of the girl bent over the teak executive desk in his office at Club Turquesa. She wore a hot pink sequined dress that barely covered her voluptuous ass—now hiked to her waist, her pink lace thong around her knees.
His phone rang.
He took another sip. Leisurely brushed aside her long brown hair, which had fallen over the cell phone resting on the desk. With the hundred-dollar bill plucked from his own wallet, he brushed away the faint dusting of white powder the girl had just snorted.
Whatever the call was, surely it could wait. He unzipped his trousers.
Glanced at the screen.
Ramón.
Fuck.
His appetite for pleasure gone, he zipped up his pants and slapped the girl on the ass. “I have business to attend to. Another time, querida .”
She gave him a pout from glossy pink lips—cosmetically enhanced—adjusted her panties and dress and slipped out to the dance floor.
The door opened again. Juan stepped in .
“Your father just tried to call me,” Vincente said, not looking up.
He stared at the screen a beat longer, then sighed and dialed his uncle’s number.
“Your men failed.”
No greeting. Just straight to gloating, the cabrón.
Vincente’s fingers tightened around the phone. He hit speaker so Juan could listen in.
“Why the continued interest in my affairs, Tío ? I’m sure you must have better things to do.”
Besides trying to make him look weak and incompetent in front of his father.
“I’m trying to look out for you, Sobrino . You’d be wise to take my counsel. Do you think to do business behind a jail cell if your puta goes to the Federales ? Do you believe the Aztec Kings will not cut us out of our own business and side with Los Coyotes if they sense weakness?”
His uncle didn’t wait for a reply. “Your father never had to reassure himself of his power. His enemies and friends alike fear El Víbora —and for good reason.”
The fake concern made Vincente’s teeth grind. So did the constant reminders that Tío Ramón thought him a pale shadow of his father.
Let the old man keep talking.
Once he took over the business, he’d squeeze Ramón’s operation until his uncle had no choice but to surrender whatever scraps of power he still clung to, and spend the rest of his days drowning in tequila at the family compound.
Or better yet, he’d give Ramon’s business to Juan. Let his uncle choke on the irony. See what he’d lost by mistreating his own son.
Vincente cast a sideways glance at his cousin.
Although…he’d have to take care if he did that. Power changed people. Made them disloyal .
He returned to the call with his uncle. “There is no threat to business. I’m in contact with the Aztec Kings. The other matter is personal. It’s handled.”
By the end of the week, Abigail—no, Gianna—would be back in Miami.
Not because he trusted her. He didn’t. He’d already taken steps to ensure her compliance.
“Your whore hides on the Navajo reservation. Now she has a bodyguard—one who’s beaten your men. Twice.”
“I’m handling it,” Vincente snapped. His uncle was goading him, trying to take the upper hand. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You mean you’ve let your men handle it. Maybe it’s time you saw to this personally, no? To make sure it gets done right. It’s what your father would’ve done at your age.”
The dig slid beneath Vincente’s ribs like a stiletto. Ramón never missed a chance to remind him he wasn’t his father. That he was too soft. Too polished. Too comfortable in a life of privilege.
Which was a lie.
Just because he preferred Miami to Mexico didn’t mean he wasn’t focused on expanding Espina Negra’s reach.
His gaze shifted to the framed photos on his office wall. There was the one of him with Miami’s mayor, Sonja Ojeda, at her reelection fundraiser. The mayor was an important connection. He’d been quite generous with his support.
Strategic.
His father and uncle were stuck in the old ways. They built their empire with cunning, violence, and blood.
Vincente had a different vision—a twenty-first century one. Networking. Infrastructure. Innovation .
This new fentanyl, manufactured with precursor chemicals from China, was cheaper, more addictive, and easier to move. It was the future.
If they could dominate the US market, they’d crush every rival in Mexico—including the upstart Los Coyotes.
“Your concern is touching, Tío, but you’re starting to sound like an old auntie.” Vincente didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm. “Maybe it’s time you focused on your side of the business.”
Trafficking in people and weapons. Messy. Outdated.
His uncle could play the old school jefe while Vincente built a modern enterprise. Expand product. Grow market share. Clean the money. Invest it in legitimate businesses. Repeat.
“ Papi was pleased with the latest figures from my operation,” Vincente added, a sheen of false warmth coating his words. “If I recall, yours weren’t quite as impressive last month. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m a busy man.”
He hung up, the sound of his uncle’s furious sputtering music to his ears.
“You shouldn’t provoke him like that.” Juan stepped closer to the table, resting his hip on the edge. “My father can be as dangerous as yours.”
“He’s a meddling old fool who knows his days are numbered.”
Juan shrugged. “Perhaps he’s right about Gianna.”
A huff of annoyance escaped Vincente. “I have a business to run. I look weak if I drop everything to run after a woman. Gianna will come to me because she has no choice. Not if she wants to keep her friends alive.”
He met his cousin’s stare. “But her defiance won’t go unpunished. And as soon as she’s back, her new companion will be dealt with. A reminder that actions have consequences. ”
Caleb Varella .
A slow burn of rage simmered in Vincente’s blood.
Had the man touched what belonged to Vincente? Pleasured himself with Gianna? Had she welcomed it?
Red tinged the edges of his vision. The near constant burn in his chest flared hotter.
“What of the Aztec Kings?” Juan asked.
Vincente blinked. Refocused. “I’ve spoken personally to their leader. He assured me the rumors about Los Coyotes are untrue. Matteo vouched for him—said he wouldn’t double-cross us this way. He understands the consequences.”
Still, tension knotted his shoulders. If he was wrong, the fallout would be costly. Worse, his tío would be right.
That alone would be insufferable.
“Matteo’s been in Phoenix for years now, attending to Espina Negra business.
How well does he know the current Aztec leadership?
” Juan shrugged and reached into the top left pocket of his white linen guayabera.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “A personal visit would allow you to shake this man’s hand.
Look him in the eye. The old way of sealing an agreement. ”
He pulled a cigarette out, offering one to Vincente in a wordless gesture.
Vincente shook his head. His vices were many, but the only tobacco he inhaled came from Cuban cigars, not cheap American shit.
The old ways.
At times, Juan still clung to tradition, like their fathers. Loyalty enforced by violence. Fear. Death.
Of course, his cousin had been the one to discover the DEA spy. Who’d encouraged Vincente to handle the matter himself, instead of taking care of the problem like he usually would .
Vincente’s lips turned down. A messy business. He’d make it up to Gianna—once he’d brought her to heel.
Juan scraped the dial on his lighter and lit his cigarette, the tip glowing orange as he inhaled, then exhaled a stream of smoke.
“You gave Gianna a week. Let Bembe watch the club and the restaurants for a few days. You and I take some men, visit the new distributor and bring Gianna home. Then all this will blow over, and my father will have nothing to gossip about.”
Juan’s gaze flicked to the modernist painting over Vincente’s shoulder—splashes of red and yellow. It lingered there. “He’ll sacrifice Gianna just to prove a point to you. Same as he did to me with Carlita.”
Carlita had been lowlife trash compared to Gianna, but Vincente wasn’t cruel enough to say that out loud.
He opened the center drawer of his desk and took out his acid reflux medicine.
Too much stress. He needed a distraction.
He tapped the monitor and brought up the feed to the main dance floor. Bodies pressed tight together beneath flickering strobes that pulsed like gunfire.
There she was—the brunette from earlier. Long, wavy hair. Pink sequined dress.
She and her friends danced without a care in the world.
“I’ll think about it.” Vincente gestured to the monitor. “Send that woman and her friends free drinks and access to the VIP area.”
Tío Ramón, your days are numbered .
He gave his cousin a slow smile. One laced with promise. “Tonight, we enjoy ourselves.”