The Carrera Cartel : A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Cora Kenborn

  “Yes. I dislike small talk. It’s a waste of time. We both know information is always attached to a shitload of strings.”

  “Well said.” Taking a healthy drink, she cradled the glass in both hands and ran her tongue across her top teeth. “I have multiple high-level connections at the FBI.” As soon as I arched an eyebrow, she added, “You can verify that fact with Niko if you want, but the story behind it is mine, Carrera.”

  “The price, Ava. I don’t have all day.”

  I really didn’t. Eden knew I was in Miami, but I told her it was to iron out a shipment loss. The last thing I needed was for her to start blowing up my phone.

  “Actually, it has to do with Giselle,” she said, folding her arms over her desk.

  “Who the fuck is Giselle?”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “The girl on the pole. The one you were ten seconds away from tattling about to your Houston lawbreaker.”

  Mouthy bitch.

  Absolutely right, but still mouthy.

  “My connection uncovered an active human trafficking ring started by Sevastian Petrov.”

  “Petrov? As in Andrei Petrov’s brother?” What the fucking fuck? The late Bratva pakhan had ruled Moscow almost as hard as he’d hated Sevastian. Their Cain and Abel shit only ended when Sevastian’s bullet exited Andrei’s skull last year. Sevastian died months later in an empty jail cell with a knife sticking out of his throat. No one mourned him, but it sounded like someone mourned his business.

  Sighing, she scrubbed a hand across her forehead. It shook. Her fucking hand shook, and when she realized I was staring at it, she cleared her throat and dropped it in her lap. “That’s the one. He wasn’t operating alone, either. I don’t have to tell you that my father was one of the most prolific sex traffickers on the East Coast.”

  I connected the dots for myself. Sevastian Petrov and Sergei Chernov were both sadistic sons of bitches who deserved much worse than they got.

  “I put an end to that shit,” she continued. “But girls have started disappearing again. Giselle’s friend, one of my own, went missing two weeks ago. Turns out, someone’s been carrying on their messed-up trafficking legacy.” She let out a long breath as I studied her pinched lips and rounded shoulders. “My contact traced leads to Mexico.”

  I allowed a marked silence to fill the air, so I could be calm enough to speak without choking her. “The Carreras don’t deal in flesh if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “I’m not. I’m insinuating that someone is filtering them in and out of your country, Val.” She let the sentence hang, and it wasn’t by accident. The message was clear.

  Right under your nose, motherfucker.

  “I’ll ask again, what do you want, Ava?”

  Fire ignited in her cat-like eyes. “I want your help in shutting this ring down. I want your word that you'll work with us. That you’ll work with all of us in doing whatever it takes to end these mudaks!”

  Not an unreasonable request. And a cause I’d enjoy spilling blood for.

  “If I do this, you’ll tell me what…” I trailed off, replaying her words in my head and picking out the three that didn’t sit right. “What do you mean by ‘all of us’?”

  “Well, my Bratva and FBI connections...” Clearing her throat, she brushed an invisible piece of lint off her desk. “And Dante Santiago.”

  In a flash of movement, my palm cracked against her desk. “¡Estás loca, hija de puta!” You’re fucking crazy!

  Dante Santiago was the overlord of the largest cartel in South America: Colombia’s counterpart to yours truly. Men weakened at the mere whisper of his name.

  Most men.

  That asshole didn’t intimidate me. No one did. But I didn’t feel like making war with him, either. He stayed in the red corner of the world, and I stayed in the blue. Narcos didn’t simply “team-up” and don white capes when it suited them. We were criminals, not saviors, and Santiago, by all accounts, was an inhuman bastard.

  I should know. I looked at one in the mirror every day.

  “You and Dante might enjoy playing truth or dead with each other,” she snapped, “but on the sly, he’s spent the last few years destroying trafficking rings like this.” With her reserved façade gone, she waved a frustrated hand in front of her. “When one’s crippled and bleeding, it’s like Christmas morning on Santiago’s Pacific island. No survivors. No marked graves. You’ve heard the stories for yourself.”

  Back the fuck up. “You brought this to the Colombian before me?”

  “Not exactly.” She knows she crossed a line. Her wince just now was telling.

  Son of a bitch. “Santiago has FBI connections as well.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You could say that.”

  “I didn’t; you did.”

  Ava glanced up, clearly startled, but quickly recovered—that infamous Chernova cold queen act falling into place. “Be that as it may, if you accept my agreement, I’ll give you the information that will save your Italian deal from blowing up in your face.”

  “Fine.”

  “I want your word, Val. Don’t fuck me over on this. Trust me, you do not want me as an enemy.”

  “I said yes, didn’t I?” I growled. “Trust me, Ava, you don’t want me as an enemy. Just tell me what you know.”

  There it was again. That flicker of fear. That break in the ice. She knew I wasn’t fucking around. But then again, neither was she. I’d seen the carnage Ava Chernova left in her wake.

  In many unrecognizable pieces.

  She nodded. “The Feds have Don Ricci on tax evasion charges, and it seems the boss crumbled like a stale donut.”

  “He talked?”

  “Talked?” She let out a throaty laugh. “He sang, tap danced, and somersaulted his way into a witness protection deal for him, his mistress, and their perfect bastard of a son.”

  “Does the rest of the syndicate know?”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s still pretending to run shit, and the Feds are letting him conduct business with a wiretap.”

  I was out of my chair before I knew it. My mind was reeling, and since I thought better on my feet, I didn’t bother to care what my manic movements looked like.

  I paced and planned, the new development rolling around in my head. “That will leave New York disorganized and without a leader. Weak. Ripe for the taking.”

  “Exactly.”

  I paused mid-step. “When are the Feds moving on Ricci?”

  “In four days.”

  “¡Hijo de su puta madre!” Son of a bitch! I was in information overload, trying to connect the dots and mold fucking art out of a pile of shit. “My sister is getting married in two days. I can’t organize a takeover in that short amount of time.”

  “There’s one other thing you should know.”

  “Let me guess, your ‘FBI connection’ told Santiago this as well.”

  This time her face didn’t change. She wasn’t shocked, and why should she have been? We were up to our necks in acid-laced quicksand. It didn’t take a genius to know it burned.

  “Val, if you worked together on the trafficking ring and the New York port, the world would quake. The two most feared men in the world aligning? There’d be no hope for mankind.”

  I resumed my pacing. “Why the hell would the Carreras hand over half of something we’ve been working on for over a year?”

  “Because Santiago used to run New York’s cocaine distribution before the Italians took over, in case you’ve forgotten.” Sighing, Ava stood and moved to the middle of her office, blocking me. “He’s going for it whether you like it or not, Val. However, as a favor to my connection, he’s willing to have you fly to his island to consider a merger.”

  It was a good thing I’d never raised my hand to a woman.

  “I’m not fucking flying anywhere,” I roared. “Did you hear me? Not only is my sister getting married, but my wife is nine months pregnant. Dante Santiago can shove his merger up his ass.” Storming toward the door, I f
lung it open and made my way back down the stairs toward the main area, cursing everyone’s name the entire way.

  I barely cleared the last step when Ava caught up, moving in front of me and blocking my path…again. “Damn it, Val, can’t you meet him halfway?”

  Absolutely fucking not.

  I physically moved her out of my way and then clenched my fists by my side. “If he wants to talk to me, he can put on a goddamn suit and come to Adriana’s wedding.”

  Ava sighed. There was an eye roll in there somewhere as well. “There’s no way in hell he’d do that, Val. You’d need to give him something in return first. He needs to know you’re serious about this.”

  I paused in the doorway. “Like what?”

  “Eyes on the ground in Mexico to smash this trafficking ring. His jurisdiction stops at your borders. He needs a dirty politician or five. He needs access.”

  “Why the fuck does a man like him give a shit about trafficked whores?”

  “It’s personal.” She shrugged. “Think about it, Val.”

  “This is bullshit.” The ball of adrenaline that had been slamming against my chest dropped like a rock in my stomach. I steeled my reaction, diverting my attention to the young blonde, still attempting to climb the pole like it was a rope in gym class. “One politician, take it or leave it. When you finish playing puppet master, keep me updated,” I conceded darkly.

  Ava’s gaze followed mine, and I felt the heat of her brown eyes burning into the side of my face. When I refused to react, she gave another long sigh. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  Can’t wait.

  “Oh, and Val?” Pausing at the door, I squeezed the shit out of the handle and glanced over my shoulder to where Ava held a six-inch blade in her hand. “Never fucking touch me again.”

  As I walked out into the thick Miami air, I let out a slow breath and tried to wrap my head around what the hell had just happened.

  I swore to fuck, women would be the death of me.

  Chapter Two

  Dante

  Present day

  My wife’s voice was the perfect playlist. It was like a compilation of all my favorite sounds—a life source for my fucking soul, or whatever the hell was left of it. It was easy and sweet when I thrummed with violence. It was rough and dirty when I was making good on a threat and driving my cock so deep inside of her I was forced to cradle the crown of her head to stop it from slamming into the wall.

  Her desperate pleas were a melody to my ears as I pounded a rhythm into her tight, wet heat—chasing down sin like the sinner that I was—punishing her for an earlier defiance that was said in part-play, part-frustration.

  She’ll never learn.

  I could feel her inner muscles rippling as she came so beautifully around my cock. At the same time, I wanted to steal the ecstasy from her mouth and return it to her, two-fold.

  I needed this.

  I needed her.

  I needed every beat in her repertoire. I needed her grace, her strength, her everything. Right now, the edges of our lives weren’t as safe and defined as I’d like them to be. I made a decision last week that still tasted bitter and unclean to me. As a result, I was dragging my wife and fifteen of my best men halfway across the world to choke on it.

  Fucking Carrera bastards.

  The Santiago Cartel didn’t have allies. We had enemies. We had associates who cowered and pleased. We had a pocketful of dirty law enforcement officers in every country from here to Africa. Except in Mexico where we needed it most.

  These days I had three obsessions in life: my wife and a couple of skipped heartbeats called Ella and Thalia; my newly resurrected Santiago Cartel; and the total destruction of the international sex trafficking trade.

  Anything connected to Sevastian Petrov’s former empire was like a jagged blade in my side. It was the black seed that sowed the worst of my depravity. Sevastian raped and murdered my eldest daughter, Isabella. He abused my wife when she was barely a child herself. Whatever was left of his sex trafficking organization—whoever the fuck picked up the reins in Mexico—that same jagged blade would carve my name into his gravestone, and if it took a deal with that asshole Valentin Carrera to make it happen, so be it.

  This merger came with a sweet-as-fuck bonus. We needed New York to strengthen our product’s entry routes along the East Coast. If I played nice, the city could be back under our control within the week. Once upon a time, that territory was mine, but I’d passed the powder-white baton to an old friend, Rick Sanders, when I’d temporarily washed my hands of the business to kill for hire instead.

  Rick did good. The former Brooklyn boy turned the other side of the Bridge into his own kingdom of immorality. Then he married Bratva and took a sweet turn into a different form of corruption. These days he was not only a New York Senator, he managed to get himself elected Senate Minority Leader, which meant he was sitting pretty in government for us—spending half his time in Washington and the other half bullshitting his own constituents.

  Since Rick’s abdication, the territory had fallen into the hands of the Italians. We’d made plans for a hostile takeover until Carrera’s Russian bitch whispered a pretty alternative into my associate Roman Peters’s ear.

  I was a man who never compromised, but I could fake a concession when required, particularly if it meant sinking our claws into Mexico’s trafficking underground. Today, that concession was flying to some Carrera wedding to talk terms with a bunch of assholes instead of enjoying a second honeymoon with my wife.

  It didn’t mean I was happy about it, though.

  My savage groans competed with the roar of the private jet’s engines. The mirror above the bed, the strained atmosphere—everything in this small bedroom was being scorched by the twin heat of my anger and lust.

  One vow bound our hearts.

  Two children bound our souls.

  If I could make her come again so soon, her self-control would be mine for the taking as well.

  “Dante!” she screamed out suddenly, her soft body arching into me.

  Instead of slowing, I increased the viciousness of my thrusts. In response, her teeth snagged at my bicep and her legs around my waist slackened, falling away like the petals of a rose and giving me even more access to the heart of her.

  “Not finished yet, mi alma,” I growled, pulling out and flipping her onto her front.

  “Then lose yourself in me, my devil,” she whispered as she bowed her head, offering up her delicate shoulder blades as a sacrifice to my mouth while she braced herself on her elbows for my next act of violence. “Take what you want from my body. I’ve told you this before... I’ll give you all of me if it helps calm the storm.”

  Heaven and hell.

  With the softest of kisses to her flawless, alabaster skin, I drove back inside her—tearing through any lingering resistance and seating myself so deep she muffled a scream into the pillow.

  This is what I did. I took without mercy or restraint, and Valentin Carrera would be wise to remember that. No deal would ever be equal in my eyes. I always weighed the percentages in my favor. New York would be mine again as soon as I had the intel I needed, and then, we’d be taking a wrecking ball to the goddamn Mexicans.

  There was a tempest heading Carrera’s way... One flash of lightning and my bullets would be setting fire to his fucking rain.

  I finished with a roar, the base of my spine bursting into flames as I felt Eve quiver and strain beneath me. In the golden moments that followed, I painted sepia-tone pictures in my head. We were parted once. Since that day, I’ve never taken a single beat with her for granted.

  Trailing more kisses down her spine, I eased slowly from her body. She whimpered but didn’t move as I tucked the white sheet around her hips. Once done, I rose from the bed, pausing at the foot to watch her sleep—the darkest angel standing guard over the lightest. Two pregnancies hadn’t dulled her beauty. The silver lines on her skin mirrored my many scars. They were slashes of endurance for th
e ultimate gain: hers gave our lives meaning by welcoming our daughters into the world. Mine had led me straight to her.

  She stirred, turning her head to the side and offering me her cheek this time.

  “Rest,” I commanded, stealing another kiss from her, her skin as soft as my blood was savage. “We still have another couple of hours of flying time left.”

  “Why are we going to Mexico again?” she asked sleepily.

  “Business,” I murmured. “But afterward, mi alma, we’re heading straight to Monaco. It’s been too long since we had time alone without the children. After forty-eight hours of my undiluted pleasure, my angel,” I added huskily, “you’ll be begging for my mercy.”

  She laughed. “Same to you, my devil.”

  I never doubted it for a second. I’d kill for her. I’d die for her. My very existence would be a black hole without her.

  My cell started ringing as I left the bedroom with one hand still buttoning up my black shirt.

  Sofia.

  I answered expecting to hear the softly-spoken voice of my children’s nanny. Instead, the sweetest angriest melody assaulted my senses, and my mouth did the unthinkable by stretching into a smile.

  “Papá!” cried my eldest daughter, her shrillness laced with all the indignance of a four-year-old whose best laid plans had just been thwarted. “Sofia says I can’t ride my pony until I’ve brushed my teeth. It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” Her words hit a crescendo, displaying a temper that already rivaled my own.

  “Hush, Ella,” I crooned, switching my cell to the other ear to flick my middle finger at my second-in-command, Joseph Grayson. The tall, blond American was watching me intently from the other side of the jet’s cabin. His expression never shifted, but I saw the trace of amusement in his eyes. All men feared me, but three women brought me to my fucking knees. “Sofia is right, chiquita. Do you wish for all your teeth to fall out?”

  “But papá!” she wailed, clearly dissatisfied with my response. “Archie will be so sad.”

  “Archie can wait five more minutes for your affections.”

  Joseph couldn’t hide his fucking smirk now, neither could the two men he was sat with. They were the only ones I allowed to see this side of me. It didn’t stop me wanting to decorate their faces with my fist, though.