Shadow Man (Grayson Duet #1) - Catherine Wiltcher Page 0,74
Dante. “You’re not a corrupt government figurehead anymore. We don't sign paperwork in our business. We ink our shit in blood. You want Gomez’s organization? You know what you need to do about it.”
“Gomez’s organization is mine already,” he says, dismissing him with a wave. “You can’t stop the inevitable. My men are poised to take control of his processing plants this evening. This is about savoring my victory.”
“And what victory would that be?” I say coolly. “The acquisition of a plot of land next to your son’s grave?”
There’s a long pause. It’s the cool hush before the start of a circus show, when all of the lights are down.
“Is Gomez dead?” he says idly.
“All our enemies are dead,” I say evenly.
“Not all,” he says with a smirk as he reveals his second trump card of the night.
Dante was right. There’s a silent partner in this game.
Dante breaks the deadlock first by swinging out a chair and taking a seat. I know what he’s doing. He’s intrigued, and now he’s angling for time. As usual, I keep one pace behind him and two eyes on the game.
“Where’s Luis Ossa?”
Fernandez offers him a bland smile. “He had a prior engagement.”
“With your bullet?” Dante crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. “Here I was thinking you two had a deal… Do you make it a habit of renegading on them, Fernandez?”
“Only with those who fail to uphold their side of the bargain.” With that he slides a stack of paper across the table toward him.
Dante doesn't pick it up. He doesn't even glance at it. “You will never have control of Colombia.”
“I already do.” Fernandez rolls a pen across the table at him.
“And I told you we don’t sign paperwork in our business,” says Dante, flicking it back.
“Not even the deeds of properties?” There’s a hint of triumph in his voice.
“What properties?” scoffs Dante. “I don’t even live in this fucking country anymore.”
“I want your brother’s former estate,” he says, steepling his hands with a smirk.
“I don’t claim that ownership.” Dante glances around the courtyard. “Can I get a drink, or is your hospitality as poor as your word?”
“I beg to differ, se?or,” says Fernandez, ignoring his request. “Gabriela Lopez may reside there, but she doesn’t own the—”
“No, she doesn’t, but my brother’s daughter does.”
It’s not true. He’s stalling for time again. But the smirk drops from Fernandez’s face so fast I reckon we’ll be needing one less bullet tonight.
“What daughter?” he demands. “What is this trickery?”
“I thought you two would have been introduced.” Dante leans forward and plants his elbows on the table in front of him, adding a gravitas to his lie. “After all, she’s been enjoying your hospitality for the last twenty-four hours.”
“Hijueputa, you liar!” blusters Fernandez, his composure slipping.
“So, in a fucked-up way, a Santiago did shoot you son dead, after all,” muses Dante, tossing his word bomb at Fernandez’s red face.
“Malparidos! Bring them out!” he bellows.
There’s movement in the shadows in front of us.
Anna.
One of Fernandez’s men shoves her toward us. Her mouth and hands are bound, but her eyes are liquid fire. I know that conviction. I killed for it. I restored it. She’s been here before, and she knows she can survive it.
Viviana’s the same. Her two fireballs of fury are working overtime tonight. Her natural Santiago arrogance is starting to emerge.
Together, they make a formidable pair. I watch them shrug their captor’s hands away. I can hear their silent curses in my head. They've killed together; they've faced their fears together. A bond like that binds two lives together forever.
Fernandez’s sicarios manhandle them toward the table and force them into the two spare seats at opposite ends. At the same time, I feel the muzzle of a PKM machine gun ramming into the small of my back as another sicario sticks his gun in Dante’s face.
Kalashnikovs. Russian. There’s no need to guess which side of Fernandez’s fucking family they came from.
“I thought you were giving us a choice with the women?” says Dante, re-crossing his legs.
“I’ve changed my mind, se?or,” sneers Fernandez. “As for the house, I’ll be taking it anyway and putting all the runaway putas back to work.”
“Then what the hell is this?” Glancing at Anna, I watch her gaze shift to the rings around my neck. Her eyes widen before jerking up to meet mine again.
“This?” Fernandez waves his hand between the girls like he’s the ringmaster introducing the first act. “This is justice.”