Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

Mateo shifts, lines bracketing his face, tension rigid across his shoulders.

“Are we going to play games or get to it? I have weed that needs smoked.” Remi yawns, his eyes watching, calculating.

“I brought you something.” Antonio kicks the bag, a soft thud disturbing the congealed blood surrounding it.

“I don’t think we want it. Looks messy. This is a new suit.” Remi strokes the lapels.

“That’s my new suit.” I raise a brow at him.

“Sharing is caring, brother, as you well know.”

“Are you two done?” Antonio barks, pulling a gun from a holster on his hip, aiming it at me. “Where’s my brother, Noah? You were warned I’d have to avenge him,” he spits out through gritted teeth.

“How the hell would I know?” I say calmly, the air palpable between us.

Antonio sneers to Little Tony, who leans down and unzips the bag, grunting with the effort it takes him, his giant gut an obstacle. “I know my brother didn’t leave your house that night.”

My heart roars, back snapping tight, undiluted rage clawing at my bones, wanting to morph my body into the killer it knows so well.

Caleb’s wide-eyed vacant stare peers up from the bag, the rest of him in pieces, crammed into the small space.

Bastard.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” My tone is arctic cold, no fear, no regret, just cold, hard killer.

“I told you it would mean war,” Antonio snaps. “Lucky for me, there’s only two of you.”

“Three,” Remi states as I use a simple move of chopping my hands out, hitting the back of Antonio’s wrist on one side and the front of his forearm on the other, sending his gun flying from his grip.

Remi moves quickly, booting the blood bag toward Tony, making him stumble over it and crash to the dirt with a sickening crunch.

Raising my leg, I whip out, the sole of my boot colliding with Antonio’s gut. The lethal weapon I spent my entire youth and young adult life training knocks him on his ass. I pull my gun, aiming it at his forehead. A shake of my head warns him not to fucking move.

Mateo hasn’t moved, his hands raised, eyes trained on the man who joined us.

“A war?” our father drawls, his steps unhurried as he runs a cloth over the scalpel he’s wielding. The guy at the front door wouldn’t have even seen it coming.

The very air quakes with his presence. Death has come for these men. “You’ll need an army for that,” he finishes.

“Your army knows your brother was an informant, squealing all your secrets and the rest of the families’ to the authorities.” I tut.

Antonio’s body stiffens when our father reaches the fray. “If someone did put him down, it was a service, not a crime, not a war cry.” My father informs him.

“It should have been me. If there was evidence he—”

“Stop talking. You’re embarrassing yourself. You know what a loose cannon he was. I don’t blame you for not being able to put him down, but to still involve him in business, to bring him into my home, endanger my kingdom, my sons,” he all but howls. “That, I hold you entirely to blame for.”

“So, I should be grateful your son killed him and just move on,” Antonio grates, spittle flying from his lips.

Dropping on his haunches in front of Antonio, our father studies him. “I’ll tell you one thing you shouldn’t have done.” His wrist whips out like a snake, striking with precision. A deadly slice across the artery throbbing in his neck. “You should have never come for my boys.”

All but for him breathing rapidly, Mateo wisely remains statuesque as Antonio wraps his palm around his throat, gurgling, eyes filling with the realization that he’s dying.

His heavy body falls backward, hitting the concrete, the dirt billowing around him. One second, two, his arm goes slack, a crimson river soaking into his clothes, creeping around him like a shadow trying to escape hell.

Remi pulls his gun, aiming it at Mateo. Our father rises to his full height, once again cleaning off his weapon, giving Mateo his full attention. “Do you go down with the ship, or do you take over the helm?”

Swallowing, Mateo frowns. “This change has been coming for a while. You just sped up the process,” he says gruffly.

“And what about him?” Remi kicks Little Tony, who groans, coming around with a broken face.

“Belongs with the old management.” Mateo shrugs.

Remi fires three slugs into Little Tony’s head, the sound echoing through the cavernous space, causing a flock of birds to take flight through the rafters. “I’ll call Roberto to come clean this.” Mateo jerks his head.

Our father gestures with a head tilt toward the door, then turns once more to Mateo. “You’ll be wise not to make an enemy of me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Thirty-Eight

Epilogue 3

Remi

Noah insisted we wait for Roberto to arrive before leaving and trusting Mateo to do it. “You good?” I ask him, resting a hand on his shoulder.