4. Demin
DEMIN
I've been sitting in my office for the better part of an hour, turning a glass between my fingers without drinking from it, thinking about the woman they pulled out of my crate last night.
I keep coming back to the fact of her, curled up under the bricks where half my product should've been.
She chose that over whatever she was running from in Spain.
People don't ship themselves in a box across the border on a whim. It's a move of desperation driven by circumstances so dire, there was no escape. It's very telling of how Javier Solano runs his business—such a contrast to the Family and how we handle things.
She's clearly ready to suffer a great deal to help her family get away from whatever hell Solano put them through, and the Roshin family is absolutely in the market for a chemist who can produce superior product. So I pick up the phone and call the one man who'll see this the same as I do.
Sebastian answers, and like normal, he sounds irritated to be interrupted from whatever he was doing. "Tell me it's good news," he grumbles.
"It's interesting news. I'll let you decide whether it's good.
" I set the glass down and lean back, peeking through the blinds across the lawn toward the drive.
"The Spanish shipment came in last night.
Five crates of product, holding as strong as the samples promised, and a sixth crate with a woman inside it instead of what I paid for. "
"A woman," he says. "Alive?" His immediate answer reveals a lot. It's a surprise to both of us, but instead of sounding annoyed or angered, he sounds curious.
"Barely, when we found her. She pulled the product out to make room and rode the whole way.
She's beat to hell, though." I turn the glass a few more times and give him the real punch.
"She's the chemist's daughter, Sebastian.
The old man who cooks for Solano." I let him add it up for himself because the picture should be very clear.
He must be reeling over this. To get our hands on the Cartel's chemist means to cripple them and remove the middle man for ourselves. The money we'll make…
Sebastian lets out a low whistle, and I can practically see the calculating gleam entering his eyes even though I can't see him.
"The daughter herself climbed into your shipment.
That's bold as hell, Demin. Or stupid." He pauses for a second then says, "Either way, it's an opportunity we can't waste.
You get her to talk, find out everything she knows about Solano's setup in Madrid.
Then we use her to pull the old man out.
"Once he's with us, we apply the right kind of pressure—family loyalty, protection, whatever keeps him productive—and we cut Solano out entirely. No more middleman fees bleeding us dry."
His words align perfectly with the thoughts that've been circling in my head since Mishka carried her out of that crate.
It confirms I'm on the right path here, that this unexpected complication could turn into one of the most profitable moves we've made in years.
"Exactly what I was thinking. She's desperate enough to have done this to herself, which makes her the perfect leverage.
I'll get what we need from her one way or another. "
We exchange a few more details about the product quality and the missing half-crate before ending the call, and I sit there for another moment letting the plan solidify in my mind. Sometimes, a lightning strike isn't a bad thing, and in this case, I'm seeing the light.
Then I press the intercom button on my desk, saying, "Bring the girl in here. Now."
It doesn't take long before the door opens and Mishka guides her inside. She moves slowly, carrying the IV bag that she's been hooked to.
I gesture for him to sit her in the chair across from my desk, and he does so before stepping back to stand by the door.
She's still in the loose clothes we put her in after the doctor treated her, but even with the day's rest, her bruises look worse today, deeper and more vivid, as if the full extent of the trauma from that brutal journey is only now blooming across her skin.
I study her for a long moment, watching as she sits there trying to hold herself straight despite the obvious discomfort.
Her dark hair is still matted in places and her eyes carry that same defiant spark from last night even as exhaustion lingers in them.
"Tell me everything you know about Solano's operation in Madrid," I tell her calmly.
I'm no fool. This woman knows what the most evil man in all of Europe is like.
I'm sure threats and screaming will do nothing but waste my energy.
"The warehouses, the routes they use, who handles distribution, any weaknesses in their security—every detail you can remember. Start talking."
She crosses her arms over her chest as best she can, given the lingering pain, and meets my gaze without flinching.
"I already told you what I needed. My father.
That's why I'm here. I'm not your informant.
" That defiant streak is going to get her in trouble at some point, but I'll play nice for a while.
Maybe the bruising has made her forget what sort of man I am.
"You're in no position to negotiate terms with me, Isabela.
I can make this easy or I can make it impossible for you.
Help me get your father out from under Solano, give me the intel I need to do it cleanly, and we both get what we want.
Refuse, and I can always send you back to him with a nice note explaining exactly what you did—climbing into my crate, dumping half my product in that warehouse, trying to play both sides.
You know better than anyone how the Cartel deals with betrayal. "
Her eyes flash with anger at that, and though she's still hoarse and dehydrated, she spits out angrily, "You'd do that? After I came to you for help? You're no better than them."
She clams up then, pinching her lips together and turning her face away slightly.
She refuses to meet my eyes anymore even as her hands clench into fists in her lap.
I watch her carefully, seeing the way she's processing the threat and realizing how thoroughly she's trapped herself by making this journey.
I lean back in my chair and continue pressing her.
"Isabela," I say patronizingly, "what sort of man did you think buys that much product? You had to know who I really am. So tell me about the main warehouse in Madrid. Where is it located? How many guards rotate during the night shift?"
Isabela remains silent for several seconds, staring at my desk, but I can see her shoulders tensing. Finally, she mutters, "I'm not giving you anything until you promise you'll help my father without turning him into your slave."
"Privileges are earned through cooperation," I reply calmly and then drum my fingers on my desk as I continue. "The compound… Describe the layout. Entrances, exits, where they store the finished product."
She shifts uncomfortably in the chair, wincing as the movement pulls at her bruised body, and then she glares at me again. "Why should I trust you? You chained me to a bed. I need help, Mr. Roshin, not another taskmaster."
I tap my fingers on the desk again, studying her for a moment. She's no pushover, which I like, but she's not going to make this easy for me, either. Which I don’t like.
"You created this situation when you hijacked my shipment. Now you want my help, but you offer nothing in return. Tell me about Solano's security… Something useful. How do you expect me to go in and get your father if I know nothing?"
"I don't know those details," she says sharply, though something in her expression suggests she knows more than she's admitting. "I wait tables and I live on a compound where I'm basically their prisoner."
"But you hear things," I counter, leaning forward again. "You live in the compound. You see the men coming and going. You know who Solano trusts. Give me names. Give me schedules. Anything that helps me reach your father without unnecessary complications."
She sighs and covers her face with both hands. Those bruises look so painful, I'm finding it hard to keep my hard edge with her. I feel pity, and I never feel pity or sympathy. This poor woman has been through hell.
"I just…"
I feel anger stirring at how frustrating this is, but I understand her not wanting to bring her father into another mess. I was quick to the draw when I proposed that. I should've played her first, and that's my fault. It's too late to backpedal now, but I have to try something.
"The Roshin family rewards loyalty. Your father would be protected. Far better than the beatings Solano gives him. But I need information first. Start with the man who handles the formula transfers. Who is he?"
Isabela stays quiet longer this time, her breathing shallow as pain and anger war across her features. When she finally speaks again, her voice is low and bitter. "I will help you when you give me your word that you will not force him to work for you—ever."
I rise slowly from my chair and walk around the desk, stopping a few feet from her so I tower over her seated form.
"You have two choices here. Help me extract your father cleanly using what you know about Solano's operation, or I put you back on a plane to Spain with a message painted on your clothes detailing your betrayal.
Solano will make an example of you, and your father will watch. Which is it going to be?"
Her head snaps up at that, eyes blazing with fury as she snaps again, louder this time. "Go to hell! I risked everything to save him. I should never have come here."
Sucking in a breath to push the tension out of my chest, I gesture for Mishka and he walks over, grabbing her by the bruised arm. She winces but she goes along with him. At some point, she'll break. I just have to be patient.
"Oh, and you'll join me for dinner. Maybe with food, you'll be more agreeable…"
I watch her go, scowling at how difficult this will be. But I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse now and then.
If she wants her father out, I'll get him out. But it'll take her giving me information. Otherwise, I don't even dare risk going onto that compound. The war that would start if I weren’t successful…