Chapter 68
Abundio Segura
Abundio wasn’t looking forward to this chore for more than one reason. He took only Armando as a driver, swearing him to secrecy. Then he left him behind at the hotel and walked a few blocks to the public cafe where the meeting would take place.
He had no doubt he was already being surveilled, and that was fine. Nothing about this meeting was illegal or would reflect on his business. All he was doing was looking for an identification, a name. He wasn’t hiring a hit man or arranging a drug deal.
But he had to know what was going on and if Miranda had jeopardized everything he’d built over her selfish interests.
Her meeting had been seven days ago, and in this very plaza. Abundio used his contacts and several owed favors from highly placed governmental officials to obtain information and arrange this meeting.
He sat there for over thirty minutes before two men approached his table, one older and in the lead, the other younger and with his head on a swivel.
Finally.
The older man sat first without bothering to introduce himself and indicated for the flunky to sit next to him, putting him across from Abundio.
“Can I order you anything?” Abundio asked in English.
The older man thinly smiled. “Your hospitality is noted, but unnecessary,” he said in thickly accented English. “Let us not waste time. We may dispense with that.”
“Very well.” Abundio picked up his cell phone, which he’d left facedown on the table because he didn’t want to make any moves mistaken for hostile.
Unlocking it, he showed the man a picture.
“I need to know who this man really is. He’s a Russian.
Name of Ilya Baranov. He was here one week ago. ” He spelled the name.
The man took the phone, studied it for a moment, then held it so the flunky could see it. He nodded to the flunky, whose thumbs proceeded to fly over his phone’s keyboard for a moment.
The flunky shook his head. “We have no records of any such person. And there are no passport records of him, either.”
Abundio stared at his contact. “I came here in good faith today. Please don’t insult my intelligence. He sat out in the open and spoke with my daughter seven days ago. He is involved with the Bratva.”
The man reached for the flunky’s phone and started typing. “Send me that picture.” He rattled off a cell phone that was, no doubt, a burner.
Abundio texted it to him.
A moment later, the Russian scowled, then looked at the picture again. “This man is neither Russian nor alive. He is a very dead American.”
Abundio thought he’d misheard him due to the man’s thick Russian accent. “What?”
The man glanced around before showing Abundio the picture on the phone. Same man, different setting. “And his name is not Ilya Baranov.”
“He cannot be dead unless he’s the best-looking zombie ever known. Or he was killed within the past seven days.”
“Then he has a secret twin. This man’s been dead for over twenty years. That is when this picture was taken. His name was Jake Peterson, and he was captured and died in custody.”
“Impossible,” Abundio said. “I’m telling you, this picture was taken seven days ago.”
The man shrugged. “I do not know what you wish for me to say.”
“Wait…” Abundio studied the Russian’s phone for a moment. “Peterson, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Do you happen to know if he has a son?”
The man once again searched on his phone. “Yes, one. Carl Peterson.”
Abundio’s blood ran cold. He pulled up another picture. “This man?” He showed him.
The Russian scowled and looked from his phone to Abundio’s and back. “That looks like him, yes. How old is your picture?”
“Taken early last year.”
The man laughed. “Now you are pulling my leg.” He showed Abundio his phone. “This picture was taken years ago when he first enlisted in the military. It is impossible two men do not age.”
It was definitely Carl.
His missing man.
One of them, anyway.
And yes, now he absolutely saw the family resemblance.
“Do you have any idea where Carl Peterson is right now?” Abundio asked.
“We do not. He was not the…eh, target, at the time. Being in the military, he was off-limits to us then. Later, we could not locate him.”
“Why did you seek him? And his father?”
A mask dropped over the man’s features. “That is our business.” He sat back. “Why was your daughter talking to a supposedly dead American pretending to be a very much alive Russian who claimed to be Bratva?”
Abundio was still trying to process everything. “I believe she wanted to strike a deal with him.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“Because I don’t know what the deal was.” Which was a lie, because he had a very good idea what the deal entailed, even if he didn’t know the details.
Only that it absolutely will not happen.
He didn’t change the plan for Miranda to come straight from work and have supper with him the next evening, as per usual.
She was smiling when she walked into his office. “Hello, Father.” She rounded the desk and kissed him on top of his head, breaking his heart. Then she scowled. “Where is your other chair, Father?”
“Having it reupholstered. The leather was beginning to wear.”
This chair was much shorter than his usual one, the back not quite coming up to her shoulders.
He stood, smiling. “I would like you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Father.”
“It’s time for a change,” he said. “I want you to see what it feels like to sit here, in the true position of power.” He stepped aside, smiling, and motioned for her to sit.
Looking curious, but smiling, she did.
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “How does it feel? Sitting here?”
He felt the tension drain from her. “Are you trying to tell me something, Father?”
He leaned in, close enough to smell her hair. “Sitting here, love. Being in charge. How does it make you feel?”
She didn’t answer at first. Weighing her options, no doubt.
Too bad she wasn’t as careful in all other areas of her life.
“I only wish to honor you and continue the family business. To build upon what you have created. That’s all I’ve ever wished to do. To make you proud of me.”
He gently squeezed her shoulders. “You have made me proud, my child. But there is a question I must ask you before we can move forward, and I wish for you to be completely honest with me.”
“Of course, Father.”
He leaned in, sliding his right arm around her neck, as if hugging her, resting his chin on her left shoulder. “Why did you meet with the Russian?”
When she started to sit up, he grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and clamped her throat in the crook of his right elbow.
“I know about your treachery,” he whispered as she struggled, trying to pry his arm free. But he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt with a long-sleeved T-shirt under it for just this reason.
She tried to push the chair back, but her high heels gave her no purchase, and the footwell was too deep for her to press against the inside of the front.
He shoved the chair forward with his weight, pinning her torso against the desk and further driving air from her lungs.
“I know about the supposed Russian—I know everything about that. The only thing I don’t know is why.
Why did you meet with the father of Carl Petersen without talking to me first?
And why was he pretending to be a Russian? ”
Strangled cries struggled free as he maintained pressure on her neck. He didn’t want her to die immediately.
That would be too easy.
“All you had to do was be obedient,” he said.
“All you had to do was what I asked, and this conversation would be about me finalizing my plans to retire, sit back, and watch you prosper. But no. You had to get greedy. Just like my brothers. You had to put everything at risk, and for what? Some fool’s errand that already killed many good men—and Manuel—and could have brought the wrong attention to us. ”
Regardless of her answers, there was only one outcome planned for tonight.
In fact, this morning, as soon as she left for work, Armando led a team inside her condo to empty it and confiscate all her electronics and papers.
By lunchtime, it looked like a vacant property ready to sell.
The furniture and clothes were discarded at a charity, and her personal effects brought to the house for Abundio to go through at his leisure.
And his people were already trying to find out as much as possible about Jake and Carl Peterson’s histories.
“Ah, if only you had come to me, darling. If only you’d talked to me.
Confided in me. I would have respected you for that.
I would have allowed you to explore this.
Safely. Smartly.” “But you have committed terminal acts of stupidity and treason to our family, my little one. Worse, you have possibly drawn attention to us. And now we may be in a battle with the true Russians.”
She continued struggling as he maintained the balance between letting her finally pass out and keeping her alive.
“I never told you I had two other brothers, sweet one.
The two youngest. Father strangled them himself when they attempted to betray him and take over the cartel.
I watched him do it, tears in his eyes. I will never forget his words, that it was better he take their lives himself than live with the shame of their betrayal.
He put breath into their bodies and he took it from them, and he made me look into their eyes as he did it.
“Berto threw up watching him do it. He never had the stomach for the hard work and relied on being a bully and making his men get their hands dirty. I think Father respected me for my stances. He knew I would not stay with the cartel upon his death. But while he was alive, I gave my all to the family, put it before myself.”
He pressed his face against hers, kissed her.
“You silly, stupid child. So much potential. And yet so much ego. Where did I go wrong with you? Because of you, we may now be at war. I will do this in your memory, one last battle before I lie down and sleep, hmm? You should have had a long life, a husband, children. This and more could all have been yours even while running my company. But you had to have more. Your belly was always growling, never full. A bottomless pit inside your soul that nothing could fill because it was dug with greed. So much like my father. And worse, now you leave me without an heir.”
Her struggles weakened. He knew he needed to finish this. But he wanted to have his say first.
“I cherished your mother. When she died, I promised to protect you, keep you from harm, and perhaps the worst pain of all is that you’ve made me go back on that promise.
I never expected this treachery from you.
I wanted a houseful of grandchildren running around and playing at family dinners after you and I discussed business.
That’s all I wanted. I longed for the simple pleasures earned from my age.
I will be eighty-two, and I am now going into a battle with weapons I don’t understand against a foe I cannot identify, all because you chafed under a loose and soft leash when in a few more years it all would have been yours to do with as you pleased. ”
He slowly shook his head. “And now there will be no legacy for you. Your name will be erased from the annals of our family history, much as my brothers’, and Raul’s and Manuel’s, shall be. I love you. May God have mercy upon you, because I cannot.”
Crying, he finished it, waiting long past when her struggles ceased and she went limp before finally releasing the choke hold and standing, pulling the chair back. He smoothed her hair back, tucking it behind her ears like he used to when she was a child.
He sniffled, cupping her face in his hands, kissing the tip of her nose.
Then he stood back, still staring at her sweet, angelic face. “Armando,” he called.
Abundio heard him open the door and enter. “Sir?”
“Your family has connections, does it not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Bring me several prospects. Women between the ages of twenty-two and thirty. Single, obviously. Preferably educated, but that is not the priority. Intelligent, even if uneducated. Childless. Honorable. Healthy.”
“Sir?”
Abundio turned. “I need an heir. Quickly. She will marry me, and I will teach her how to run my business, and she will bear me a child. I would prefer a son, but she will not, of course, be able to control that. I will accept any heir. One who is in no way tainted by this other business. Meanwhile, I will wrap up those loose ends by taking over those operations. The cartel, I mean.”
Armando still looked…confused. “You want me to find you… a bride?”
“Yes. She will be well compensated. Rich. I am looking for an honest worker who wishes to improve her lot in life by any means necessary.” He grimaced. “If she is lucky, I will only live a few more years. So that will likely be an extra incentive.”
He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and bring my chair in and burn this one.” He didn’t want the memory of her dying in his favorite chair to taint it for him.
Armondo nodded. “Immediately, sir.”
Abundio shooed him out. Once he was alone again, he turned and stared at Miranda’s body.
“They will never know they had an older sister. I am sorry, my love, but you were to be my legacy. I will not have it tainted by you and Manuel’s greed and fever dreams.”
Or draw more attention to himself from his as-yet unknown adversary.
The End