The line goes quiet. The plan is set.
We fall silent again until we land in Caracas, where the heat, humidity, and chaos greet us the moment we get off my jet. The air tastes like exhaust, sweat, sweet rotting fruit, and the metallic sting of a city built on corruption. Traffic is a living organism here, wild, honking, alive with desperation.
We walk straight past the airport’s private transport lines to the taxi ranks.
A taxi.
A fucking taxi.
"Unbelievable," I mutter.
Raf doesn’t even blink. "You want to walk?"
I glare at him.
He shrugs. "Aurelio’s men watch private transport first. We might have been able to sneak under his radar with the jet, since it's reported as cargo only, but a limousine would pop up on his radar."
"That’s not a taxi," Oksana corrects. "That’s a tin can painted yellow."
"It’s efficient," Raf replies.
"It’s insulting," I complain, ducking inside the back seat. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
"No," Oksana chirps. "That’s the point."
I suffer in silence for the entire drive. The upholstery smells like old cigarettes, and something sticky under the seat touches my shoe, God only knows what.
Raf gives the driver an alias and a tip so large, I wonder if the man will sprint to retire when we pull up at the hotel, top-of-the-line for middle-class Americans who want to show off on social media. Bright lobby. Air conditioning blasting. Gold accents everywhere. Faux luxury. But safe enough.
We take the penthouse suite, because anything less would make my skin crawl.
The bellhop leaves. The door clicks shut.
The moment we’re alone, Oksana flops onto the sofa. "I love it. Perfect vantage points. Lines of sight everywhere. It's a shame the minibar is locked, but I can fix that."
Raf ignores her enthusiasm, stepping to the window and looking out at the city, sprawling in uneven angles. He’s silent, holding his jaw tight, his eyes are full of storms.
Something in me mirrors it.
Caracas looks beautiful from up here. Beautiful, the way a serpent is beautiful, smooth, glittering, coiled to strike. This is the city that tried to take my wife. This is the place that stole years from Nico. This is where Aurelio lives like a king. Soon, he'll learn that kingdoms fall.
My fury sits cold, coiled in my gut. I can taste it.
"We need intel," Raf mutters.
"We need blood," I correct him.
He glances at me. There’s no humor in his eyes. "We’ll get both."
His phone vibrates. After a silent curse, he holds it out to Oksana and me, a message from an unknown Venezuelan number:
Unknown:
Welcome to Caracas.
No threats.
Just a greeting.
