Prologue
Knucklesrappedonthe door of his new office, and Javier glanced up from the glass of scotch he was pouring. His late brother, Ivan, had usually kept whiskey here. It was one of the first things Javier had changed when he’d taken over after Ivan’s death. He’d ignored the rumors making their way through the family and renovated the office he’d coveted since his brother took over.
The sooner everyone came to terms with Ivan’s death and that Javier was now head of the Grimaldo cartel, the better it would be for everyone.
“¡Adelante!”
The door opened, and Javier stiffened. Damn, his older cousin, Guillermo, otherwise called El Carcinero. The Butcher. Although of average height and stature, Guillo had a way of making his presence known in a room. It was probably due to the cold black pit of his eyes or the signature smirk he always wore, as if he knew a secret you’d kill to find out.
Javier was certain Guillo was the one spreading all the rumors. Like Javier, he’d coveted the seat at the head of the table, but as he was but one of many cousins in the family, the only way he could take over was if he started an internal faction or convinced most of the family and their business partners to raise a vote of no confidence in Javier.
Javier was prepared to do anything in his power to see el pendejo fail.
“¿Qué tal, Guillo?” Javier lifted his glass. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“What are we celebrating?” Guillo asked.
Javier cocked his head to the side. “It’s been a crazy month since Ivan’s unexpected death and bringing his body back to Colombia for the burial. I don’t think we’ve had a moment yet to sit one-on-one and congratulate me on my new position.” He grabbed another glass from the chest next to his desk, poured scotch into it, and handed his cousin the drink.
Guillo stared at the glass for a few seconds, then accepted it and raised the glass to his lips.
“Aren’t you going to wish me well, cousin?”
Guillo’s hand jerked to a stop, and his usual smirk disappeared. “Salud, amor, y pesos.”
“Salud.”
Javier knocked back the whiskey and cleared his throat as he placed the glass on the table. Guillo had taken only a sip of his.
“Did you want something, Guillo?”
“The DEA seized today’s shipment, and two of our men are dead.”
Javier gripped the edge of his desk. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“I’m telling you now, Javier.”
“Mierda.” Javier itched to pour himself another drink but would never reach for the bottle when Guillo’s eyes were staring holes through him.
“What are you going to do about the gringos, primo?” Guillo asked. “This makes the second shipment from Colombia in a month. We’re running low on reserves, and if we can’t supply the demand, our distributors will start looking elsewhere for a supplier who can.”
“Nobody’s going to look for another supplier. This is our turf. We’re the only ones they’re able to buy from.”
“You can’t fault them if we can’t give them what they need, Javier. So I ask again. What are we going to do about these pinches cabrones?”
“We’ll figure it out, Guillo.”
“The same way we’ve found out who killed Ivan?”
Tension filled the room, and Javier doubled his hands into fists. “What are you trying to say?”
“All I’m saying is that nobody’s been happy since Ivan’s murder. We don’t have his killer, and now our business is about to go belly up if the DEA continues its raid on our supplies. You’re running things now, and you, primo, need to find a solution and find it fast.”
“Or else what?”
Guillo gulped down the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the desk. “Or else some of us won’t have a choice.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”