He wrinkles his brow. “No. I was told he would be adopted by a rich family.”
Javier snorts. “Surely you did not believe that lie. You were simply fooling yourself so you could sleep at night.”
The grandfather looks at us, and for the first time, I see uncertainty. “Did that really happen to Antonio?”
Baring his teeth, Javier does not hold back. “Yes, and as a result, he is now a perfect killing machine. That small man you would dare call a coward will be the reason the entire syndicate crumbles. He didn’t bother killing you because he’s moved on from you. I, however, spent ten years of my life looking for him, searching in the most awful places known to man, allowing my body to be used in the most awful ways so I could save him. Unlike my nephew, I can hold a grudge.”
The grandfather opens his mouth to say something, but Javier cuts him off. “Yet I was not the one who pulled Ant out of that life. This man,” he says, gesturing to me, “helped save him, then cared for him, and finally, loved him. This man will never harm a hair on my nephew’s head and, more importantly, he has done and will do anything to keep him safe. That makes him ten times the man you are.”
The grandfather curls his lip in disgust and says a word I know is a slur forgayin Spanish. Given the circumstances, it’s almost funny.
“You have no right to judge me,” the old man starts. Javier and I exchange a look so quick you’d barely know it had occurred. “You have no idea—”
I interrupt what no doubt would have been a lengthy rant, filled with inaccuracies, self-delusion, and excuses, by running Abuela’s watermelon knife through his larynx and carotid. It’s a good move if you want to shut someone up and kill them simultaneously. Ant taught me that.
Javier went the more direct route, however, pushing his mother’s carving knife into the shallow husk of whatever was left of that man’s heart.
We remove Abuela’s knives and roll him up in the bedding, letting the mattress soak up the rest of his blood. As we turn to leave, we both pause when we hear a sound from the bathroom. Javier and I put our knives away and grab our guns, approaching the bathroom door quietly.
Javier gives me the signal, and I rear back, kicking the door open. A young woman pulls a kid behind her back, holding up her hands, begging us in Spanish not to kill her or her daughter.
Fuck.
“We are not going to hurt you or your daughter, ma’am,” I say, putting away my weapon. Javier is not so quick to put away the gun, but he does lower it.
“What is your relationship to that man in there?”
“He is my husband.”
Ant’s grandfather was pushing seventy, and this woman is only a few years older than Ant.
“How long have you been together?”
“Eight years. We met in Puerto Vallarta, and we stayed in his house there. But several weeks ago, armed men came into our house and told us we had to go with them.”
“Have you ever been to this house?”
She shakes her head. “He never said anything about it.”
“Did they say why they brought you all here?”
She shakes her head. “Not at first, but I could tell my husband knew what was going on. Finally, I got it out of him.”
“What did he say?” I ask as gently as possible.
“They said his grandson had destroyed their properties, various accounts were starting to disappear, and important clients were going missing.”
“And they blamed him?”
“No, but they were going to make him pay anyway. He offered them this compound, but they laughed. Said it was worthless.”
“What did they want from him? Cash?”
She shakes her head. “I think they wanted my daughter. They said she was the perfect age.”
“And what did he do?”
“He begged them not to do anything to her. He said he knew where Ant’s family lived, that he could get Ant back for them.”
