Again with the concerns about the Feds.He’d just brought it up last night with me. Worrying about the Feds was something we’d always have to do, but any increased presence of federal agents at the border wasn’t something the Garcia Cartel or our runners couldn’t handle.
“If they had to reroute temporarily, fine,” I said. “But to end up with the Hernandezes and give them the guns instead? No. Something’s fucked up with this.”
More than anything, loyalties should’ve held firm. The Garcias did business with us so we could distribute on the West Coast. If they were taking guns toward Texas, which would mean distribution to the East Coast, they had to have a whole different arrangement going on.
My phone rang, cutting them off from adding anything else.
Seeing that it was Dean, I hurried to answer. He was my go-to for this run.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. I’d insist that every one of the men beneath my direct supervision tell me everything, all facts as they were revealed.
“The fuckers changed the plans. At the last minute,” Dean replied. The distant sounds of traffic on the highway filled in the background of his end. “Garcia decided to swap the locations and we’ve got nothing here.”
“The Hernandez Cartel got the shipment?” I asked.
“Yeah. They fucking did.” He cursed but got ahold of himself quickly, too good under the pressure of his job to let his emotions get the better of him. “I’ve got a scout hiding near their handoff. They’ve got our shipment.”
“Were there any issues with the Feds or Border Patrol?” I asked.
“No. Nothing other than what we’d expect. It’s like they didn’t even fucking plan to head north to us like usual. They went over on Route Twenty, and they had to have left yesterday for the different drive.”
What in the fucking hell?
Why are you messing with us?
Arturo Garcia must have had some reason to change plans that would end up with our shipment of weapons landing in enemy territory. While the Garcia Cartel were old partners and associates in trade, the Hernandez Cartel firmly wasnota friend of the Bratva.
A thought struck me almost instantly, but I didn’t care for the implication.
Arturo Garcia knew that we were good for the money and a solid partner. But something else must have motivated him to change his plans out of the blue.
Not something, but someone.
I shared a look with Adrik, convinced his brain was firing the same as mine was, such that he’d reach the same conclusion.
Is someone else competing with us? Another power trying to push us out of this tried and tested smuggling operation?
Only one name came to mind.
The mere notion of my uncle interfering with our business—again—pissed me off.
“I’m going to meet with him,” I told them all. I directed my intentions to Adrik, but they could all assist me as they saw fit. “Arturo Garcia owes me an explanation for this last-minute change.”
And if he didn’t persuade me that the relationship between his Cartel and our Bratva was still in good standing, he would soon learn the lesson of what happened when someone was designated as our enemy.
4
CARINA
“Of course not, my friend. Of course not.”
I narrowed my eyes, listening to Arturo using his phony voice. Waiting in the hallway just outside his office in the villa our parents left for us, I eavesdropped.
Every wheedling, lying, manipulative word.
“Of course not. We would never dream of losing our partnership and working arrangement with your Bratva.”
Slitting my eyes more, I zoned out and disregarded all the details out here. I ignored the lingering taste of the black coffee I’d had earlier this morning. I dismissed the feel of starchy sweat drying on my skin from the workout I’d cut short to find my brother. And I didn’t mind the sight of the deep-blue carpet underfoot or the artwork hung in a golden, gilded frame on the wall across from me.
