And so, when I was twenty-six, Tío Ocho came to me and told me that it was time.
Time to kill Arturo Alvarez, and take control of the cartel.
In my uncle’s eyes, once Arturo was out of the way, he would become the newJefe. After all, he’d been in the business longer, he was older. Arturo’s men knew him and trusted him—or so he thought.
Hewas the obvious choice, and he felt that Arturo’s men would fall in line and accept this.
My uncle’s downfall always was his inability to see through a human being’s exterior. To this day, I’m convinced that he had a true narcissistic personality, because he could never seem to fathom a world outside of himself. As far as he was concerned, the only way to rule was to make your subjects intoyou.
The problem with that is, if you’re a narcissistic sociopath, then you wind up with a crew who wants to kill you and steal all your stuff—as they’ve seen you do.
And for all the times over the years when I’ve questioned my own level of narcissism, because I know it’s there—I’m not delusional—I still know with full certainty that the reason I became the unlikely heir to this throne is that I never stopped viewing it from a psychology standpoint.
Getting inside someone’s brain and poking at the places where they are the weakest will always get you more control than being a stubborn, trigger-happy blowhard.
I said what I said.
Arturo and his family were set to be in Medellin for the weekend. As was standard, he brought along his security team, two large, dead-eyed men I used to call Robot Uno and Robot Dos. We were set to meet him there, to conduct some business on his behalf, then meet up with him at his home afterward to let him know it was done.
It was myself, Pablo—this older guy who’s been working with my uncle for a while—and Max. Maximil was younger than me, and had only been around for a couple of years, but I’d vouched for him with Arturo because he was smart, and loyal.
Loyal towhomwe’ll find out shortly.
The business meeting went off without a hitch. I secured a Peruvian connection, all by myself, and then we went out to celebrate.
The next day, the three of us went to Arturo’s home to give him the good news.
And I killed him, and his wife, Acacia. In front of their children.
In the moment, I made sure that Arturo knew why this was happening. But it wasn’t the reason you might think…
When we returned to Bogota, I met Ocho at a bar where he was getting drunk. Celebrating the fact that he was the newhead of the cartel.
“You did good, boy!” He’d cheered and sloshed, grabbing me by the chin until I chuckled. Eyeing him closely. “You secured a place at the head table. Now Medellin will be mine, and we’re going to be rich.”
He ordered us a round of tequila, lifting his glass. “To money, power, and cutting down anyone who stands in the way of it.”
I clinked my glass on his, but I didn’t sip. I watched him slugging his back.
“To la casa Blanco,” I hummed softly.
“Que?” He slurred, patting me hard on the back. “Bien. I’m glad you got your revenge, Marfil. You deserved it. That puta deserved to pay.”
“Verdad.” I cocked my head. “There truly is nothing sweeter than revenge.”
He nodded, barely listening to me. Smiling and laughing like an idiot.
Celebratinghisaccomplishments.
“You know, Arturo told me something once,” I said, motioning with a swirl of my finger. The bartender dropped off the bottle, and I poured us another round. Ocho peeked at me. “He said, ‘Love makes you weak.’ I wasn’t sure if he was speaking from experience, or if he was just sharing pearls of wisdom… Like my father used to.”
He was staring at me.
“But then the more I thought about it, the more I found it to be true. Love… gets you killed.” I locked eyes with my uncle. “It will be your ultimate ruin.”
His forehead lined. “Que pasa? Why are you saying this?”
“Because.” I lifted a shoulder in a bored shrug. “That is more or less what happened to my father.” He looked confused, so I went on, “He wasn’t killed because of his job, or because he wronged someone.” I leaned in.” He was killed because he fell in love…”
