Page 41 of Targeted By Vengeance

While Maria pushed the rolling chair out of her way, I peeked at the few framed photographs on his desk. His sons in their mini league soccer uniforms. A wedding portrait of him and his late-wife. An older woman sitting in front of the beach with a wide smile, the color faded from time.

The white light from his computer coming alive tore my attention away from the pictures. Maria dug through the bag again, this time producing a small black USB. She stuck it into the back of the desktop.

Instantly, a tiny black box opened, asking for a coded password.

Maria’s fingers raced across the keyboard, filling in the box with little white dots. Whatever she did unlocked the computer, giving us full access to his files. She clicked a few more keys before a loading bar appeared. The white space filling the bar crawled at snail speed, barely moving a few centimeters with every passing second.

“Gonna be a while,” Maria murmured, looking up at me. She jutted her chin towards the door. “Go.”

I stared at her for a moment as Mateo’s voice telling us to stay together replayed in my head. He made it clear he didn’t want me going off on my own. So, what was she doing?

Maria nodded her head towards the door again. “Go,” she encouraged again. She nudged my arm with her elbow and offered me a small smile. One I didn’t need words for.

“Thank you,” I told her. “I’ll meet you back at the front entrance.”

I snuck back the way we came through the house, making a beeline for the stairwell. I kept one hand on the gun at my waist as I glanced around the dark corners, waiting for something to leap out of them.

A guard. A gunshot. Hell, maybe even a sleepwalker. Yet, every time, there was nothing.

I’d never seen a place so big hold so much silence.

Marcos worked so hard to acquire his money and status and still ended up with practically nothing to show for it. Shit was kinda sad.

Nothing but the smell of smoke lingered on the top floor. The stench was stronger than it was downstairs. Fresher.

I snatched my gun out from the holster and flipped the security latch off. Sticking close to the walls, I followed the scent towards the master bedroom.

The door was already cracked when I reached it. I peeped through the tiny space to get a visual on Marcos.

At first glance, the dark room seemed empty. No one slept amongst the messy silk sheets on the bed or sat in the cushioned chair in the corner.

But, the french doors leading to the balcony were open. A shadow stood between the moonlight pouring into the room. The wind carried trails of smoke inside.

I quietly pushed the door open and took a few steps into the room for a better look.

Marcos was leaning over the railing, clad in a pair of slippers and red robe. His elbows were perched against the stone, and clouds of smoke swirled over his head of silver hair. “You could have just rung the gate bell,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “I would’ve let you in.”

My brows furrowed. “You knew we were coming?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve been waiting for this moment. Been praying it would come sooner.”

I tilted my head, confused by his statement.

He waved the cigar in his hand. “They say smoking is one of the world’s fastest killers. Almost a year of downing five of these a day and still healthy as a horse. Bullshit, ain’t it?”

“You want to die?” I asked. The heat running through my veins cooled at the thought. What was the point in giving him exactly what wanted?

He turned around, finally showing his face. Even in old age, he was a handsome man. Strong, defined jaw. Mesmerizing light brown eyes. Silver beard that matched his mane.

But his air of confidence and arrogance described by the few people who came in contact with him was gone.

A powerful kingpin didn’t stand before me; a weary widower did. And it made my stupid heart twist.

“What else is there to live for?” He answered. “My children are grown with their own families and keeping the family business afloat; they’re too busy for dear old dad. Eveline was the only one who truly cared. Now that she’s gone…” Shaking his head, he took another hit of his cigar.

I could only stare at him. I hadn’t expected for him to seem so human - so pitiful. Not after all the lives he’s taken.

“What grievance brings you here?” He asked. “I’d like to know which of my deeds brought death to my doorstep.”