Chapter 20
A dust cloud raged around the Maybach as it sped along the road, weaving through the Sierra de Bahoruco mountain range in the southwestern region of the Dominican Republic. Rocco shifted uncomfortably against the Italian leather seats. The car pulled to a stop precisely forty-five minutes after he’d been ordered at gunpoint outside of his lakeside bungalow into the luxury sedan.
Without a word, the driver unlocked the doors as a valet opened the back door and beckoned for Rocco to step out into the stifling heat. He inhaled the steamy air and took in his surroundings. It was an understated compound for a notorious leader of a cartel. A gateless entry onto a single dirt road that ended in front of a two-story stucco-style mansion with few frills. But Dominican drug lords stayed off the radar because they weren’t seduced by brand names and rarely exhibited flashy behavior. The location was perfect to avoid ambush. Rocco counted at least a dozen men in the jungle surrounding the property, armed with AR-15s and ready to take out any threat.
Footsteps crunching on the gravel walkway, he approached the double doors that led into the house, flanked by two more armed guards.
The doors swung open. Dante Ellington frowned at him as he stalked forward. Behind him, a chandelier glittered from the golden rays of the sun, projecting sparkling lights across a marble floor.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dante asked, blocking Rocco’s entry into the house. As head of enforcers for El Sombro, Dante led a contingent of over a hundred bodyguards and hitmen, ready and willing to do whatever it took to protect the drug lord and his organization.
“Treating a patient,” Rocco responded, not fazed by the man’s brusque tone. He was the one person Rocco shared parts of his authentic self with, at least as much as he could without sacrificing his undercover operation. The man had become a surprisingly good confidant, disseminating sound advice and balanced perspectives on all aspects of life. Despite himself, Rocco had grown close to Dante and considered him a friend.
A friend he’d betray one day, likely putting the guy in prison for the rest of his life, which didn’t sit well with him. He reconciled that truth with another cold one—Dante wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head if he learned Rocco’s real motives for taking the job at the clinic in Dajabon three years ago, friend or not.
Dante scoffed. “What patient? Where? On the other side of the fucking moon? We’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Come on, St. Felipe isn’t that far.”
“Palmchat Islands?” Dante shook his head like a recalcitrant child. “Do not tell Vance that’s where you were.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you wanted in. To prove you could be more valuable than someone who stitched up stab wounds and dug bullets out of asses. A chance to elevate yourself in the organization and make more money?—”
“I do,” Rocco said, hoping his trip to check on Ike wouldn’t ruin his chances for getting in deeper with the cartel.
“Then the last thing you want is for Vance to think you’re in bed with the PC-5. That’s where his head will go,” Dante explained, then leaned forward. “Are you working on the side with the PC-5?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, just checking.” Dante slapped Rocco on the arm, then grinned. “As soon as you walk across that threshold, there’s no turning back.”
“I kind of figured that.”
“You can still back out. I’ll make an excuse for you. Keep living the calm, peaceful life you have now.”
“The minute I met you and your band of enforcers, all peace was gone. You keep the clinic busy with a rotating slew of injuries for us to tend to,” Rocco said.
“And you get paid much more than you would in any hospital. You can still have a good life, Rocco, without … this.”
“Why are you trying so hard to get me to walk away?”
“Maybe because I wish someone had done the same for me.” Dante shrugged.
“I didn’t think you regretted working for El Sombro.”
“I don’t. Still, you make a choice as a young punk kid of twenty and never think about the trajectory it will take you in life. Whether it’s the road thirty-five-year-old you would want to be on or not,” Dante said, turning deeply contemplative. A rare sight for him. “But you’re not a kid, Rocco. You’re going into this with eyes wide open. I like you enough to help you get inside or stay on the outside. It’s your choice.”
A tingle of excitement raced down Rocco’s back. He was mere seconds away from achieving one of the key missions of the undercover op—uncovering the identity of the cartel leader, El Sombro.
Rocco took a deep breath. “I’m tired of being on the outside looking in. I need … more. The money is a cherry on top, but I want?—”
“The thrill of danger in your face. Fuck if you and I aren’t brothers from another mother.” Dante laughed. “Alright, ask, and you’ll receive. Let’s go inside.”
The interior of the home was a stark contrast to the subdued exterior. Rocco moved silently behind Dante through the living room filled with expensive sofas and elegant arm chairs meticulously arranged in front of the majestic fireplace, which he doubted was ever used. Accordion floor-to-ceiling windows were open, giving an unobstructed view of the terrace and the rippling bold turquoise waters of the Caribbean stretching toward the horizon. A single large table sat near the wrought iron railing, covered in silk white cloths and adorned with gleaming silverware, delicate china, sparkling crystal glasses, and a massive centerpiece constructed of tropical flowers. It was large enough to seat eight, maybe twelve, but only one man was at the table.
Vance Neville.
The second-in-command of the Sombro Cartel.
Rocco had first encountered the man when a cartel war erupted at Laguna Rincon, not far from his house. The fight had sent the rare groups of tourists venturing to the lake for the excellent snorkeling, fleeing for their lives. No law enforcement arrived to stop the gunfire. It ended when Dante’s crew wiped out their enemy and carted their dead bodies to the jungle.
But there was unexpected collateral damage—a mistress of El Sombro. Vance had personally escorted her to the small clinic where Rocco worked, carrying her inside and demanding that Rocco save her. He’d done that and received a million-dollar bonus for his trouble, with deep appreciation and gratitude from El Sombro. From that moment on, he’d become the go-to doctor for the cartel, infiltrating himself into their organization.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Vance said. “The boss arranged a meal fit for a king for you.”
“Will he be joining us?” Rocco asked but didn’t look around.
“Not this time,” Vance said. “But he’s watching … and listening.”
Dante chuckled. “Well, let’s give the motherfucker something to hear. You hear me, old man!”
Vance rolled his eyes as a hint of a smile curved at the corners of his lips. “In all seriousness, before we enjoy our dinner, El Sombro has asked me to extend an offer to you. A chance to take on more responsibility within his organization.”
Rocco said, “I’m listening.” It wouldn’t benefit him to be too eager. That could be a turn-off.
“He wants to run shipments through the clinic in Dajabon. Your role would be to ensure they are received, stored, and protected until we arrange for export or a partner arrives to pick up their … order,” Vance explained. “Details would be provided when necessary, not a second earlier. So, you will have to be agile and nimble. It’s also important to know which of the workers at the clinic you can trust and which should remain in the dark about the arrangement. If this is something you’re willing to take on, then El Sombro will ensure the rewards far exceed the risks.”
Rocco looked away, hoping he could mask the excitement flooding through him. This was the break he’d been waiting for. A chance to get definitive evidence of narcotics being transported by El Sombro. It wouldn’t matter if he knew the identity of the leader or not. This setup meant he could get enough intel on Vance to bring Continuing Criminal Enterprise charges against him. CCE violations came with stiffer consequences than RICO violations. Once Vance was in custody, they could make him a deal for a lesser sentence if he gave the DEA El Sombro. He had no doubts the man would flip on his boss. They always did.
Rocco glanced at Dante, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
“When do you need a response?” Rocco asked, taking Dante’s signal as a sign to hold back on his eagerness.
Vance seemed pleased that he hadn’t jumped at the offer. He waved a hand dismissively. “Not tonight. There’s no rush. Take your time. Think about it.”
Rocco reached for the bottle of wine and filled his glass.
He’d think about it over a conversation with his handler.
Tank was going to lose his shit when he told him how the perfect opportunity had been gifted to them.