Sweet Collateral

“Something like that.” Dominges is a lazy fuck. He chooses to buy his blow and make a reasonable profit rather than make it for potentially twice as much gain. His main business is women. Cocaine is like an obligatory sideline, though he still supplies most of California. Rosi will sell to him because it’s easy money. He doesn’t have to get it out of the country, and he doesn’t supply Cali, so it’s a win-win. Outsourcing his blow is about to become a costly mistake for Dominges. I can see the wheels turning in Ricardo’s mind. Processing it. Really, it’s a good business move. He’ll have all that extra blow to sell at street value rather than the cut-rate he’s undoubtedly giving the Sinaloa.

He blows out a long breath. “I’ll need to discuss it with Dominges.”

I take a cigar from my inside pocket and place it to my lips, clicking my lighter open. There’s a beat of silence as I inhale a stream of thick smoke. The lighter snaps shut with finality. “No. Speak to him, and the deal is off the table.”

His expression pinches, the lines at the corner of his eyes sinking deep. “What the fuck are you trying to get me into, Rafael?”

“That’s none of your concern.” I flick ash into my empty glass. “You are at a crossroads, Ricardo. You can make your business bigger, better. You can cut some ties, while solidifying others. Alliances…” I shake my head. “So important in our line of work.”

“You know Dominges also owns a port.” He cocks a brow, and I laugh.

“So do you, but San Juanico, like Tijuana, is the main shipping route between Mexico and California, as you well know. He loses more drugs than he gets through each month.” I shake my head. “Sloppy business. You and I know better.”

“There are always risks. You’re running to Miami for fuck’s sake.”

I only smile. I never lose shipments because I fucking own everyone, and I certainly don’t sail my shit right up to Miami. What is it they say—go in the back door?

“Naturally.” We stare at each other, and I can see him buckling, grasping at straws under the desperate drive of pure greed. This business gets you like that. No matter how much money you make, you always want more. No matter how big the empire, they want it bigger, and that is a mistake. Spread yourself too far, and you get thin. Security is not what it once was. It’s harder to get people in your pocket. Yes, greed and power go hand in hand. And Ricardo Rosi wants more, more, more. Enough to give me what I want. He knows it, and I know it.

He huffs out a breath. “I need a few days.”

I lift the cigar to my lips and inhale until my lungs ache. “You have twenty-four hours. And remember, you are not the only one who wants that port.”

I stand, offering Anna my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet.

“Why do you want to supply Dominges?” she asks once we’re in the car.

“Because I owe him a debt of retribution, and nothing wounds a man more than losing control.”

“So you intend to pay that debt by controlling his drugs?” I smirk, and realization crosses her face. “If you then don’t supply him, someone else will.”

“I intend to do nothing. For now. I will bide my time until the opportune moment. He’ll be completely unaware that it’s me supplying him until the moment when I cut his legs out from under him. Could he get another supplier? Of course. But that much cocaine takes time to get a hold of. It will come too late, and he will lose his California clients.”

“Don’t go starting a war.” She chastises me like an errant child.

I laugh and grab her waist, pulling her into my lap and wedging her between my body and the steering wheel. She no longer tenses when my hips press the insides of her thighs. Trust: so tentative, like a fledgling bird getting ready to take flight. The breeze has caught young Anna’s wings, and soon she’ll jump, I can feel it. The material of her dress creeps up her legs, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Dominges started a war the second he came for you, avecita.”

She grips the front of my jacket in both hands and closes her eyes on a long breath. “Don’t start a fight for me. Please.”

I trail my fingertips over the soft skin of her cheek, her jaw, and then the elegant column of her throat. “This isn’t about you.” It’s all about her. “It’s the principle that he broke into my house and took something of mine.”

She lifts one delicate brow at me. “Something of yours?”

“Mine, avecita.” I grip the back of her neck and bring my lips to her ear. She trembles in my hold. “You are mine.” My lips brush below her ear, and a shaky breath leaves her as she tilts her head to the side. Smiling against her skin, I graze my teeth over her throat. The scent of her hits me hard, fogging my mind, distracting me from anything that isn’t her. So innocent, so pure, and yet so very dangerous: my little warrior.