Emiliano
THIS MEANS WAR
I stare at the water circling the drain, hints of red trailing here and there as the water cascades over my body. My curls clump, some of them sticking to my forehead.
My hands brace the wall, the shower head’s impressive water pressure soaking me as I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, the water is finally clear.
Tonight was brutal. Un trabajo de mierda.
A hot-tempered Ignacio, determined to find out what’s going on with our men, met up with the Russians. These men have reputations for dirty dealings and being quick to anger. Not even the Orlovs deal with them with Maxim now in charge. And if Nas respects Maxim Orlov, I respect him.
But my oldest brother insisted I go with him to this meeting. For appearances’ sake , he clarified. Why Carlos got to sit this out, I have no idea. Maybe Nas took pity on his wife since she’s always getting on his ass for never being home. Maybe he knows Carlos is a loose cannon.
Or maybe it’s because being around depraved people would exacerbate Carlos’s desire to be soulless for a fucking dollar.
Ignacio is a flawed man, and tonight, I was reminded of just how human he is. And while he’d made a decision I wouldn’t, I’ll follow my brother into the depths of hell if he needs me to. Washing blood off my body is nothing.
But thoughts of tonight make me pause.
Papo’s dad used to tell us, “All money ain’t good money.” The older I got, the more I understood. Perhaps not exactly how he intended. But good advice transcends situation.
And tonight rushes back to me, making me toss my head back so the water can cleanse me.
If there was one thing I knew from sitting in their presence, it’s that these men would not agree with Papo’s father. In fact, they appeared to be enjoying themselves, one man reaching out to pull one of these dead-eyed women onto his lap.
“You’re new,” he murmured, running the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “I like to test the merchandise before it’s broken in.”
My stomach rolled at her lack of reaction, staring at the wall as if nothing else existed.
I snuck a glance at my brother, who was still waiting for the man in charge to arrive.
Rurik Kuznetsov. I hadn’t heard much about him, and in my lifetime, my father opted not to see them personally, often sending soldados and sicarios to handle business with them.
One thing I could say: no one ever kept my father waiting. So the fact that the boss, Ignacio, was there and Rurik had yet to show his face wasn’t the sort of message you wanted to send when we were already on edge.
Nas clenched his jaw once, twice, three times.
A woman approached, sober enough to serve us an unlabeled bottle of clear liquor and short glasses that nearly clattered to the floor.
One of the men smacked her on the back of her head as she walked out, earning a squeak of fear from her lips as she ducked away.
These women were either skittish or…empty .
The man closest to me leaned over the table, having chopped and separated the perfect amount of cocaine, lined up for him neatly. I watched as he took a small straw and made the line disappear up his nose.
Cocaine that he no doubt purchased from us. I’d never taken issue with the morality concerns when distributing narcotics, as odd as that sounds.
I figured we’re all in charge of ourselves and who were we to not fulfill a demand?
But with the repercussions of our own decisions looking us right the fuck in our faces, it was something I could no longer ignore.
It was hard to sit there and look at these smug pendejos as drugged women came in and out of the room in the back of their dingy strip club. A front for what really went on there.
The doors that lined the hallways were thin; thin enough to hear the rutting sounds happening behind them.
The door swung open and, in the frame, stood a stout man, his thick arms likely once muscular before time took hold. Now they’re just heavy with age.
“Pineros men? In my club? To what do I owe the pleasure?” He walked in, huffing as he took a seat across Ignacio, the top of his head shining with sweat. “You handsome motherfuckers don’t need to pay for pussy.”
His accent made his words sound far more poetic to me than what they truly meant.
He wiped at the sweat now sheening his face with the back of a hand adorned with gold rings on each fat finger.
Gluttony and greed battled for the top spot as this asshole’s strongest attribute.
His hair had long given up on him, having left him for greener pastures, and his beard looked like it smelled like sweat and overall filth.
“There’s rumblings of trouble. We’re doing our due diligence, asking families if they know anything,” Ignacio told him, waving his hand in refusal when offered a drink.
Rurik shrugged and downed the liquid like water as some dribbled down his chin. I couldn’t tell if it was aging that got his reflexes shot to hell or if he was just drunk.
?Guácala!
I glanced away, my eyes snagging on a woman walking in. She was alert, her eyes shifty as they took in all of the men in the room. I wondered how terrified she must be without any sort of influence to dull the senses.
I couldn’t imagine this being the type of work you’d want to feel or remember.
“Ah,” the Russian said, his arm spreading to the woman who’d walked in, waving her closer. “A gift for you. New girl.”
His eyes traveled back and forth between Nas and I, as if he didn’t think this through. “You…I don’t know if you share, but she is yours to do what you like with.”
He said it all with a smile, like this was a normal transaction.
Is this cabron trying to gift us a human being?
I glanced over at my brother, trying to gauge his reaction.
It could’ve gone many ways.
“Kuznetsov,” my brother started, the amplified volume of his voice causing everyone in the room to look at us as it grew quieter until the thumping of the bass in the club was the only sound left.
“It’s bad enough that you had me waiting on you. As if I don’t have better shit to do. You”—he pointed at the woman, her eyes widened as he addressed her—“go stand behind my brother.”
He waited until she followed his orders, shaking the entire way, before turning to face Rurik again.
“You pendejos think I won’t wipe you off these goddamn streets after the amount of disrespect you’ve displayed here? Huh? ”
As quiet as it’d gotten, I still managed to hear the flick of the safety on the handgun of the sicario behind me.
We knew Ignacio too well.
But we didn’t know Rurik at all. And we were outnumbered. Nearly two to one.
“For years,” the Russian started, settling further into his seat, “we’ve been loyal customers. Like clockwork, we purchase and pay our due.”
He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand again, and I had to acknowledge that it wasn’t even warm in the room we were sitting. So why the mass amounts of sweat?
Was it guilt?
“You come here, asking us—your clients—questions about someone harming your business. But ask yourself, does that make sense, Mr. Pineros? Why would we fuck with our supplier?” His questions held a lilt, like we were all pals catching up. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.
“You could want to take over,” Nas pointed out with his hand gesturing toward Rurik. “Not long ago I heard you were trying to switch professions.”
A silence hung in the balance as the Russian’s grin stretched slowly before taking over his entire face.
“I’d keep a closer eye on your own men,” he said and clapped his hands together with a laugh. The rest of the men with him began to chuckle, but it was hard to miss the way the laughter didn’t reach their shifty eyes.
“As far as trying to switch professions?” He made a sound that can only be described as, “nyeah.”
“And clearly failing,” Nas answered, wiping the smile off Rurik’s face. “There’s a system in place for a reason. You stay in your lane and we…” He glanced over at his men. “We’ll stay in ours.”
Another silence settled before Rurik took a breath and said, “Perhaps there is a disgruntled employee. You see how my men are treated? All the pussy they could want.”
Arms open wide, he was no longer smiling, but it took me one look at him to notice the pride in his eyes.
“Well as you said, we don’t need to pay for sex,” Nas pointed out, his words even as he twisted the one ring he wore beneath his middle knuckle.
And I knew what it meant when that happened.
“Everybody pays for pussy, Mr. Pineros. You just haven’t found your price yet.” He snickered, looking over at one of his men. “Perhaps you will pay when you marry. Perhaps not. But your father paid for your mother, no?”
?Vete a la chingada!
Ignacio jumped up from his seat, dragging the Russian up by his collar. I was impressed by how quickly he got to the motherfucker.
But the moment was fleeting.
Because just as I noticed Nas’s tell, so did the sicarios behind us.
They now stood with two guns in each hand, pointed at the other men who barely had time to blink. The lower-level men were all covered—literally and figuratively.
So I took my time pulling my hand gun from where it was tucked, twisting in my seat, and aiming it directly at Rurik’s dick.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I gritted out as my brother lifted his fist. “Or you’ll crawl out of here, unable to fuck anyone ever again.”
I should’ve pulled the trigger on principle. Those pinche pendejos .
Without a word, Ignacio reared back further, knocking him in the face with the bulky signet ring he always wears on his right middle finger. Typically it’s turned toward his palm so he wouldn’t get it snagged on anything. But once it’s out, it’s fucking go time.
“You motherfuckers think”— punch —“because we ignore your little antics”— punch —“that you can disrespect us.” Punch.
He released Rurik, who dropped to the floor. One man attempted to reach him, only for a sicario to shoot, causing him to jerk himself back, clutching his hand.
“Next one is between the eyes, hijo de puta ,” the sicario said, his voice gravelly as he threatened him, gesturing for him to get back with one of his guns.
Rurik spat blood out, narrowly missing Ignacio’s feet.
“You greedy Mexicans”—he struggled to get the words out—“think you can jack up prices and no one would come for you?”
His laugh sounded wet, and I couldn’t see the shade of his teeth, they were so bloodied.
When I heard shuffling behind me, I realized I’d forgotten about the woman we were “gifted.” I didn’t look back at her, not wanting to jeopardize anyone’s safety.
“ ?Hablas espanol? ” I called out, hoping she knew I was talking to her.
“ S-sí ,” was all she offered back. I couldn’t blame her. Shit was about to go down mere feet from her.
“Esperas afuera ,” I told her, unsure if she was following my orders or not. Out of my peripheral, I saw her head toward the door. Before she could make it, a man reached out and yanked her to him, bringing a knife to her throat.
“ Иди на хуй ?—”
Bang.
A bullet lodged right between his eyes before he could finish his sentence.
Imagine your last words being what I can only assume is an insult. What a way to go.
The Russian made a grunting sound as he tried to stand, but Nas kicked one of the arms he was using to brace himself, making him fall again. Stuck on that dingy floor covered in no doubt bodily fluids and liquor, sat the most powerful Russian in Texas.
And even he would bow to us.
“You don’t want problems with Pineros. You don’t want problems with Garzas,” Ignacio spat out, mentioning our extended family on the east coast. “And you for damn sure don’t want issues with El Jefe .”
He stood, straightening his leather jacket as if he didn’t just beat the shit out of this man in his own establishment.
“Let’s hope not another one of my men comes up dead because of you,” he muttered, about to turn to leave.
Rurik’s eyes narrowed with hate as he stared up at Nas.
“No.” He shook his head, dropping it between his shoulders as he chuckled. He looked up again. “Let’s hope you do instead.”
Another bang echoed through the room, this one loud enough to make my ears ring.
I hadn’t even realized Nas had a gun in his waistband.
And that’s how we started a war with the Russians.