Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

“That’s not acceptable.” Costa struggled to keep his voice level, but anyone paying close attention would see the tension in his posture. “Failure to deliver means more than retaliation. It’s complete obliteration.”

That wouldn’t happen. If I’d thought there was a possibility of it, I never would’ve made the deal. I’d even accounted for bad luck. With the odds I’d calculated, doing business with the Maldonados had been a no-brainer. A little risk was good, but there was a point where it became reckless, and we hadn’t reached that. I knew my business in and out.

Still, I paired a long sip of tequila with a quick prayer. “I’ll handle it.”

“Did you see yesterday’s news?” Costa asked. “A potential witness in the latest case against Ángel Maldonado was found at the top of a pyramid.”

I frowned. “A pyramid?”

“Of human bodies,” he said. “Every member of his family from Chihuahua to Oaxaca.”

There was a time when that mental image would’ve made my stomach churn. Now, gruesome death was sadly routine.

“This happened while the witness was under twenty-four-seven government protection,” Cristiano added. “That’s not the Maldonados handling a problem—it’s a clear message to anyone thinking of flipping.”

I wasn’t flipping. I was costing the Maldonados money—equally bad if not worse.

With a vibration in my pocket, I put down my drink and read Tepic’s text: Emergencia.

Shit. What now? Forcing my shoulders down, I excused myself from the table and dialed Tepic as I wound through the tables toward the windowed perimeter of the dining room.

“Diego,” Tepic answered breathlessly. “Have you talked to Jojo?”

“I’m still in the city with Costa.” I stopped at a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the city. “What is it?”

“An explosion at the Juárez-El Paso tunnel.”

I closed my eyes and clenched a fist. What the fuck? That tunnel had been a million-dollar construction in itself, not to mention a crucial channel into the States. “Tell me that’s the only news.”

“No.” He hesitated. “Mike and Felipe were inside. And they didn’t make it.”

I looked down, massaging my temples with one hand. I was no stranger to losing people on my crew, but it never got any easier. It was personal. Mike and Felipe were more than workers—they were friends. I refrained from making the sign of the cross only so I wouldn’t draw attention. “This wasn’t an accident,” I said.

“No, patrón.”

“What happened? How much did they have with them?”

After some static on the line, Tepic said, “I’m finding out the exact amount—”

“How much?” I repeated.

“Jojo says they were mid-delivery. Some made it but not all. Five, maybe six containers gone.”

“Puta madre,” I said under my breath. “Make sure every border agent on our payroll knows we have no margins. Pay them more if you have to. And get every man we have guarding every stash house.”

“Some are en route to Guadalajara to meet with Nuñez’s guys.”

“Bring them back. We need all hands on deck.” I glanced at the table to find Cristiano watching me as Costa picked a cigar from a box the waitress offered. “Keep me updated,” I told Tepic and hung up.

The cityscape glowed against a starless night sky. I tried to figure out how to break this to Costa. This wasn’t human-pyramid bad, but now we’d hit our absolute limit. That was a serious problem in itself made worse by the fact that whatever was happening, it was calculated. And it was in front of Cristiano. Or because of him?

He’d been back less than a week, and things we’re starting to fall apart on the most important deal I’d ever made. Natalia had drawn the right conclusion—Cristiano had lost the only life he’d known when he’d been forced from the compound. A life he’d felt he’d deserved, even if it’d been built on betrayal. And now he was back—but I was the one who had Costa’s trust.

Was my brother here to earn it back?

And how would he regain it?

I didn’t doubt he had come home with a plan. Did the Maldonados somehow play into it?

I pocketed my phone and returned to the table. There was no use in drawing out bad news, so I resumed my seat at the table and dismissed the waitress.

“What is it?” Costa asked, puffing on his Montecristo. “I was about to order.”

I placed my elbows on the table, leaning in. “A tunnel has been compromised at the border,” I said.

Costa nearly choked. As he coughed, smoke billowed around him, shrouding his reddening face. As I sensed his temper mounting, I glanced around to remind him we had onlookers.

When he’d calmed, at least in appearance, he spoke. “We’re under attack.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Costa looked to Cristiano. “It has to be one of the Maldonado cartel’s many enemies who don’t like the idea of us working together. Don’t they know fucking with us means severing ties to our network?”

“I can find out.” Cristiano spun his glass on the table. “But right now, you need a plan.”