If we were all face to face, guns would be drawn, safeties off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Valentine roars. “Our agreement?—”
From the corner of my eye, I pick up a flash of movement, and the sound of the head of the Irish going at it with the head of the Italian changes to white noise.
The confident, stunning woman striding towards the SUV is not at all what I was expecting. And if I’m honest, I’m now more concerned than ever. I’m also more comfortable in my decision of coming here and snooping because she’s somehow connected to Victor Hernandez.
I’m making it my mission to get to the bottom of his games before I cut the ambassador’s head off. Victor Hernandez might think he’s been smart enough to cover his tracks behind his diplomatic immunity, but in our world, there's nowhere to hide. And as hard as he tries to use his title as a cover, I can see enough not to trust him at all.
I’ve been slowly collecting pieces of the puzzle, trying to find out his endgame. And she just may be the key to figuring it out.
He might be an ambassador, but my father is the head of the Cabal Cartel. And in the underworld, we dance to the beat of a different drum.
There’s little point trying to police things like drug trafficking, money laundering, kidnapping, murder, or extortion when that’s been the bread and butter of the Cartel since its inception. There are a few codes above all others—The Boss’s decision is final and must be respected. And another is that children under the age of eighteen and Omegas areprotegido a toda costa—protected at all costs. It was a necessary law, introduced during an era of emotionally driven revenge killings that nearly wiped out a whole generation of future criminals and threatened the success of every Cartel family.
The thing is, it’s not just people in our world that know of the Cartel’s law. We’ve made it like that and have been brutalin the reminders that outsiders are not welcome. But there’s always some who believe they can go head-to-head with one of the biggest, strongest syndicates in the world. And Ambassador fucking Hernandez is trying to integrate a spot in our world.
For someone who should be focused on advancing his nation by building relationships, resolving issues, and forging alliances through diplomacy, he sure does spend a lot of time focused on making sure every interaction works for him and his own ventures. Including pushing meetings with our suppliers. Quietly, of course.
The Cartel won’t get involved, but some things—like the fact that Victor’s own security team is currently in Valentine’s territory while Victor himself is back in his own country—would be of interest.
The relationship between the Italian Mafia and the Cartel is too volatile for it not to be seen as a breach of the Code if I didn’t share the news of the ambassador’s men being here.
I will personally be sharing what I’m currently seeing with the Irish and the Italians. Well, mostly. But the Trinity Alliance is a passion project Ronin, Valentine, and I set up one fucking horrific day in the middle of the asshole of the world, Croatia. I say that referring not to the people there but the atrocities we uncovered. I still haven’t managed to separate the two, which isn’t fair, but it’s not my biggest worry either.
Most people in the underworld are aware of the Trinity Alliance, but we’ve managed to maintain anonymity, becoming the faceless bogeyman lording over each crime outfit. Most people do not include Ambassador Hernandez, because I suspect he believes he is answerable to no one.
“Santiago!” Valentine snarls, bringing my attention from trying to figure out what Victor’s doing, and how the woman fits in, back to one of my closest friends.
But I don’t want to focus on anything but her. I hang up on him mid rant.
The silence is golden. I power down my phone, so they can’t interrupt my peace again, before dropping it into the center console at the same time one of the SUV doors opens.
Victor’s man gets out of a vehicle bearing the plates of an official government vehicle, the CD identifying diplomatic privilege. He goes to the woman. I want to watch only her, but I don’t trust him. His posture is aggressive, despite the tailored suit he wears and the precise cut of his hair. The way he towers over her, pointing fingers towards her face, has me reaching for a weapon.
He looks like the sort of asshole to raise a hand against a woman. I wait for him to do it now. I’d bust my cover just blow his brains out and have no regret.
Another car rolls up. The new car pulls to a stop in front of the diplomatic fleet, effectively blocking them in. Victor’s man is so caught up talking at her, he doesn’t notice the newcomer until the new person is standing in front of her.
I like the way she ignores Victor’s man and focuses on the new arrival. She passes over two of her bags to the man, and they walk off toward the smaller hire vehicle, chatting amicably and acting like there’s not a six-foot gorilla in a tailored suit and a badly concealed gun behind them.
Her driver doesn’t let her lift her bags or open her door, despite her insistence she can do things for herself. The car she got into glides into the traffic, and Victor’s men give chase in their spotless town cars.
I now have enough proof for the Cartel to demand an explanation from Hernandez if they want. But Ineedto know more about the woman.
Merging into traffic, I stay in the same lane they use. I keep their vehicles in sight but don’t push hard to stay close.They follow the signs to the airport, and it wasn’t a hard leap considering her luggage.
As they take the turn off, I start listening to the airport's recording of imminent departures, switching the search from all flights to only international when they take the ramp to the international side.
Her car moves into the drop-off lane, the SUV right behind them.
And I guess that’s when I decide I need to know more about her, because I’m pulling into premium valet without conscious thought.
The valet directs me and everyone behind me into their places. I’m out of my car, my overnight bag and briefcase in hand before he’s finished walking to my window.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, passing over the keys and business card. Using a very polished English accent, I start speaking. “I slept through my alarm, and I’m so bloody late it’s not funny. I’ll message the car hire people and let them know I took the wrong exit, and they can pick the car up from you. Is it okay if they fix up my bill too?”
He looks hesitant until he notices the folded hundred-dollar bills tucked under the business card.
