“D, tell them what you told me this morning.”Rubén flicked his hand toward the younger man.
“Right.”Domingo smashed a few keys on his laptop and spun it around to face Enrique and Santiago.
A picture of a white riad-style house in a vast walled-in estate filled the screen.
“About two years ago, Zayas purchased this property in Casablanca.It once belonged to some Spanish diplomat ancestor of his,” Domingo added, almost as an afterthought.
“Casablanca, huh?”Enrique rubbed his stiff neck.The gorgeous property had to cost a small fortune.“If he escapes the country, at least we know where to look for him.Where did he get the money for a place like that?”
“That’s the troublesome part.”Domingo stood, leaned over the computer, and clicked a browser tab.
An account on a banking website popped up.Over a million US dollars were in savings.
“About time, D.His offshore bank account.”Enrique swung his glare to the hacker.“How the fuck did you find me in a matter of days, and you’re still searching for Zayas?”
Domingo scoffed.“Zayas isn’t a fool.He must know someone with the right skills to hide his digital fingerprint.You tried to do all that by yourself.And failed.”He smirked, letting the implication hang that Enrique was, indeed, a fool.
Fresh irritation burned like a living disease under Enrique’s skin.Let it go,he told himself.Youdidfuck up.
Though if those words had come from anyone but a friend, game on.
“As I was saying,” Domingo continued and tugged on the hem of his jersey shirt, “Zayas has been up to no good for a while.For five years, in fact.He’s been stealing from us.Small amounts here and there, but it’s added up.He stopped a few months ago at the same time Abaroa died, so I suspect they had some kind of deal worked out.”
Seething, Enrique shook his head.The bookkeeper, Councilman Abaroa, had sided with Rubén’s enemy in an attempted coup, then disappeared like Officer Sanchez.
“Fuck, Domingo.That’s good work.Have you frozen the account?”Santiago braced his feet on the floor and flicked open his metal lighter before snapping it shut.His gaze zipped across the screen.“It doesn’t look like it.”
“Rubén said not to.”Domingo turned the laptop back around and returned to his seat.“We don’t want him to know we’ve discovered it.Losing access to that money might make him lose what sanity he has left, not that there’s much to spare.I’m running more traces to check for other accounts, but I doubt I’ll find anything.”
Rubén stubbed out his cigarillo in the tray, and the tendrils of smoke snaked around his hand.“Betraying us over his bruised ego is one thing, but stealing from us?From my father when he was alive?Goddamn, that takes balls.I’ve been in touch with Paredes to find out exactly how much Zayas took.”Cursing under his breath, he raked his fingers through his brushed-back hair.“I fucking promoted him because I thought he was straightlaced and reliable.I should’ve listened to you, Ricky.”
Enrique snorted at the half-assed apology.He’d told Rubén the man wasn’t trustworthy, though he only had his gut instinct telling him so.Too bad Paredes, Abaroa’s replacement, hadn’t caught and traced the financial discrepancies sooner.
Santiago crossed his legs again and continued to flick his lighter open and closed.“We’ll make some of that money back if we sell his Moroccan house.Maybe we could use it ourselves as a hideout or vacation home.Once Zayas is dead, of course.”
“Something to think about for later.As much as we all want Zayas’s head on a platter, he’s not our only matter of business.”Rubén rubbed his clean-shaven jaw.“Enrique, Paredes also said you haven’t filed the monthly expense report for the training camps.I know things have been hectic, but you have barely a week left to get it done.”
“I’ll do it today.”He gritted his teeth, checking his temper.
“What about the visits?”Rubén pressed.
Right.The fucking visits.As if he had time for that.“Yesterday, I called the lead lieutenant at each camp in the Hermosillo plaza and the capos in the other plazas.They all reported low supplies of provisions and ammo.Some need weapons.Each camp can survive maybe two or three months as they are now.”
Grimacing, Santiago shook his head.“That doesn’t cut it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”Rubén tapped his fingers against the table.“Ricky, get Jesús your list of needed supplies when he returns.The camps with the most need will get the first delivery of arms and ammo.Handle the food and other necessities yourself.”
“Will do,” Enrique snapped, already planning to prepare what he could once he got home to his office.Rubén’s orders sat with him like a bunion on his ass, as if he didn’t know how to do his own damn job.“We cannot train boys to be killers without fucking ammo and rations.”
Rubén’s forehead creased.“I still expect an in-person evaluation.Do the local camps before the week is out and rework your schedule to fit in the others.If you’re worried about leaving Lourdes alone overnight, she can stay here.”
“I’ll pencil that in, jefe.Ready to serve, jefe,” Enrique mocked while he smashed the calendar app on his phone and typed a quick note.Then he pinned Rubén with his glare.“If I’m leaving my bride in the safety ofyourhome, maybe I should fly to Kyiv after I’m done with the inspections to pick up the ammo myself.God forbid I should trust Jesús to do his job without someone barking orders at him.”Sweat slicked his skin as the tension in the room skyrocketed.
Fucking hell.He needed blood and the crunch of bone beneath his hammering fists.He needed Lourdes in his arms, the only person who could soothe his inner monster.
“At this point, Enrique,” Rubén said and braced his fists on the tabletop, “I’m tempted to give Jesúsyourjob until you calm the fuck down.”
“By all means,” Enrique countered.
